Lisa arrived fashionably late. It seemed she suddenly decided it was very ladylike to be fashionably late, or something along the lines of what her mother had taught her, and what she had unfortunately not been able to drown out. She had nothing to blame but her slow pace, her reluctance to finally open the door of the restaurant and see him. She couldn't even blame her heels, which were only little stubs. Before entering the restaurant she took a breath and closed her eyes, wishing there was a way out of this.
She had been telling the truth in her owl to James. If she canceled, it would look bad for the both of them. Her father had gotten the reservations on short notice because the owner owed him a favor. She, nor her family, would probably never be able to show their faces again in that restaurant if she were to cancel. Apparently, the restaurant had reservations months in advance, they would have been lucky to get in in late July. Along with that, she would never hear the end of it from her mother, who particularly liked that restaurant, if not for the food, then for the handsome waiters. Despite those consequences, she was very tempted to turn away and apparate home.
In one last attempt to stall her entrance, she stood aside and smoothed the skirt of her dress, but found that there was no wrinkle to smooth out. With a sigh, she entered, told the maitre d' the correct name, and was guided to her seat. Of course her eyes landed on James. She looked away quickly, positive that their eyes had not met. The maitre d' pulled out her chair. Ashamed, her cheeks darkened in color and she drew her eyes downward, never once glancing at James as she took her seat and situated herself. She hardly said a word, but greeted him, at least as well as civility asked, and quickly seemed to become engrossed in what was on the menu before he could answer her.