Amber
Pulling into the parking lot of Le Chantelle's made me feel instantly out of place. The restaurant’s front facade alone screamed luxury—polished marble steps leading to double glass doors with gold-trimmed handles. A valet dressed better than I did opened the car door with a stiff nod and didn’t even blink twice at our beat-up vehicle, though I caught the way his eyes subtly flicked over our clothes.
Ian stepped out first and held the door open for me like always. I adjusted the strap of my bag over my shoulder, already feeling out of place. My scrubs had been exchanged for a modest black blouse and jeans, but I still looked and felt like someone who didn’t belong here. Ian, on the other hand, somehow made simplicity look graceful. In his button-down and slacks, he blended in a lit
