Chapter 27
CHARLIE
Troy picked a small, intimate French restaurant located in an unpretentious open mall just twenty minutes from the house. The décor is rustic with a whimsical touch thanks to the exposed brick walls and twinkling lights hanging from them.
There’s no hostess; we’re greeted by the chef himself as we come through the door. He ushers us to our table in a flurry of excited comments.
“ Monsieur Alexander. It’s so good to see you. Oh, and you brought a lovely mademoiselle tonight.”
“Yes. This is our first date.”
“Is that so? Oh, then you need our very best table. Come this way.”
Not long after we’re seated at a cozy table in the corner, our waiter comes with the menu. “Can I interest you in something to drink?” he asks.
“Would you like a cocktail first, or straight to wine?” Troy asks me.
I can’t answer. I’m too awestruck at the moment. “Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe just sparkling water for now.”
“Same,” he tells the waiter.
When he leaves, Troy turns his attention to me. “I have to ask you this because I feel like I’ve already messed up royally. What are your favorite drinks?”
“You didn’t mess up. The champagne was a nice touch.”
He narrows his eyes. “Was it though? You barely touched it.”
“Because I didn’t want to get wasted before we even left the house.”
“Oh. Okay then. Are you saying you’re a lightweight?”
“To certain alcoholic beverages, yes. Champagne is one that goes to my head quicker than others. But I’m fine with drinking tequila shots or Duck Farts, for instance.”
Troy’s eyebrows shoot to the heavens. “Duck Farts? What in the world is that?”
“It’s a combination of Kahlúa, Irish cream, and whiskey. But I prefer it without the Kahlúa. It’s delicious.”
“Noted. Would you like to have that instead of wine? I’m sure they can make it for you.”
“Oh no. I don’t think it goes with French cuisine. Wine is fine.”
“Does it also go to your head faster?” His lips curl into a mischievous smile.
I watch him through slits. “Why do you want to know, Troy? Are you planning on getting me drunk so I can lose the bet?”
He widens his eyes innocently. “Me? Of course not. Are you implying you turn into a nympho under the influence?”
My face bursts into flames. No, you’ve turned me into one, Troy.
“I’m not saying that at all,” I lie.
I’m already hanging on by a thread. Sitting across from him in his suit jacket that makes him look like he just sprang from a fashion magazine, plus being under the allure of his intoxicating scent, is already doing crazy things to my body.
I really don’t need to add alcohol to my system; it’ll shut my brain down, and then my body will take control.
“Okay. Just checking.” He opens the wine list and does a quick perusal of the menu. “Do you have any preference in mind?”
“Oh please. I know nothing about wine. You go ahead and pick.”
He looks up. “What gives you the idea that I know about wine?”
“Aren’t you a regular here?”
“Kind of. This is Grandma’s favorite restaurant. I always come with her, and she chooses the wine.”
“I guess we’ll just have to gamble then.” I wink at him.
He scrunches his nose. “Maybe we’ll let the waiter suggest something.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The server returns with our water, and after we tell him we have no clue about wine, he’s more than happy to suggest a bottle. We turn our attention to the dinner menu, and I’m faced with the impossible choice of selecting what I want. Everything looks delicious.
“Besides your unusual reaction to alcohol, anything else I should know beforehand?” Troy asks.
I chuckle. “What do you mean by unusual?”
“I’ve never met someone before who would get drunk from a glass of champagne but could handle copious amounts of tequila and whiskey with no problem.”
“What can I say? I’m special.”
“Oh, I know that.” He smirks.
I watch him through slitted eyes. “Somehow I feel your statement has a double meaning.”
“Maybe, but nothing bad. I promise.”
I open my mouth to ask him to elaborate, but the waiter returns to take our orders, and when he leaves, I decide to let the subject drop.
“How long have we been living together?” Troy leans back, obviously comfortable. Even though I pegged him to be a rowdy jock when we met, he fits perfectly in this sophisticated environment. He’s like a rogue prince from a fairy tale.
“I don’t know. Almost two months?”
“Right. And yet I only know that you’re into LARP and board games, and you want to be a journalist. Is that correct?”
“Partially. I don’t want to be a journalist. I want to write fiction.”
“Oh, that’s cool. Are we talking books or maybe a screenplay?”
