Dylan (18+) [ON HOLD]

chapter fifteen: F E A R

Gabby

. . .

The restaurant is classy but not stuffy. It's not a 24-hour McDonald's but no one's being dress coded upon entry either.

It's almost comical, the way the place is decorated. Hollowed decorative skulls adorn the centers of the tables, holding candles shaped like flowers. They're everywhere in the restaurant, on the light fixtures, at the bar, even the cups.

I smile down at my wine glass, a large crystal skull goblet that uses three miniature skeletons to hold it up.

The craftsmanship is beautiful, and I've just begun making plans to learn how to do glasswork when Dylan clears his throat from across the booth.

I look over at him and pause for a second. I wonder if he'd pose for a drawing. Or if I should ask the owner if I can come back and sketch Dylan here. Perhaps I should take a photo of him now so I can sketch him as he is right now.

Dylan, in my understandably biased eyes, has always been a work of art. Bathed in the luminescence of the restaurant's peach colored lights and the flickering warmth of the candle, he looks at me intently, his brow furrowed and his full lips a hardened line.

His concerned gaze is out of place here, in this environment full of bright colors and skulls, a definite opposite to the happy families and couples who talk and eat, animating the background.

Dylan blinks and his lips move. My sense of sound returns a split second later, not that I had known it was gone, and my literal moment of inspiration is over.

"What?"

"Are you okay? I know I really wanted us to come here, but if it's too much—"

"No!" He sounds worried about me. He shouldn't be, or maybe he should. But, I don't want him to worry, least of all about me. "I was just taking in the décor." Which is true.

Dylan smiles tightly at me, before it slips into a small, more real grin, his teeth an almost fake shade of white in the rosy ambiance of the restaurant. "'Kay."

We both pick up our menus and this time I actually read it. Dylan and I note aloud the things we'd like to try before making our orders. We get drinks whilst we wait for our food to be prepared.

All of the servers here are female and I wonder if it's something Dylan thought of when picking this place, or if it's unintentional.

I frown down at my drink. Is this what I'll do from now on? Wondering whether or not I'm being treated with kiddie gloves by the people close to me?

Jeez, I'd rather eat hospital food again.

"So, I was thinking..."

"Oh dear, someone call the embassy," I mumble and Dylan laughs, but it fades quickly. Shit, definitely kiddie gloves.

"Listen," he sighs. "I wanted to ask what happened to your hand, Gabs."

I frown, not understanding. Heaving another sigh, Dylan nods to my hand that rests on the table. Oh.

"Oh this," I hold it up. "I just had a little run in with a sewing machine, that's all."

Dylan chuckles, that smile coming out again as he struggles to find the words. To his recue is or waitress Emely with complementary breadsticks.

I watch with barely hid anticipation as Dylan grabs a breadstick and begins picking at it. 

If he's acting like this, he definitely knew about my hand already. Dylan had two defaults, to be as open of a book as possible, or to beat around the bush until you have to shake what you want out of him.