"Really? What time?"

"Eleven sound fair?"

"Yes!" I hugged him, wrapping my skinny arms all the way around his neck. "Thank you, Dad."

"Just happy to make you happy." He rubbed my back, and as I pulled away, sitting beside him again, my butt landed on the remote, starting up the film he'd been watching. I went to apologise, but my eyes strayed from his smile to the TV set, stopping on the tiny dancer, gracefully billowing across the screen.

"I'm sorry, honey." Dad grabbed the remote and went to turn it off; I placed my hand over his.

"Wait. I want to see."

He lowered the remote and I rose to my feet, walking slowly over to watch the only piece of my mother I had left.

"Did she ever tell you about this concert?" Dad asked.

I shook my head.

"It was the year before she quit ballet."

"Before she had me?"

"Yes." He stood beside me. "It was Swan Lake."

"I know." I smiled, watching my mother dance. "I did this one last year for our ballet recital."

His arm wrapped my shoulders. "I remember. You were such a beautiful dancer."

"I think I inherited that from Mom."

"Yes." He looked at the screen. "Among other things."

I looked up at his watering eyes. "You miss her, too?"

He pressed stop on the remote and the screen went black. "I always will."

A moment of silence passed between us. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"What for?"

"I...I'm just sorry-about everything."

He looked down at me, his eyes narrowing tightly on the inner corners. "You know, honey, if there's something you need to tell me-"

"Thanks, Dad." I hugged him softly, squeezing once before backing up. "I do know that."

"Okay." His concerned smile dropped for the warm one I always loved. "Well, you go on now and have a good night. Promise?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I promise."

As I closed his door, the gentle hum of piano followed me out into the hall again.

"Are you okay, Ara?" David called from downstairs.

"Uh, yeah," I called back. "Just gotta throw on some jeans. Won't be long." I slipped into the cleanest-smelling pair of jeans I could find on my floor and grabbed the blue zip-up sweater from my dresser, then scrunched my hair up a few times and grabbed my purse as I stumbled out the door.

"You won't be needing this." David took my purse, appearing out of nowhere, and ditched it back into my room. I heard it hit my bed with a dull, leather-sounding thud.

"Why won't I need that? Don't they sell food there? I'm starving."

He shook his head, unamused. "You know I won't let you pay for your own food."

"Why? Is my money dirty?" I followed him down the stairs, my careless feet thumping loudly behind his barely audible footfalls.

"No." He opened the front door. "But when a guy takes a girl on a date, he should pay. It's the way I was raised."

"Well-" I sauntered past him; he closed the front door behind us, "-it's weird."

"Don't pretend you object to me treating you as a lady."

"Maybe I do."

Despite that, he still opened the car door for me. "Why do girls always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Spill that equal rights nonsense-argue that we're taking their independence by opening a door for them. That's just not the case."

"Well, what is the case?" I sat down on the front seat, leaving my feet on the driveway.

"Simply that we're demonstrating good breeding; showing the girl we're worthy and capable of taking care of her-that we're polite, considerate, nurturing."

I folded my arms. "Women don't need nurturing-or to be taken care of. We can fend for ourselves. We're equal to men, you know."

"Ara." He stared down at me, the skin under his eyes tight. "I'm not disregarding equality by being a gentleman; I'm exercising chivalry."

"That's outdated, though, isn't it?" I challenged, with a grin.

"Never," he said in a high tone. "Why should courtesy be outdated-or offensive? Is it not polite to offer a pregnant woman your seat on a bus?"

"Yes, but that's different."

"Why?"

"Because she's pregnant."

"Then, if you want equal rights for all, it would only be polite for me to also offer this to a woman who is not pregnant. Or to the man playing Angry Birds on his iPhone."

"This is getting off topic." I swung my legs into the car. "The point is-" Argh! What was my point? ...Oh yeah. "The point is that I should be able to pay for my own food if I want."

"And you can, but not when you come out with me. I have rights, too."

"So...I'm taking away your rights by buying my own food?"

"Absolutely."

"What a load of rubbish."

