You can handle this. It's only a couple of hours. He isn't going to kill you. Just pretend it's a date, okay? Now forget that you haven't really ever dated and are probably bad at it and relax. You'll be okay.
"Yes, sir," Ambrose says. He looks like he's about to make a mad dash for the door.
"Thank you for driving me, Ambrose." I look up at him and smile gently. He nods his head and keeps his gaze on the ground like he isn't allowed to look directly at me.
"Enjoy your evening, Miss Kendrick, Mr. Whitlock," and with that, my buffer is gone. It's now just the two of us. I turn my head back to look over at the man in front of me and give him a gentle smile.
"Nervous?" he asks me. I can't lie. His direct eyes on me make me feel as though I'm hooked up to a lie detector machine. I nod my head and break out into a shy grin.
"Yes, I am. I've never done this kind of thing before," I admit. He tilts his head and watches me, his own lips curling into a gentle smile.
"How did you get involved in this?" he asks as he takes a sip of his water, ice cubes clinking against the glassware.
"My friend Poppy, she has... um, well, she's done this kind of thing before." I feel uncomfortable using the proper terms. I'm not even sure I know them.