The dining table was nicely set—lasagna steaming in the middle, salad in a glass bowl, two glasses of orange juice waiting beside the plates. She'd even lit a small candle between us.
"I know you don't like wine," Mendy said softly. "So I poured you orange juice."
"Perfect." I smiled and sat down.
She took her seat across from me. The food smelled incredible, and she watched me expectantly as I picked up my fork. I took a bite and nodded.
"Really good."
She flushed a little. "I'm glad. I wasn't sure if you'd like it."
We ate for a minute in silence. The clink of forks, the hum of the heater, the soft crunch of salad—it all blended into the same cozy-but-awkward atmosphere.
"So…" she finally started. "This weather is crazy, right?"
"Yeah," I chuckled. "Feels like it doubled in cold just in the last hour."
"Mm-hm." She stabbed a piece of lasagna and looked out the window. "If it keeps up, I might get snowed in tomorrow."
