I smoothed my hands down my thighs, trying to flatten the silk. The fabric felt cool and thin under my palms, a sharp contrast to the heavy winter coats we usually wore by mid-October.
“It is just a dress for my birthday,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “I wanted to look nice.”
He reached for the keys in the ignition, his thumb remaining pressed against the metal casing of the keyring. He did not turn them, but the threat remained clear in the gesture.
“Nice is one thing,” he said, looking straight through the glass doors of The Gilded Lantern. “This is screaming for attention.”
“Jake and Lily spent weeks planning this,” I said, my hand resting on the plastic door latch. “They saved their own money to pay for this table.”
“Then they can enjoy it with you,” he said. “Go on in. I will wait here.”
“Damon, please. You cannot stay in the car.”
