Chapter Nine Double Dates and Other Disasters
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“Cameron,” she hissed frantically. “Change of plan.”
He looked at her in confusion. “What do you…?” Then he followed her gaze and swallowed hard.
“Is he going to remember us?”
“I don’t know.” Despite the steadiness of his voice, his lovely face was several shades paler than usual, and those drumming fingers had gone still. “I’ve never done that before. I mean, I’ve never done that and then run into the person again.” He paused. “What’s the new plan?”
“I’m throwing myself into the sea.”
The two exchanged an awkward glance before she offered the only thing she could manage. “Improvise.”
Easier said than done.
As the couple closed in, her feet stopped working, and her brain shut down, unable to come up with one single feasible lie to explain their previous encounter. She merely held onto Cameron’s arm like a life preserver, pivoting from one crazy idea to the next.
I have an identical twin. So does he.
Sounds like you got hypnotized. You should really look into that.
I have no idea what you’re talking about, and you can’t prove anything.
Please excuse me, I forgot I have a previous engagement and am very late for my appointment to permanently move to Venezuela.
Good options were in short supply.
“You made it!” Sherry scooped her into a hug, air-kissed both of her cheeks, then held her at arm’s length as Brie plastered a delighted look on her face and tried very hard not to swallow her tongue.
“You look glorious, love. That dress! Don’t lose this one,” she added, eyes flashing with a hint of warning before turning back to her companion. “Brie, I want you to meet Mike. Mike, this is Brianna Weldon, my best friend in the world.”
Brie’s knees were shaking, and she was still wondering about Venezuela’s extradition laws when Mike stepped forward and warmly took her hand.
“Mike Mitchell. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” His voice was friendly — lilting, with a slight Southern drawl. “Sherry talks about you constantly. It almost feels like we’ve met before.”
At this, Brie let out a strange, yelping laugh that she immediately regretted and shook his hand, hyperaware that she’d ranted about bears and gummy worms the last time they’d met.
“I’ve heard so much about you, too,” she exclaimed in reply. “Yeah, almost! It almost feels like that. But of course, we haven’t because how could we? Right?” She let out another high, weird laugh and consciously forced herself to shut up and stop shaking his hand.
What an inconvenient time to be having a full stroke.
Sherry was amused. “Looks like someone decided to pre-party a little bit. Well, who could blame you after the day you’ve had?” She gestured to the angel at her side. “Mike, this is Cameron, Brie’s backcountry savior and the possible reincarnation of Rudolph Valentino I was telling you about.”
The two men shook briefly, but Mike lingered, staring with a peculiar expression.
“Very nice to meet you, Mike.” Cameron stepped back quickly, giving Brie a steadying squeeze on her shoulder. “Brie and I have been looking forward to it.”
Brie startled at his use of her nickname. He was usually so formal. She was definitely still having heart palpitations but approved the general sentiment.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Mike continued to stare at Cameron’s face, perplexed, before suddenly blurting, “Are you a model or something?”
Sherry spun around to look at him. “Right? I told you. If Hollywood ever gets ahold of this one, it’ll be a hot minute before he graces our Virginia shores again.”
“No, it isn’t that. It’s just, you look so familiar.”
Cameron froze for a split second, then flashed another blinding smile. “I’ve heard that since I was a kid. Just have one of those generic faces, I guess.”
Sherry let out a bubbling laugh. “‘One of those generic faces?’ Oh, you sweet summer child. If your face were in any way standard, the rate of human scientific accomplishment would slow to a crawl, as no one would ever leave the bedroom.” She gestured brightly towards the tables. “Shall we go sit down? I need a glass of wine, an oyster shooter, and a fantastic conversation with my best friend.”
Brie allowed herself to be swept along by the group, willfully ignoring the way the marine life followed their party as the hostess guided them to a table on the patio under an ivy-laced arbor lit with little white lights.
“I’ve been wanting to try this restaurant for months but couldn’t talk him into it.” Sherry tipped her head towards Mike as he held the chair for her. “More comfortable in a uniform than a suit and tie, I suppose.” She playfully grabbed his tie and tilted her head up, pulling him down for an upside-down kiss. “Then, out of the blue, he called yesterday and said he’d made us a reservation.”
Cameron and Brie shared a quick look before he pulled out her chair as well.
“What a thoughtful idea,” he replied. “It’s a shame I didn’t think of such a thing myself. Could have scored some big points with this one.”
He cocked his head suggestively at Brie, who was gulping down water at an unreasonable rate. Every so often, her eyes would flash to the aquarium, dilated in secret fear.
