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Levi books the reservation four months in advance.
He doesn’t tell you until the evening of your third anniversary, when you pause outside the restaurant beneath an awning and stare through enormous windows at white tablecloths, crystal chandeliers, and people who look like they’ve never checked their bank accounts before buying anything.
“Levi,” you murmur, glancing down at your outfit and suddenly wondering whether you should’ve worn something nicer, “this place has a doorman.”
“I can see that,” he says.
“The doorman is wearing gloves.”
“He’s just opening a door, honey.”
The doorman opens it with a gracious smile, and Levi places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside before you can have a crisis and run outside. He looks unfairly handsome tonight, dressed in a dark suit that fits him perfectly. So perfectly that you’re trying not to stare. You can already see what he’s thinking even though he’s trying desperately to hide it. He wants this to be perfect.
“You planned all this months ago, didn’t you?” you ask after the host leads you toward a small candlelit table.
Levi pulls out your chair for you. “Maybe.”
“How long?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Four?” His silence answers you. Your smile grows warm. “You’re adorable.”
“Just sit down.”
You sit, still smiling, and Levi takes the chair opposite yours. For a little while, everything is perfect. The restaurant is unbelievably beautiful, the candlelight catches in Levi’s grey eyes, and beneath the table, the toe of his shoe rests lightly against yours. Your waitress, Gabi, comes to get you started off with drinks. After she leaves, Levi reaches across the white cloth to take your hand, his thumb moving over your knuckles.
“Three years,” you say.
“Hm.”
“You sound absolutely thrilled.”
“Wouldn’t be here if I hated you.”
“Shakespeare has nothing on you.” Levi smiles.
Then the waiter spills both drinks directly into your lap.
Neither you or Levi reacts at first. One moment, two glasses are being carried toward you; the next, sparkling water and red wine cascade across the table, soaking the cloth, splashing your clothes, and extinguishing the candle with a tiny hiss.
The waitress freezes. You freeze. Levi looks down at the wine dripping from the edge of the table onto his pants.
“Oh,” the waitress whispers.
Levi looks at her. Gabi begins apologizing quickly, scrambling for napkins while you press your lips tightly closed, because Levi looks like he’s using every ounce of self-control to not say something that will get you escorted out of the restaurant.
“It’s okay, hun,” you assure the waitress, grabbing Levi’s wrist beneath the table before he can object. “Accidents happen.”
“They happen to incompetent people,” Levi mutters.
Gabi hears him. You know because her face crumples slightly before she flees to retrieve more napkins. You glare at Levi.
“Be nicer, would you?” you whisper.
“My socks are wet.”
“I’m sure they’ll write songs about your suffering.”
You’re quickly moved to another table, offered replacement drinks, and assured that your meals will be paid for. Forty-five minutes later, there’s no food. The couple seated beside you, however, is providing dinner and a show.
“I know about Vanessa,” the woman hisses.
The man recoils. “Vanessa is my dental hygienist.”
“You don’t floss.”
“That’s exactly why I need a dental hygienist!”
Levi slowly closes his eyes and exhales slowly. You lift your fresh glass to hide your smile, but it’s utterly useless. Laughter escapes you in a short undiginified snort.
“Don’t,” Levi warns without opening his eyes.
“I’m not doing anything,” you say shakily.
“You’re shaking the table.”
Beside you, the argument intensifies.
“Then why did she text you a tooth emoji at midnight?”
“Because I have gingivitis, Claire!”
Your shoulders tremble. Levi opens his eyes and stares at you, his mouth wavering, threatening to break into a laugh. “Why are you enjoying this?” he whispers.
“I’m learning so much about oral health,” you say.
“You’re an idiot.”
“You love me.”
“I’m starting to regret that.”
Your meals finally arrive after an hour. They’re both wrong. You look down at a plate containing something covered in mushrooms after specifically requesting no mushrooms, while Levi stares at a piece of fish he most certainly did not order.
The waitress smiles nervously. “Enjoy.”
Levi looks at you. You look at Levi. At the next table, Claire announces that Vanessa can have him. Levi reaches into his pants, pulls out his wallet, removes enough cash to cover the drinks and tip, and places it on the table.
“We’re leaving,” he declares.
You blink. “What about our romantic dinner?”
“I’m about to romance you into a cheeseburger.”
That’s how your meticulously planned three-year anniversary dinner ends with the two of you sitting in a twenty-four-hour diner, still dressed in your finest clothes, sharing greasy fries. No chandeliers, no candlelight, no quiet violin. There is, however, a sticky patch beneath your bare elbow and a milkshake so thick you nearly choke trying to drink it. Levi watches you struggle with the straw for a few seconds before sliding his own untouched spoon across the table.
“Thanks,” you say.
“You looked pathetic,” he scoffs.
“You’re the most romantic man alive.”
“I booked the other place four months in advance,” Levi grumbles, poking at a fry.
“This is so much better, though.”
His brows draw together slightly, wondering if you’re just trying to make him feel better. He knows you wouldn’t do that to him, though. “Honey, your clothes are stained.”
“So are yours.”
“And the food took an hour.”
“But we found out Claire’s boyfriend has gingivitis.” Levi chokes out a laugh. You reach across the table and take his hand, threading your fingers through his. “I mean it. This is perfect.”
Levi looks over your face for a long moment and you watch the disappointment and hint of anger leave him little by little, his shoulders relaxing as his fingers clench around yours.
“I wanted to do something special,” he says.
“You did.” You lift his hand and kiss his knuckles. “You threatened a waiter with just your eyes, rescued me from a mushroom invasion, and bought me fries. I’ve never felt more cherished.”
“She spilled wine on you.”
You laugh. You’re not even mad about it anymore. “And you looked like you were ready to challenge her to a duel.”
“I was considering it.”
“I know. It was very sexy.”
Levi rolls his eyes, but his thumb strokes slowly over your hand, betraying him.
A little later, when you leave the restaurant, he drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders despite your protests. You walk toward the car hand in hand, but Levi suddenly stops in front of a storefront.
“What?” you ask.
Levi draws you closer by the waist and kisses you slowly. You make a small noise of surprise, but you still wrap your arms around him, running your fingers through his undercut. The stupidity of the evening melts into the feeling of his mouth against yours. When he pulls away, his forehead rests briefly on yours.
“Next year, we’re staying home,” he says.
“Only if there are burgers,” you smile.
“There’ll be burgers.”
“And no Vanessa.”
“I’m never going to a dentist again.”
Your laughter follows you all the way to the car.