13. Date Night

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June 2018

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June 2018

Since their return from Jamaica, Oliver had been visiting Ingrid daily, initially using the cats as an excuse, then starting to pick her up from work and drive her to dinner, and home afterwards. This meant he never got to drink during the actual dinner, so he would sometimes stay for a nightcap, which would inevitably turn into a heated lovemaking session.

Two weeks passed like this. Ingrid was ecstatic. Despite herself, she always looked forward to seeing Oliver at her doorstep or climbing out of his white sedan. He was a lot of fun and made her feel like she was really living her new life as her new self far away from all the shit she'd been through.

It was refreshing. Downright liberating, even.

"So, where are we going tonight?" she asked as she hopped into the passenger seat beside him.

"There's this place I know," he said. "Pretty small, but very charming. I went to school with the chef."

"Oh?"

She buckled up and he drove off.

He got out to hold the car door for her once he parked across the street from the venue and she studied his effortlessly elegant look. A polka-dot teal shirt tucked into smart black jeans, dark blazer clinging to his figure.

Ingrid held his gaze for a minute, one eyebrow arched. "I'm not sure I got the dress code memo."

Oliver chuckled. "I had a thing at work this afternoon, so..."

She rolled her eyes. "Right."

Her office trouser suit looked drab in comparison, even though she'd recently taken measures to spice up her wardrobe with bold colours and flattering cuts.

They walked inside and the maître d' showed them to their table. A waiter brought them menus.

"Anything you recommend?" she asked Oliver.

"Well, I don't eat meat, so I'm not sure I can satisfy your carnivorous palate."

Grinning, Ingrid wiggled her eyebrows as she peered up from the menu.

"I do have some seafood recs, if you'd like."

Ingrid flipped through the pages. "Mm, thanks, but I'm craving a red, so I think I'll go with a steak."

"Cool. I'm told they do a good ribeye."

"Great. Ribeye it is." The heavy cover of Ingrid's menu fell shut with a distinct plop. "What are you eating?"

"Uh, I was thinking lobster."

"Sure you don't want a glass of white with that lobster?"

Oliver cast her a glare, but a server appeared out of nowhere by her side and they ordered their food – steak with potatoes for Ingrid, lobster with salad for Oliver.

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