There Was No Seat for Me at the Luxury Restaurant. By Dessert, They Regretted It

beating harder than I wanted it to. James closed the door behind us.

“Are you alright?” he asked — not gingerly, not like someone handling breakable material, but like someone who wanted an honest answer.

I took a breath and checked.

“Yes,” I said. “Actually, I think I am.”

Margaret lifted her glass when I sat down.

“To women,” she said, “who stop asking continue reading …