Chapter 7
HARI
“I hope Remy likes my choice of venue and doesn’t think it’s weird.”
“Night, boss. Looking good. Don’t burn the place down.”
My instructions to Remy were to dress up because the venue was fancy. I’d told him to meet me at the showroom, and he’d no doubt be thinking we’d go to the restaurant from there. But there was nothing better than having a meal on and surrounded by our furniture.
We had a living room and a dining area. The large mahogany table was set with silver cutlery and large silver candle holders. A bottle of wine was tucked into an ice bucket and hors d’oeuvres were on the coffee table.
I hadn’t cooked, but I’d asked Remy if he had food allergies and what his preferences were. If he didn’t like the meal, we could go for burgers and eat in the park.
Standing back and admiring the scene, I patted my shoulder and said, “Good job.”
The phone dinged. I’m here. If you're not ready, I can park.
Yes, do that, please, and come in.
I had a moment of self-doubt and wished I’d booked a restaurant.
“Too late now.” After straightening my jacket, I opened the door and hugged Remy.
“Nice.” He kissed my cheek and insisted I turn around. “I need the full 360.”
He looked pretty good too. He was yummy, good enough to eat, but I kept that to myself.
Taking his hand, I led him toward the living room setting. He surveyed the scene, and his brows shot up, but that was followed by a big smile.
“Oh, we’re having nibbles here before we go out.” He clapped and slung an arm around my shoulder. “How clever.” He gave me another kiss on the cheek.
He plonked himself on the sofa and took one of the hors d’oeuvres. His eyes lit up. “Yum. Did you make these?”
I wished I had, but I was friends with the owner of the deli in the next street and he’d sent them over.
“Nope.” I took a smoked salmon one. “A friend.”
Remy cocked his head. “A someone who makes nibbles for your date. Must be a very good friend.”
Surely he didn’t think I was involved with the guy and he was okay with me going on a date with someone else?
“He is and so’s his husband, and I adore their kids.”
Remy giggle-snorted. “Sorry if I came on a little too strong.”
I poured us each a wine, and we clinked glasses.
“What shall we drink to?” I asked.
“To us!”
“To us,” I repeated.
He put his arm along the back of the sofa. He looked at home in the middle of the finely crafted furniture with his hair slicked back and wearing a jacket.
“Tell me how you came to own all this.” He waved one hand toward the other room settings.
“It was handed down from grandfather to son and then to me, the grandson.”
“There aren’t many of your types of business left. They’ve been undercut by conglomerates.”
“True. We provide a level of craftsmanship that is dying out.”
He nodded and sipped his wine before getting up and wandering to the dining room area. “And am I to guess this is for us, or are we inviting passersby?”
“It’s not weird, is it?” I explained that we’d have no privacy in a restaurant and here we had the whole place to ourselves.
Remy shrugged. “One man’s weird is another’s everyday.” He picked up the linen napkins. “Besides, I like people with quirks.”
“Cheeky telling me I’m quirky.”
“Oh, did you think I was talking about you?”
I would have tossed a cushion at him, but it probably would have hit the candelabra and started a fire. He closed one eye and beckoned me closer.
“Come here.”
I poked out my bottom lip and strolled toward him, swaying my hips and hoping he noticed how damned hot I was.
“I love my quirks with a side of—” He studied the table. “A setting fit for a king.”
My phone buzzed with the notification the food was almost here. “Hold that thought.”
He smacked my butt as I pushed past him. “Shame. I thought I was having you for dinner.”
Shoot! Was he thinking we were giving each other blow jobs or rimming one another on the sofa or between the candles? After tipping the delivery guy with cash—I kept wads of bills just for tips, as I didn’t use it otherwise—and very shaky hands, I carried the food to the table.
“Smells heavenly.” Remy side-eyed me. “Food smells good too.”
I plonked the food down and grabbed him, putting a hand on either side of his face. “Your quips remind me of an obstacle race. I’m never quite sure what’s next.”
His smile vanished. “I can tone it down if I’m too much.”
I chuckled. “Nah. Everyone has to be who they are, and I adore you, just as you are.”
He pecked my lips and grabbed the food, saying he was starving. Me too, and though my belly was grumbling, I wished a blow job was on the menu. Peering into the bag, I confirmed none had been delivered. But Remy was right about the food smelling yummy.
We spread the containers on the table and chose what we wanted with antique serving spoons.
“Tell me about yourself.” I wiped my mouth with a napkin.
“My grandparents immigrated here, so I’m second generation. They live with my folks now and are supposed to be enjoying their retirement, but they’re not good at sitting still.”
We chatted about their love of gardening, and I said there was a community garden a few blocks away. “They might consider putting their names on the waiting list for an allotment.”
We finished eating, and I asked Remy if he wanted to take the leftovers home, but he suggested I keep them for my lunch tomorrow.
“Stay where you are and I’ll get dessert.”
He peered over his shoulder. “You’re not running to the deli, are you?”
“Ta-da.” I brought out the chocolate mousse I’d made at home early this morning. Thinking Remy and I might feed one another spoonfuls of the chocolatey goodness, I gave him a long-handled spoon and got one for me.
He eyed it. “Interesting.”
“It's a parfait spoon.”
“Even more interesting.” He studied his reflection in the back of the spoon, and I could have sworn the light in his eyes dimmed. Did he not like what he saw? But he recovered and his expression returned to the upbeat, flirty one.
He dipped it into the mousse and took a mouthful as I waited to see if he liked it. He closed his eyes. “Mmmm, this is delicious. It’s so light and fluffy.”
I couldn’t move or speak because he was mesmerizing, licking the chocolate off the back of his spoon. There was a dollop in the corner of his mouth, and I was tempted to grab a napkin to wipe it off. Licking it would have been preferable, but we didn’t know one another that well.
But Remy lapped at the morsel, and I gripped the table, fearing I’d slide off my chair and onto the floor.
“Delectable.”
That was how I’d describe him, but he checked his watch, and my excitement plummeted.
The light in his eyes didn’t go out so much as darken, and I longed to know what was going on in his head.
He was bored or he had somewhere else to be, but this was where the flaw in my plan was made clear.
I couldn’t invite Remy to stay the night in the bed that lay just beyond the dining room.
Hmmm, I should have thought of that and had our date at my place.
“We should clear up.” Remy glanced around, maybe looking for a kitchen. We had one, but it wasn’t functioning. I’d wash the dishes out back and thought we could do it together. But with him checking the time, I gave him an out and assured him as the host, it was my job.
“I had a lovely evening.” He took me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.
My car was here, so he wasn’t going to offer to drive me home. I really needed to examine my plans from every angle before coming up with another. This one was kinda fucked.
Remy hesitated at the door. Yes, he was going to suggest we spend the night together. But he gave me a look I interpreted as longing before he slipped into the night. I didn’t move until he pulled into traffic and beeped, and I lifted a hand to wave goodbye.
I locked the door and faced the mess of dirty dishes, melted candle wax, and leftovers. The not-so-perfect end to a fun evening with a bummer, full stop. At least I didn’t have to think about lunch tomorrow or dinner.
When I was finally done, I checked that everything was in its proper place and the clients wouldn’t find mustard on the chairs or mousse on the floor.
Trudging to my car, I wondered if Remy had gone home or if he was out clubbing or gallivanting around the streets.
I knew where he lived, but I drew the line at stalking.
The love-at-first-sight gig wasn’t all it was made out to be.