No one has ever asked me that before. Whenever I mention I want to write fiction, all I get is a pitiful glance.
I get it, making a living as a fiction writer isn’t the easiest career path.
Even with the growth of indie publishing, it takes dedication and long working hours to succeed. And even so, many people never do.
“Both? I don’t know.” I reach for my water.
“Have you written anything that I can read?”
I take a sip and then answer, “Yes and no. I have written plenty of stuff, but it’s not ready for the public eye yet.”
“Oh come on. Why not?”
“Because… I don’t think I’m ready to open myself to criticism.”
“You write for the newspaper. Aren’t people reading that?”
“Yeah, but it’s different.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know.”
I sense my barriers going up. My muscles are tense, and I can’t wait to change the subject. As different as Troy and I are, he’s the only one who seems to know exactly where my weak points are.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you into a corner,” he says. “How about you ask me the tough questions?”
I’m not sure if his comment was meant to remind me of when we first met, but his eyes are devoid of mirth, so maybe it was just a coincidence.
The waiter comes with our wine, and I’m thankful for the interruption.
Wine is poured and tasted. Not surprising, it’s amazing.
After I take a couple of sips, I glance at Troy. “Where were we? Oh, it was my turn to grill you.”
“Oh boy.” He smiles casually, unaware of what it does to me. He’s so beautiful that it makes my heart ache with the need to be close to him.
“What do you want to do when you graduate?”
Troy hangs his head low. “Ugh. You had to go there.”
“Come on. It’s not a hard question. You’re a senior!” I say, trying to suppress my laughter, knowing Troy is being dramatic on purpose.
“I know. I’m a business major, but while most of my classmates are all set with internships or actively looking for a job, I haven’t done any of that.”
“You can always work for your father.”
“Are you suggesting nepotism, Charlie?” He grins.
I shrug. “I mean, it makes sense.”
“Nah. It’s bad enough that he pushed me into that direction. I have no desire of actually working for him. I’m thinking about taking a year off to go travel, see the world.”
“With all expenses paid by your parents,” I note and then regret it immediately. That was a judgmental comment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, I get it. Easy assumption, but no, they wouldn’t pay for it. It’s actually a job opportunity of sorts.”
“Oh, how so?”
“I was approached by a digital media company a few months back. They have a YouTube channel, and they’re looking for athletes to create content for them. The pay is minimum—it’d only cover basic traveling expenses—but the experience would be priceless.”
I can see the excitement shining in his eyes.
He’s eager to do it, and that brings a sudden pang to my chest. It’s ridiculous.
We’ve only known each other for a couple months, and I’m not even sure the status of our relationship yet.
It’s definitely too new for me to be feeling sad about the possibility of Troy leaving.
“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”
“Not yet. I have time. Besides, many things can happen between now and then.” He pierces me with one of his intense stares, completely messing with my ability to breathe properly.
“True.” I take another sip of wine, trying to hide the effect he has on me. “A while back, I looked into the possibility of participating in an exchange program.”
“You mean, studying abroad for a semester?”
“Yeah. I was looking into partner schools in Europe.”
“I take it you didn’t apply?”
Sadness takes over me, and I regret opening my big mouth. “No, I didn’t.” I glance at my plate.
“Why not?”
With a sigh, I look at Troy again. “You’re going to think it’s stupid.”
“No I won’t.”
“I didn’t want to leave Ben for that long. I know he has my parents, but… I don’t know. Told you it was a stupid reason.” I reach for the glass of water.
“It’s not stupid. You’re very protective of him. I get it. I’m also like that with Jane.”
“But you’re not letting that keep you from going places.”
Damn it, Charlie. This conversation is getting too heavy and depressing. It’s time to change the subject.
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure, like what?”
“Tell me your thoughts on Ophelia having two boyfriends.”
Troy scrunches his face up as if he’s in pain and groans. “God, I try my best to pretend they’re just friends.”
The appetizers arrive, and we take a break from the ten-thousand-questions game.
I don’t know how our conversation got deep so quickly.
Maybe because we’re not really complete strangers.
I worry for a bit that we’ll end up messing up, such as saying something thoughtless and going back to bickering and arguing.
But once the food arrives, we keep our chitchat light.
* * *