The Mistake

The Date

I had no idea what I was doing, or more like, what I was supposed to do. It's been a long time since I've gone on a date, months since I've even thought about going on one. Look at me now.

After what happened, I blocked out anything to do with boys and dating from my mind. But it was over now. I was ready. Am I?

Too late to back out now. The wind tugged at my hair just as Jacob's car came into view on the dark street. I looked down at my shoes and breathed in the chilled air. He pulled up and smiled at me through the car window, and I let out a breath.

I'm ready.

"So, where are we going?"

Jacob ran a hand through his hair, the other on the steering wheel. "There's this great restaurant a few blocks away. I hope you like Italian." He shot me a wry smile and looked back to the road.

"I love Italian."

We pulled up to a small, cozy looking place. Big, cursive metal letters were strung up at the top of the entrance. Lorenzo's Bistr. I was pretty sure that meant to say bistro, but somewhere along the way, the O must have fallen off. Candles were placed on each table, giving the restaurant a warm, yellowish glow. Jacob opened the door for me, and I tensed when his hand fell on my lower back. Relax.

He guided me to the entrance, and I was very aware of his lingering hand. The hostess led us to a table inside after a couple seconds.

"I know this place isn't much, but..." he said, sliding the chair in as I sat down.

"Are you kidding me? It's great." I preferred this rather than some over the top restaurant where everyone stared at you and made you feel as though you're underdressed.

Jacob rolled up the sleeved of his shirt and smiled. "The restaurant's actually of a close relative of my dad's." Lorenzo.

"Lorenzo's an italian name, right?" I asked him. He nodded. "Are you italian?" I asked again, eyebrows shot up in curiosity and surprise.

"Half italian," he corrected. "My mom's American. And before you ask, no I don't speak Italian." He feigns shame on his face, and I giggle.

"Really? Not even a word?"

"Well, I know the basics, I guess. My dad tried to make me learn for years, but I guess he never got around to it." If I weren't looking directly at him, I might have missed the tiny dip in his head, the slightest falter in his voice.

I could sense what was coming, but the curiosity got the better of me. "Why?"

He paused for a moment. Continued. "He, ah, passed away a few years back."

My face flushed and I lowered my eyes. "I'm so sorry..."

"It's fine. I was kind of a little kid when he died and we weren't close. It hit my sisters the hardest, though. They have all the best memories of him." I could hear the clear jealousy behind his words. As good as Jacob was boxing, he didn't seem to be all that well at masking what he felt.

In an attempt to switch the subject, I asked him, "How many sisters do you have?"

"Three, actually."