Chapter 22
Bailey
French Cuisine and Romance
“Why are you changing clothes?” Emma asks as she dashes into my bedroom.
Flinging off my flannel shirt, I say, “He’s taking me to Le Chateau Gourmand.”
“The French place?” Emma squeals.
“Yes!” Bustling around the room, I rifle through my closet looking for a nice dress to wear.
The minute Levi told me that he wanted to romance me, so I’ll consider a future with him, all my self-doubt dissipated, like air from a popped balloon. If Levi Nyberg wants to romance me, why would I turn him down?
“Here, put this one on,” Emma says as she pushes me aside, searches through a couple hangers, and hands me a black dress.
“This one is kind of tight,” I grumble.
Emma rolls her eyes. “It’ll look great on you, try it.” She helps me slip it over my head, and we both smile when our eyes meet in the full-length mirror.
“You should wear tighter fitting clothes more often,” she teases while my cheeks turn pink. “Sit and I’ll help with your makeup.”
There’s no time to protest as she pushes me into the chair by my nightstand. “Close your eyes,” she instructs, then starts applying eye shadow.
“What else are you doing?” I ask when it feels like she’s drawing on the corners of my eyes.
“You’ll see,” she says with a chuckle.
I try not to fidget when she applies mascara on my lashes and lip gloss on my lips. “Open your eyes!”
Gasp! The woman staring back at me has a sophisticated, sexy look. “Wow!” I say in a breathless voice.
“Your boyfriend is going to pass out when he sees you in this,” she cackles with pride.
“Did you give me cat eyes?” I ask, peering closer into the mirror in amazement. I’ve always been envious of all those celebrities who can pull off this look. Maybe I can pull it off, too.
“Yes, that’s going to turn Levi’s head,” she says. “By the way, he’s a hottie,” she adds with a sassy wink.
My heart flutters. “Levi is a hottie and I pinch myself that he’s interested in plain ol’ me.”
“You aren’t plain,” Emma admonishes, making me realize that I vocalized my thoughts. “You’re beautiful inside and out,” she says, giving me a quick squeeze. “Now go turn that man’s head! And enjoy yourself at the Frenchie place.”
“Thanks Emma. You’re the best!” I say as I slip into a pair of high heels. Hopefully I won’t break my neck wearing them. I pace around my bedroom a couple times, getting used to the shoes, then I give Emma a thumbs up and sashay down the hall. My grand entrance into the living room misses the mark because Levi is preoccupied with his nose stuck in his phone. I clear my throat and he quickly looks up.
His mouth drops open in approval as he stares at me for several, long seconds. Eventually, he blinks and walks over to me. “You look spectacular,” he says, the expression on his face tells me that wearing this tight dress is going to be worth it.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Ready,” he says, offering me his elbow, just like a well-seasoned gentleman. Levi helps me into his vehicle. His eyes keep glancing over at me as he drives to the restaurant. I feel like Cinderella riding in her coach with Prince Charming at her side.
~*~
“This place is over-the-top,” I whisper after we arrive at the restaurant and are seated. There’s a hush in the room, most people speaking in soft murmurs, and it feels like we’re in a library.
My eyes glance around the room, taking in every detail. Ten to fifteen round tables are scattered around the floor, with enough space between each one to feel intimate and cozy. The tables are covered with pristine white tablecloths, made from cloth, not paper. Every table has two or four chairs surrounding it, and each table has a lit candle positioned precisely in the middle, the flame flickering as waiters clad in black suits walk by, gently stirring the air. My fingers itch to adjust the candle a couple inches off center. Music catches my ear, and I notice two men, also in black suits, playing violins as they stroll from table to table.
Levi smiles but doesn’t reply to my comment because one of those ninja waiters interrupts my gawking. He stops at our table, deftly pours water into our glasses, the ice gently tinkling against the sides, yet not even a drop gets spilled on the tablecloth. He hands us each a one-page menu written in a fancy, almost illegible font. “I’ll give you a little time to look over the menu.” He floats away on silent feet, vanishing behind a stainless-steel door, into what must be the kitchen.
I squint to read the paper and my brows draw together because there’s no prices listed on the page. Who orders without knowing the price?
“I know what you’re thinking.” Levi speaks softly, leaning towards me so I can hear him.
“What am I thinking?” I whisper.
“You need to know the prices before you order.”
A frown tips my lips “Okay, you got me. What if I order the priciest item on the menu?” I whisper.
“Neither of us will know,” Levi points out, assuaging my concerns.
