Saturday took forever to come.
Lying hastily to Ruth about finding a new dress for an upcoming party, escaping Kallen’s view in time before sneaking out, rushing into Alistair’s car with my hours-to-attempt updo entirely coming undone, and driving off to Trinity Mall at seven on Sunday isn’t how I thought our date would unfold.
All the imperfections didn’t stop my heart from racing and didn’t stop Alistair from stealing glances at me—all through the ten-minute silence. I wanted to take Alistair somewhere he’s never been to before, and Montana’s BBQ and Bar was the first place to pop up in my mind.
Montana's interior is lit with discs of pale lemon light cast on glossy wooden counters. White-aproned waitresses glide in and out. We sit at a red-leathered booth staring up at rods of smooth
