CHAPTER 18
ARI
Our table was a large round one, much nicer than the usual rectangular version where someone got stuck on the end and you wound up talking to the person next to you all evening. Dawson tucked himself and Violet into the corner, backs to the wall, the position that clearly made him the most comfortable, and I reached for the chair beside Violet because the other option was sitting next to Baylee. A waiter practically sprinted across the room and yanked the seat out, huffing out an apology to Violet that he hadn’t managed to get there in time.
“Oh, it’s fine.” And when he’d left, she added under her breath, “Get nominated for a couple of awards, and people think I can’t work a chair anymore. Or a door, or even my own feet.”
Dawson laughed. “Vi isn’t a fan of golf carts.”