“I forgot to share our special,” a low voice says, breaking the oppressive quiet and making both of us jump. The ninja waiter is back, staring at a small pad clasped in his hand. “Tonight’s special is jumbo shrimp sauteed in a Marsala wine sauce, on a bed of pasta, with a side of bittersweet Brussel Sprouts and oven fried potatoes,” he drones in his quietly modulated voice.
Oxymoron overload! I avoid looking at Levi, so I don’t giggle when the waiter uses so many of those paired contradictory words in the same sentence. “If you prefer steak, we offer a semi boneless cut, also with a side of the Brussel Sprouts and potatoes.”
This time Levi throws me an amused look that says, “how can the steak be semi boneless ?” I bite my tongue and count backwards from one hundred inside my head.
“Our specialty dessert is a sixteen-ounce pound cake that the two of you can share. There’s also non-alcoholic beer and wine along with our full bar of alcoholic drinks. I’ll give you a little time to look over the menu.” Again, he floats away on silent feet, vanishing behind the stainless-steel door to the kitchen.
A snicker slips from my lips, and I put my hand over my mouth to suppress the sound. Levi coughs into his napkin, both of us attempting not to laugh uproariously. Other patrons toss us disapproving looks as if our low snickers are interrupting their dinners. This place really does feel like a library. Continuing with my countdown, I finally manage to get my mirth under control when I reach thirty-eight.
“So, what are you going to order?” Levi asks, his voice cracking with a partial laugh.
Holding up my hand, I squeeze my eyes shut and say, “I can’t look at you! Don’t make me laugh. I’ll never stop.”
He snorts as I resume my silent countdown. Thirty-seven. . . thirty-six. . . thirty-five. . .
“I think I’ll have that jumbo shrimp with the bittersweet Brussell Sprouts and oven fried potatoes. Would you like to split the sixteen-ounce pound cake?” Levi asks a few seconds later.
My eyes pop open. He’s sporting a poker-face expression, but I detect a playful twinkle in his eyes. Two can play this game.
Glancing over the short, five entrée menu, my eyes land on the perfect choice. “I’m going to order the boneless ribs topped with fresh dried fruit in a spicy brown sugar reduction. I’ll forgo the pound cake but will have the low-fat ice cream and decaf coffee with non-dairy creamer .” Another snicker slides out, although I do manage to keep a straight face.
He squints first at me, then at the menu, then does a double-take. “You didn’t make that up!”
“I think the person responsible for the menu specializes in oxymorons.”
Our eyes lock and our shoulders shake as we both try to contain our amusement.
Thirty-four. . . thirty-three. . . thirty-two. . .
~*~
“Oh my! That was delicious,” I say in a hushed tone, looking with chagrin at my now empty plate. Thankfully the portions were small, so I was able to enjoy every bite.
“Do you still want dessert?” Levi whispers, suppressing a teasing smirk.
“Yes, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll split that sixteen-ounce pound cake with you, but maybe we can order a smaller portion?”
He chuckles. “Perfect!” he says as he subtly signals to our waiter.
“How may I help you, Sir?” My ears barely pick up the man’s low tone, which comes out one decibel above a whisper.
“We’d like to order that pound cake. Does it come in any other size?”
The man’s bushy eyebrows draw together. “Any size other than sixteen ounces?”
Levi nods.
“I believe a pound is always sixteen ounces, Sir.”
Levi’s eyes widen, and I bark out a laugh, unable to contain myself. When the waiter gives me a disapproving look, I cough into my napkin, then take a sip of my ice water.
“Okay, sixteen ounces or a pound will be fine. Either one,” Levi croaks, just barely containing his mirth.
“Very well, Sir,” the man says, throwing both of us puzzled expressions, then walking away.
“Is it just me, but aren’t those descriptors a bit redundant?” Levi mutters after the waiter’s out of earshot.
“I think we’ve found the source of the oxymorons,” I whisper giggle.
The cake arrives on a silver platter, with chocolate shavings and whipped cream on top. The imp inside me desperately wants to weigh the cake to confirm it is, in fact, a full sixteen ounces. Setting that thought aside, I manage to eat one large slice, while Levi consumes the remainder.
“Do you want to order anything else?” I tease.
He grunts. “Those main course portions were miniscule, I needed every ounce of that sixteen-ounce pound cake.”