Mike nodded graciously, settling down, but his eyes kept shooting back to the angel. Perhaps it was the cop in him, maybe it was that handy bit of hypnosis rising back to the surface, but no matter how hard he tried, he was utterly unable to let it go.
“Okay, this is not one of those faces.” He kicked back in his chair, only to earn a sharp look from the ma?tre d ’ . “Are you an actor? Were you ever in a commercial?”
Cameron self-consciously laughed and shook his head. “No, I’m…” He blanked and looked at Brie.
She was hiding behind the wine list, silently willing him to remember: Weather, sports, hobbies, job. Art if you’re stuck.
“I’m afraid not. No acting skills whatsoever. Not even as a hobby,” he concluded with a bashful grin. Then he held up his hand like he was checking for rain and, quite incorrectly, chose to pair this gesture with the comment, “My, isn’t it unseasonably warm tonight?”
“It really isn’t,” Mike murmured. “And I could swear I’ve seen you before.” His eyes glazed over, scrolling through a list of possibilities. “Maybe it was something through school…?”
Cameron shifted ever so slightly in his chair but never lost that perpetual calm. “You know what? I was actually thinking the same thing about you.” He leaned forward and casually slid Brie’s water out of arm’s reach. “What do you do for work? Sherry mentioned you’re more comfortable in a uniform?”
“I’m an officer with the Yorktown PD. Definitely more comfortable in a uniform. But for Sherry?” Mike pulled in a quick breath, his eyes sweeping the wealthy establishment. “I’m willing to venture out of my comfort zone a bit.” He glanced down at the menu, trying and failing to find anything resembling beer. “They’re not going to force-feed us frogs or something, are they?”
Sherry touched his arm. “Not unless you catch them yourself, dear.”
Brie sank deeper into her chair and stared blankly at the wine list, wondering where in the Virginia State Penal Code it expressly prohibited tampering with the mental faculties of a policeman and what the penalties might be.
I wouldn’t be having this problem in Venezuela.
“So, not a model and not an actor.” Mike abandoned the menu and turned again to Cameron, steady and unblinking. “What line of work are you in?”
“These days, I’m in private security.”
Mike tilted his head curiously. “And before that?”
“I conducted a long-term study about human attitudes regarding thanatological care.”
Everyone at the table paused. Brie peeked out over a list of Australian pinots.
Well, that certainly counts as improvisation.
“An academic!” Sherry beamed. “Beauty and brains. Excellent. Now, Mike, stop interrogating the poor man. Shall we get a bottle for the table? And who wants appetizers?”
A waitress appeared, and Sherry ordered their first course. The others busied themselves with their menus, searching for anything that looked familiar in a sea of foreign words. At least, everyone except Mike, who was still studying Cameron’s face and not making much effort to hide it.
“Were you writing a book?”
Cameron glanced up, looking slightly caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
“About human attitudes toward thanatological care,” Mike clarified. “Was it some private study for a healthcare company? Or were you writing a book? Because that just means, how people feel about those who care for the dying, right?”
Brie looked at him, surprised.
Beauty and brains, indeed.
As inconvenient as it was currently making her life, she had to hand it to Sherry. The girl had wonderfully discerning taste and seemed to have found a kindred soul. Mike was sharp as a tack.
And impossible to deter.
Cameron held his gaze for only a moment. “You could call it a private contract. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details. But I have considered writing a book about my findings one day.”
Sherry looked back and forth between the men before scolding, “Mike, you promised.”
He blinked quickly, roused by the sound of her voice. “You’re right. I’m sorry, babe.” He turned to Cameron, flashing an apologetic grin. “I have a bad habit of taking work home with me.”
“No problem,” Cameron said easily. “I have a habit of doing the same.”
A strange uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Brie nervously cleared her throat. “So, how did you two meet?” she asked a little too brightly.
Sherry had clearly been waiting for this question. She immediately dropped her menu and placed all ten fingertips on the table in front of her, throwing conspiratorial looks all around.
“It was the sweetest thing. There I was, minding my own business, holding my venti flat white and singing along with Brandi Carlile, when Siri made me turn the wrong way down a one-way street. Obviously, I screamed and dropped my coffee, ruining my favorite suede boots, by the way, when this guy,” she playfully shoved Mike, “showed up, lights flashing, siren blaring, and had the audacity to try to give me a ticket, when the fault clearly lay with my phone.”
Brie and Cameron took each other’s hands under the table.
“Well, as you can imagine, I was having none of that,” Sherry continued reasonably. “I started explaining the situation, and as I did—”
“As you colorfully did,” interjected Mike.
“—as I did, he started laughing. Laughing . At me . Can you imagine?”
