“Is everything okay?” She looked amazing, wearing an asymmetrical black dress that exposed a left leg covered in lacy stocking. Her hair was up in some kind of fancy bun with jeweled pins that matched her jeweled black glasses, reflecting candlelight from the tables and the gold evening light coming in through the restaurant’s windows. I could feel Dawn’s eyes on me, and hoped the heat radiating from my neck and ears didn’t compete with the evening sunlight. “Everything’s fine,” I said. “Dawn just—” Pete began. I felt the swift passage of Dawn’s foot on the way to Pete’s shin. He jumped, and she said, “Finn, is there anything you wanted to say?” I looked between Dawn and Heather. “Uh, I don’t know. I think I need to, ah, think about what you said.” Dawn gave me a sad look. Heather took the empty chair, and said, “You’re sure I’m not interrupting?” “It’s fine,” Dawn said. “Finn probably won’t remember anything tomorrow anyway. He has amnesia.”