Barely suppressing my hoot of laughter, Levi quickly stands and pulls me up beside him “Let’s get out of here before we get the boot,” he says. Levi pays the bill, and we hightail it back to his vehicle. We quickly enter the vehicle, close the doors and immediately burst out in peals of laughter. We laugh for at least a full minute, letting free our pent-up amusement. I wipe tears from the corner of my eyes and sag back in the seat, exhausted over the laughing spree.
After our amusement runs its course, Levi turns serious eyes to me and says, “I want to talk about moving to Anaheim. With how quiet the restaurant was, I didn’t think that was the place for this discussion.”
My heart sinks wondering if this is going to spoil our perfect evening. I still have my doubts about moving to California, but I’m willing to hear him out. “I’ve been reading your Anaheim propaganda, and it sounds like a nice place,” I say.
He nods. “This discussion isn’t about Anaheim, it’s about you and me.” His voice takes on an even more serious tone and my heart stutters.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“I approached our relationship the wrong way by asking you to move to California with me.”
“You did?”
My heart drops like a rock. Doesn’t he want me to move to Anaheim with him any longer? Rather than feeling relieved, I begin to feel crushing disappointment.
“I did. I should have given you this first,” he says as he fumbles around in his suit’s tiny jacket breast pocket.
“Um, just a second,” he says when he realizes that pocket is empty. He moves on to pat his right pants pocket and a look of concern flits across his handsome features.
Haven’t I watched this scene before? At the wedding? My heart beats faster.
He checks his left pants pocket and grins. When he pulls out a ring, my heart stops. “Will you marry me?”
“Marry you?” I squeak. A proposal is the last thing I was expecting.
“Yes, marry me,” he replies. “I know we haven’t been real dating for very long, but that fake, real dating at the wedding does count,” he teases, then his expression turns earnest. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Bailey.”
I hesitate as I stare into his gorgeous brown eyes. “If this was a Hallmark movie, we’re supposed to break up first,” I blurt, grasping at straws for why I shouldn’t accept.
He frowns. “This past week felt like a break-up. I’ve been so down in the dumps because I messed up my relationship with you,” he says. “Do we really need another break-up just to satisfy the romance gods?”
“Well, no,” I reply, knowing I’ve been down in the dumps, too.
He beams at me, his smile like a burst of sunshine healing my wounded heart. “Do you want to make this thing between us official?” he says, wiggling the ring under my nose.
It’s as if the missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle falls into place. What I wanted all along was to know that Levi and I have a long-term future and that this isn’t just a short-term fling.
Marriage sounds pretty long-term!
Grinning from ear to ear, I grab the ring and slip it on my finger. “Yes! I’ll marry you, Levi Nyberg.” He pulls me in for a smoking hot kiss. Whew! Lucky he didn’t ask me to marry him at the restaurant because this knee-weakening kiss would have shocked everyone in that stuffy, straight-laced place.
Wait! A terrible thought slams into me, and I pull out of the kiss. “Did Nana twist your arm to ask me to marry you?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. She merely asked me about my intensions concerning you and why I asked you to come to California with me. Her exact words were, ‘Does that mean you just want to play house with her? Or do you have longer term plans?’” He reaches for my hand and clasps it firmly in his much larger one. “That made me realize that I want to be your long-term plan. I love you, Bailey Adams.”
A few happy tears slide down my cheeks. “I love you, too, Levi Nyberg”
He reaches up, swiping the tears from my face. “What’s next? Are we planning a wedding?”
My eyes crinkle with mirth. “How about we elope?” I suggest. “Josh and Sydney’s wedding was enough for me.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Yep, I’m sure. Let’s go to Vegas and get hitched. Aunt Margaret will insist on holding a little party when we get back, but we can keep it small and simple.”
A broad smile splits his handsome face. “You’re one of a kind, Bailey Adams. Am I ever glad that I answered the door for your DoorDash delivery rather than Joey.”
I arch my eyebrows. “Did Joey almost answer the door? I don’t remember hearing a scuffle.”
Levi gives me a flirty look. “Joey knows better than to scuffle with me. I’d take him out.”
His chest swells with pride and I smack him on his arm. “Don’t get too much of a swelled head, I might change my mind. Joey’s still available.”
Frowning, Levi says, “No backing out.”
“There’s no chance of that, I’m not in love with Joey,” I answer with a laugh. “I fell in love with you the minute you swung open that creaky door.”
Levi whips out his phone and jots a note.
“What are you doing?”
“Reminding myself to get some WD-40,” he says, then leans across the console and kisses me again. My future feels bright with Levi at my side. He’s the fake...er...real boyfriend...er...real fiancé, I didn’t even know I wanted.