She waited for them to imagine, then continued at full speed. “So, I yelled at him, explaining the concepts of manners and Southern hospitality. I was just getting to the inestimable loss of one’s favorite pair of shoes when he handed back my license and asked me out for a drink.”
Mike took her hand affectionately. “What can I say? I was smitten.”
Sherry grinned. “What can I say? I love a man with good taste. Plus, the uniform doesn’t hurt. Neither do the handcuffs.”
The waitress materialized with a bottle of Chablis and a round of oyster shooters. After the pour, everyone raised their glasses as Sherry proposed a toast. “To Brianna and her new chapter. I’m so proud of you, love.”
Everyone clinked with a murmured, “To Brianna.”
“To Brianna,” Cameron echoed softly, locking eyes with her.
They both took a little sip — the first of what would be many, many more to come.
? ? ?
As sweet as the gesture might have been, the upscale restaurant turned out to be a bit of a disaster. The menu was entirely indecipherable for anyone who hadn’t spent a significant amount of time living on the opposite side of the Atlantic. Or in a supernatural parallel world.
In an ironic twist of fate, the only member of their party who seemed remotely at ease was the one who had been most concerned about the outing in the first place. Cameron ordered for everyone in perfect French after they pointed and told him their choices, then proceeded to have a brief but apparently charming conversation in the foreign tongue with their waitress, a platinum blonde wearing sky-high heels who laughed as she collected the menus and clicked off to the kitchen.
“Have you spent much time in France?” asked Sherry, clearly impressed.
Cameron glanced up, surprised to see they’d all been watching. Like most things about the entrancing angel, he seemed completely oblivious to his effect on the people around him.
“Not for many years,” he replied, taking a sip of his water. “I’m afraid I was quite put off after a particularly rowdy time in Paris.”
“Oh yeah?” Mike asked with a faint grin. “What happened?”
Cameron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh, you know. People just lost their heads.”
Brie drained another glass.
It should have been helping, but the more the friends nervously gulped their overpriced wine, the more they began to fidget and stress in their high-backed chairs. And the more they fidgeted, the more they drank.
It was the kind of place that looked great in movies, the kind of place that looked promising when you drove past it on the quaint Virginia road, but in reality, it was so over-the-top pretentious as to make one question why they’d bothered strapping themselves into stilettos in the first place.
Brie stared down at her five dinner forks, feeling rather grim.
“I still don’t know what I ordered,” Mike whispered to Sherry, reaching for his wine glass, only to realize he’d finished it just a moment before. “Seriously, it could be anything.”
“Could you stop worrying?” she hissed back, trying her best to act perfectly at ease, though her elbow kept slipping off the table. “It’s going to be fine.”
“A good lawman never stops worrying,” Cameron interjected with the hint of a Southern twang. “He just learns when to show it and when to keep it to himself.”
The rest turned to stare at him.
“It’s from one of your old Western films,” he said hesitantly. “I thought it might apply.”
Brie gave him a hard stare. The wine had taken hold, and she found herself asking, “Did they teach you that in thanatology school?”
He blushed and looked at the table. “Just trying to make conversation.”
Mike leaned forward with that dogged curiosity. “What do you mean, one of your old Western films?”
Cameron blinked, then gestured to Brie. “She loves them.”
She let out a quiet breath, rubbing the sides of her eyes. “I love them.”
“She watches them all the time.”
“I watch them all the time.”
The four of them lapsed into silence until Sherry shot her a sudden look. “You hate Westerns.”
At that moment, their waitress glided towards them, balancing a silver tray in her emaciated arms. She took one look around the awkward table, then flashed a reptilian smile. “Did someone order the ris de veau ?”
That accent is completely fake.
“I did.” Mike sat forward quickly, pleased that he’d memorized the words for that exact moment. “That was me.”
She laid the plate in front of him. “Bon appétit.”
Sherry leaned over with a dubious expression, giving it a delicate sniff. “What is that, exactly?”
Brie glanced over as well while Cameron appeared to be stifling his amusement.
“It’s sweetbread,” Mike said quickly, latching onto the tiny English translation some other flailing American patron had scribbled onto the side of the menu. “It’s just… bread?”
Doesn’t look like it.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Sherry echoed Brie’s thoughts, lifting her eyes to the waitress. “Excuse me, miss. Do you happen to know what that is?”
The woman flashed it a cursory glance. “It’s sweetbread,” she answered as if they hadn’t been saying it all along. “Our chef breads and pan sears the thymus gland of a lamb, then serves it with a lovely assortment of vegetables and cheeses inside the stomach lining of a baby cow.” She adjusted the angle of her silver tray. “Who ordered the rabbit?”
The friends stared back in silence. They stared at the plate.
Then they got up in unison, left a stack of cash on the table, and fled the restaurant.