"Think of it like this; some girls believe exerting independence by denying a man his own rights to be respectful demonstrates strength. But women are incredibly strong. We already know this. So, unfortunately, by labelling chivalry to be insolent, she is merely robbing the next generation of civility-ensuring the extinction of well-mannered men. It's my right and duty to preserve the tradition."

"Not all women consider it good manners when a guy forces her to accept a free lunch." I tightened the fold of my arms.

"Oh, really?" He looked down at me with one brow arched. "Yet, if I neglected to wrap my jacket over your shoulders on a cold evening I'd be regarded as a jerk."

"I-"

"I'm a gentleman, Ara. Get used to it." He closed the door on my retort and appeared suddenly in the seat next to me.

"How do you move so quick?"

"I don't. You just faze out all the time."

David pulled into an angled space outside the buzzing corner cafe and shut the engine off. "Welcome to the best burger joint in town."

Beyond the flashing pink and blue signs on the windows, the generation gap seemed to be left behind; kids sat on chrome-rimmed stools by the milk-bar, singing Elvis songs loud enough to hear from here, while others gathered around the white billiard tables on the lower level. Even the staff, in their flaring poodle skirts and sneakers, seemed to have jumped right off the Grease film set. "David?"

"Yeah."

As I looked back at him, he smiled softly, comfortably, as if he'd not taken his eyes off me the whole time. "I'm sorry about the whole independence thing. I think it's really sweet that you're a gentleman."

He nodded, taking my hand delicately. "I know."

"You do?"

"Yes. I can see right through your girl power act, young lady."

"Oh, really." I leaned back in the chair, my eyes employing a defiant glare. "And what exactly do you see, Mr Know-It-All?"

"I see..." He leaned forward, luring me into his private little world. "I see a young girl who just wants to be loved by a man worthy of her."

Several retorts came to mind, none of them sassy and creative like I wished. I went with "Aw, how romantic," squeezing my fists tightly to stop from launching myself into his arms.

"Come. Let's get some food." He turned slowly and hopped out, closing the door quietly behind him, then appeared by my door, offering his hand.

As my fingers touched his, blood rushed up with a quick skip of my heart, and I drew my hand back. "Wow, you are really cold tonight."

"Yeah. I know." He looked at his hand, rubbing his thumb over his fingertips. "They get cold when I drive."

"Mine get cold when I do homework."

"Maybe you should avoid it then."

"Maybe I like cold hands," I said, walking beside him, and when he smiled down at me, I caught sight of his fangs.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

"I was just thinking." I braved rejection and reached for his hand again; he let me take it. "With those pointy canines and cold hands-you could pass as a vampire."

His sudden boisterous laughter made me smile. "Better watch out then; we are on a dinner date, after all."

"Hm," I said. "Guess I better order garlic then-or maybe a steak."

"A steak?"

"Yeah, you know...?" I prompted, stabbing my heart with an invisible stick. "As in...a stake?"

David shook his head, but a warm smile sparkled in his eyes as he opened the cafe door and the nineteen-fifties time warp enveloped us.

"I would guess, by the look on your face, that you like it," he said.

"It's great. Crowded, though."

"When you taste the food you'll see why."

My stomach groaned.

"Ah, I see the very mention of sustenance has awakened the ogre." David grinned at my belly.

"Stop laughing," I said, covering it.

"Make me."

"I can, you know." I looked up at him. "I'm tougher than I look."

He pinched my bony wrist between two fingers and held it up. "Yeah. So much muscle."

"Shut up." I laughed, punching him softly in the arm.

"Ouch." He rubbed it. "That really hurt."

"Really?"

"No." He smirked, offering a seat nearby. "I was just trying to be nice."

I slid into the booth, shaking my head, and David shuffled in beside me, coming closer each time I moved over to give him more space. It wasn't until my shoulder and arm pressed against the cold glass that I realised it wasn't more space he wanted, but less between us. I looked into my lap, smiling to myself. "Have you..." I cleared the nerves from my throat. "Have you seen the others yet?"

"By the pool table." He tilted his head in their direction, without taking his eyes off me.

"Hm. Didn't even see them when we walked in." I leaned around him and watched Emily and Alana-covering their mouths, giggling at Ryan. "Are they checking out his butt every time he takes a shot?"