Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Astrid
“Sparkling water, please.”
The server nods as he taps something on his tablet screen before directing his attention to Berk. “And for you, sir?”
Berk smiles at him and holds up a hand as if he’s asking for a moment. Then he looks at me. “No lemonade and gin tonight, Astrid?”
I shake my head. “This is a dry dinner for me. No alcohol.”
With a nod, he glances up at the server again. “I’ll have sparkling water too.”
“You don’t have to refrain because of me,” I pipe up. “I don’t mind at all if you order something stronger.”
The server’s brow perks. “What will it be, sir?”
“Water,” Berk repeats. “Sparkling water will be just fine.”
“I’ll give you a few moments to look over our menu.” The server taps the corner of the menu he placed in front of me. “If you have any questions, please wave me over.”
He turns to approach three people seated at another table.
“Have you had your fill of London lemonades for the month, Astrid?”
I look up to catch Berk staring at me. “For the year, maybe.”
He lets out a laugh. “Perhaps for a lifetime. I’d recommend you switch to dirty martinis.”
“I’m not giving up on my favorite.” I pretend to pout.
“Yet,” he adds. “After trying a dirty martini, you may see things differently.”
“Maybe at some point, I’ll try one.” I rest my back against my chair. “I’ve never been one to drink that often, but it can take the edge off sometimes.”
“Yet, tonight, you don’t feel on edge.”
It’s true. I don’t, so I agree with him. “Not at all.”
“Neither do I,” he confesses. “Have you been here before?”
I could lie and say this is my first time, but I dated an insurance broker who loved this restaurant. It was our go-to almost every Friday night before heading to his apartment.
“I have,” I say quietly.
I scan the restaurant quickly, hoping that I won’t spot him.
It’s not that I harbor any feelings for him still, but running into exes isn’t on my to-do list tonight or anytime.
“With someone you think might be here tonight.”
I glance at him.
“You’re looking around as if you expect to spot a familiar face.” Berk’s gaze wanders to the people sitting near us enjoying their dinner.
“I don’t see anyone I know.”
A grin ghosts his sinfully sexy mouth. “Good.”
“Do you see anyone you know?” Curiosity pushes that question out of me.
Although he made it clear that he’s only looking for sex, I assume that means that he’s looked for the same with other women before I wandered into his life.
Maybe he has a pattern of taking women to this restaurant before he takes them to bed.
He probably has a hotel suite that he leads women to right after they’ve eaten their last bite of dessert.
He keeps his gaze on my face. “The only person that I want to look at in this restaurant is you.”
I can’t hold back a smile. “That’s a great line.”
His eyes lock on mine. “It’s not a line. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, Astrid.”
As much as I want to believe him, I know where this date is headed.
My dress will be off within the next two hours. He’ll see the black silk bra and matching panties that I put on earlier.
Then we’ll be nude.
“Let me put it this way.” His hand snakes across the linen tablecloth to cover mine.
“There is something about you that is captivating. It’s not just that you’re drop dead gorgeous.
There’s your singing voice, your laugh, and the way you welcome everyone into your store as if they’re the most important person in your world at that moment. ”
I take the compliment to heart and smile. “They are. At that moment, they are the most important person in my world.”
He looks into my eyes again. “I hope for this moment in time, for tonight, I can be the most important person in your world.”
“That’s the jingle to that peanut butter commercial, isn’t it?” Berk raises his chin as he asks the question. “I’d know that anywhere.”
Placing my fork next to my plate, I nod. “You’re good at this.”
“I’m good at this?” He huffs out a deep laugh. “You’re the one who knows every goddamn jingle ever written.”
I shake my head. “Only the ones for the products I use.”
This conversation started as soon as our dinner arrived. A woman strolled past our table humming a tune.
I mumbled the name of a specific brand of paper towels.
Berk chuckled and told me he had recognized the song she was humming too but couldn’t quite place it.
From there, he started humming other jingles to challenge me.
I identified seven in a row.
The peanut butter jingle was my first test of the depth of his knowledge. He recognized it almost immediately after I sang the first two lines of the lyrics.
“What was it like?” he asks as he takes a sip of water.
“What was what like?”
“Having a mother who was famous.”
Not so long ago, I couldn’t talk about my mom without tearing up, but time and acceptance have helped me view her death from a different lens.
I’m grateful that I was fortunate enough to be her child and immensely happy that we spent so much time together before ovarian cancer took her from me.
“She would have loved that question.” I laugh. “Once, on the subway, a guy bumped into her, and she turned around to tell him off, but before she could say a word, he pointed at her and yelled that he knew her.”
Berk smiles. “Did he know her?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “She asked him when they’d met, and he said it wasn’t like that. He was her biggest fan…”
“So he knew the song?” Berk asks before I can finish my sentence. “He knew she was the woman who sang Sweet Night Sky?”
I bite the corner of my bottom lip. “He didn’t.”
His brow furrows. “You lost me.”
“He thought she was someone else.” I glance at the tattoo on my wrist. “Apparently, a woman who won a baking competition show around that time looked like my mom, and the man was convinced that he was talking to the champion.”
Berk taps his finger on the table. “How did your mom handle that?”
“Like a pro.” I chuckle. “He kept asking her what the secret ingredient in her cherry pie was, so she told him it was gin and a splash of freshly squeezed lemon juice.”
His gaze drops to my wrist. “Becky Byrd knew how to make an impact on people, didn’t she?”
“Everyone she met.”
“Just like her daughter.” He looks into my eyes. “You had your first drink with her. It was a London lemonade.”
Surprised that he pieced that together, I smile. “I did.”
He clears his throat. “Maybe I should try one again the next time I hear Sweet Night Sky.”
“You should,” I say quietly. “I think you’ll like it.”
He catches my hand in his again. “I think I will, too, if I’m sharing it with you.”