16. Nick
Chapter sixteen
Nick
The goal: look like a loving couple out on a date.
My label has “leaked” to some paparazzi that we’ll be dining at Ciel on the Upper East Side.
Several social media posts have alleged that we broke up because they haven’t seen us out together since the night we went dancing.
Someone posted a shot of me huddling with Sayo after rehearsal and claimed I had a new girlfriend.
But thankfully, a long-term fan posted that it looked like Sayo and me walking together.
This goal might be harder than the MusEn publicist imagined, because Maddie is clearly frustrated that she doesn’t yet have a break in her investigation.
Hopefully, the soothing bistro ambiance of this restaurant works its charms. Small round tables are set up across a black and white–tiled floor, with large green trees interspersed between, and a bar along one side.
An enormous copper hood commands the corner with a grill underneath (the specialty is grilled steak), with another bar with stools surrounding that cooking area.
On either side of the bar mirror are vintage French posters on the white-tiled walls.
We’re seated on a huge, circular, deep-green velvet couch surrounding a table.
A candle flickers in the votive in the center.
Maddie seems to absorb the décor and puts her phone away.
Our waiter hands us our menus and then asks if we’d like tap or bottled water, flat or sparkling. We both say “tap” at the same time.
“This is the utter opposite of Strangelove,” I say.
“Don’t say I don’t take you to the best places,” Maddie says.
“I think that’s my line…” I tip my head to point out the crystal chandelier glinting above us and the green velvet couches.
We’re seated in a corner with some space between us and the surrounding tables. I’d asked for as much privacy as possible. I don’t have to make it easy for the paparazzi. I want to be able to talk to Maddie freely.
I promptly reach across the narrow table to hold Maddie’s hand, lacing my fingers through hers. I like holding her hand. There’s something about the way Maddie relaxes a bit when I do. She’s so hard-charging, and yet, when our palms touch, it’s like she wants to stay in this moment.
“I can’t study my menu if you’re holding my hand,” she says.
“Why not?”
“It’s distracting.”
“Distracting?” I ask. “In a good way or a bad way?”
She smiles at me. “Both good and bad.”
“How so?”
“It’s comforting. Your hand is always so warm. And I like the way I can feel where your skin is rough from playing the guitar. It makes it feel more real.” She pouts. “But it’s distracting when I need to study this menu.”
Maddie’s pouting… Is she flirting with me?
“Maddie, what a surprise to see you here!” a voice intrudes upon our conversation. “You must introduce me to your boyfriend .”
The woman says the word “boyfriend” as if she can’t quite believe it. Maddie also doesn’t look thrilled to see this woman. Is she one of the bullies from middle school?
“This is Nick,” Maddie says. “Nick, this is Sarah.”
Nemesis?
No way. She looks different without a helmet and face mask.
Sarah introduces the man she’s with as her boyfriend.
I stand and put out my hand. “Nick Devlin. You work with Maddie, right?”
Sarah looks surprised. “Wow. I didn’t think you’d know my name.”
“Well, sometimes we talk about work,” I say. “And obviously, I’ve met Maddie’s close friends, like Jing.”
A corner of Maddie’s lips kicks up on my emphasis of the word “close,” and then she compresses her lips back into a straight line.
“I like coming home to Nick and getting his perspective on whatever I’m working on,” Maddie says.
Sarah looks back and forth between us. “You’re a dark horse, Maddie.”
Maddie shrugs but doesn’t seem to take umbrage.
“She’s a thoroughbred,” I say. “I’m the one who’s fortunate because Maddie agreed to date me.”
I cringe inside. That sounds so cheesy. I sit, a little embarrassed.
But Maddie gives me such a warm smile, and she reaches for my hand this time.
“We seem to be superfluous,” says Sarah’s boyfriend.
Maddie and I both say that it was nice to meet them and turn our attention back to each other, as he pulls her away.
“Thank you,” Maddie says simply.
“I can’t believe she said that in front of me. And I meant it,” I say. “Thoroughbreds are smart and hardworking with an even temperament but also spirited.”
A faint blush stains her cheeks.
“You last likened me to a bear. I seem to be improving.”
“Bears are also very intelligent and social, but they do like to sleep, so that was a compliment,” I say.
Maddie tilts her head, as if considering this, but then nods. “She seems to be our main stalker. I can’t believe she followed us to this restaurant. Are they seated so they can see our table?”
“Yes, and Sarah is the one facing us,” I say.
“That’s too bad,” Maddie says. “She’ll probably study us to see if we’re really dating. But that was so great that you knew she was a colleague, and brilliant job on mentioning Jing. Well done.”
Now it’s my turn to look pleased.
We study the menus and give our orders to the waiter.
Maddie is wearing this light-green scoop-neck dress, and she looks really pretty. I mean, she always looks pretty, but that scoop-neck collar is driving me insane because it shows off her creamy skin. I want to feel if her skin is as soft as it looks.
“Do you know where or when the paparazzi will photograph us?” Maddie asks.
“No,” I say. “We’ll have to be romantic all night.” That’s my plan, anyway.
“Do you have any romance game?” she asks.
“Are you doubting me?”
She nods. “Other than singing love songs to someone, because I’ll grant you that, I’m not sure romance is your specialty.”
“Why would you think I can’t be romantic?”
“It’s not like you could think of a particularly good cover story for how we got together, and you haven’t dated in a while, and…”
“Counting with your fingers as you itemize my flaws is definitely not going to look romantic in a picture,” I say.
Maddie drops her hand and flushes. “You’re right. Sorry.”
I lean forward. “I’ll pretend you were enumerating all the things you want to do to me later.”
Now she really blushes. I chuckle.
“Still, not exactly romantic,” she says.
The waiter places our appetizers in front of us. I pick up one of my gougères and say to Maddie, “Here, try this. Isn’t feeding you romantic?
“Mm.” She bites into the cheesy filling. I have to look away when she gives a murmur of satisfaction. Maybe being romantic right now is not such a good idea.
I eat one too.
“I’m not sure about feeding each other, to be honest, but I can give it a try,” she says. “Isn’t it a little childish?” She cuts off a bite of her asparagus-gruyere tart. “Here.” She reaches over to feed me.
I dart a glance over to Nemesis’s table. “Nemesis looks transfixed.”
“But maybe that’s because she thinks it’s cheesy.”
“It is cheesy.” I reach over with my thumb and wipe a bit of cheese from Maddie’s mouth. Her lips part. I trace her lips so lightly and so gently with the other side of my thumb.
I lick the cheese off my thumb. Our glances meet and hold, and the air feels heavy between us. I reach out again, unable to stop myself. I tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
I have to pull back. And it feels like we’re being stared at—either by Nemesis or the paparazzi. This isn’t what I want—my love life dissected or offered up to the press for their entertainment. Not for Maddie. She has the softest hazel-brown eyes. They’ll tear her apart.
What if she gets that bitter edge my mom has whenever she talks about my dad?
A black extended camera lens from behind one of the potted shrubs aimed at us snares my corner vision.
I pull back. This is a three-month fake-dating gig. That’s all it can ever be.