Diarmid leaned back in his seat and watched as Lita sipped her wine, set the glass back down nervously and looked out the window. They had ordered the special menu per Sheila’s recommendations and the server had just left them with a glass of wine each and a promise to be back with the amuse-bouche. Lita had flicked the server an annoyed glance when she’d lingered a hair too long and he wondered what was up before pushing the thought away.
He smiled as he considered how nervous she appeared, her fingers frequently pushing an invisible strand of hair off her cheek. She was on edge, and he knew he was putting a ton of pressure on her for her first date, but Conor had given him a gift in his comment the night before about being okay with him dating Lita and he wasn’t letting the opportunity
