Chapter 32
SELF, WE NEED TO TALK
SHARI
Jake guides me into the restaurant with his hand splayed low on my back, and after giving his name to the hostess for the reservation, he turns to eye me up and down again.
I can't help but feel a bit like prey for some reason.
It's probably just my nerves. I have no idea how this evening is going to go, but it's a significant step for all of us.
He leans closer and breathes into my ear, “You look absolutely delicious, Amour. I can't wait to devour you later.”
The hostess informs us that the rest of our party is already here and leads the way to the table.
It really is a beautiful restaurant. The lights are dimmed to create an intimate ambiance and the soft classical music adds to the effect.
The tables are all glass topped with elegantly curved bronze legs, polished to a high shine.
High-backed black leather chairs with the same shining bronze legs bracket the tables, and candle votives are dotted around everywhere.
My heels click on dark hardwood floors, and the complementary pale, sage green walls have subtle shaker mouldings for added character.
A huge, bronze-framed mirror takes up the top half of the wall at the back of the room and I have to school my features when I see my reflection.
I look like I'm walking to the guillotine.
Our hostess stops next to a table, but I don't hear anything she says because Brad stands from his seat, and he is breathtaking.
He's wearing a grey suit with a powder blue shirt that makes his eyes appear to glow.
His suit jacket hangs on the back of his chair, and as he stretches his arm out to shake Jake's hand, his cufflink winks in the candlelight.
The surfboard cufflinks I bought him for Christmas.
It makes me wonder how Larissa feels about him wearing them tonight.
I look up to find his eyes waiting for mine, even as he makes his introductions with Jake.
He steps around the table to give me a hug and kiss on the cheek, and much like Jake did earlier, he breathes in my ear, “You look absolutely stunning, Blaze. Just stunning.” Goosebumps erupt over my entire body, and I really need to snap out of it.
Self, we need to talk. You are on a double date; you are with Jake and Brad is with Larissa. Stay. In. Your. Lane!
Speaking of Larissa, she practically bounces over to me and crushes my boobs against her in a very enthusiastic hug.
“I’m so glad we're doing this! You look amazing, by the way.
And this place is so nice! I've been checking out the menu online all week because I keep changing my mind about what I want. Are you drinking tonight? We were going to order a bottle of wine for the table, but thought it would be best to wait for you guys in case you wanted something different. Are you a red or white girl? Or maybe a rosé, even? Or I guess you might not even like wine. Do you? Oh wait, I know you at least drink chicken wine because Brad has some at his house for you. Is that your preference?” she turns to me, having finally managed to stop her rambling, her bottom lip firmly trapped between her teeth.
She really is kind of adorable and I find it impossible to dislike her.
Her obvious nerves actually help to settle my own, too.
“Hi Larissa,” a real smile for the first time since we got here graces my lips, “thank you, you look beautiful, too. I haven't looked at the menu yet, but maybe I should have. I prefer rosé, but I'll drink most whites. How about you? Also, what is chicken wine?”
She visibly relaxes and huffs out a small laugh, “Oh, it's what I call the rosé you like, because it has chickens on the label.” She looks down at her feet as she blushes, “I’m happy with whatever you guys want to order, though.”
Jake's hand slides around my waist and down to grip my hip.
When I look up, his smile seems to be all sharp teeth, and it sets my nerves on edge.
I step out of his grip to lower into the chair since I can't exactly question his mood without making it a whole thing.
But I realise too late that I've plopped myself into the seat opposite Brad, not Larissa, as I intended, so I grab the menu quickly to have something to hide behind.
Tension abated for the time being, we strike up small talk and order a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. “I understand you went to Exeter Uni, and your parents live in Plymouth,” Jake directs at Brad. “How come you don't have a West Country accent?”
“Ha! I asked the exact same thing the first time I met his family. None of them do,” I grin.
Brad smiles back at me before replying, “I was born and raised in Winchester, and we only moved to Plymouth when I was fourteen. I guess my original accent was ingrained by then. You don’t exactly have a Bristolian accent either, Jake. Were you born here?”
“No, I’m actually from Cheltenham. My late wife was from Bristol, I moved here for her,” his jaw clenches so I grab his hand. It can’t be easy thinking about how she betrayed him. “And how about you, Larissa, are you from Bristol originally? You do have that slight twang.”
Larissa ducks her head and a flush spreads across her cheeks, “Yeah, I'm Bristolian through and through. But I think I managed to lose the stronger edges of my accent in uni.”
“Oh, where did you go to uni? For some reason, I assumed you'd stayed local,” I ask, dipping a slice of bread into the olive oil and balsamic vinegar mix.
“I went to University College London. I just wanted to get out of Bristol and see what life was like in the capital for a while.”
“One of my besties went to UCL!”
“Really? Who?” Brad asks, seemingly intrigued.
“Max. She got a BA in education something-or-other. She’d always wanted to open a baby sensory centre but decided she needed a degree first, just in case.
Wait, is that the degree you did too, Larissa?
I realise something-or-other isn’t an actual degree title, but…
” I trail off, snorting at my lack of memory.
“Most likely,” she nods eagerly. “There are only a handful of undergraduate degrees for education there. Maybe we were there at the same time and just didn't know it!”
My smile softens because she's honestly so sweet, “I doubt that, hun. We graduated when you were around five.”
“Oh. Right,” her gaze drops to her lap, and she blushes even harder. “Sorry, I always forget that you're so much...that we're not the same age.”
“And I, personally, love the ego boost that gives me.” I reach my foot across the space under the table to nudge hers, but apparently miss the mark, which becomes clear when Brad gives me a questioning glance. Oops, wrong leg.
“And? Was London all you thought it would be?” Jake's tone feels too hard for the question, but I can't fathom why.
“It was fun, but it was really expensive. And busy. So busy,” her eyes are comically wide. “Ultimately, it just wasn't for me, but I'm glad I experienced it firsthand.”
“I find most people over-glamorise the capital when really it's just a glorified shit hole.”
“Jake!” I chastise. “London might not be everyone's cup of tea, but that's a bit harsh.”
His jaw tenses, “You're right, that was uncalled for. Most of my delays tend to be to or from London, so I guess I just have whatever the opposite of rose-tinted glasses are when I think of the city.”
The waitress returns to take our food order, and Larissa is still torn between two dishes.
Jake clucks his tongue in impatience and I arch a disapproving brow at him.
He at least has the decency to look sheepish, but when I order the lamb I'm struck dumb to hear him mumble, “Are you sure you want to choose such a fatty meat? You know I adore your figure, Amour, but you must appreciate how hard it is to stay in shape after forty. Perhaps you’d prefer to get the chicken salad?” My eyes flick up to see if anyone else heard him, but Brad is busy helping Larissa decide on her main course.
Since I'm exactly the kind of person who will double down when someone tries to coerce me into something, I ask the waitress to add a side of cheesy garlic bread.
I'm also going to choose the most calorific dessert, even if I'm too full to breathe.
Because fuck you Jake, that's why. I don't understand what's gotten into him tonight.
That muscle ticks in his jaw again, and I can sense Brad staring at me from across the table, trying to figure out what set off my obvious stubborn streak.
The waitress leaves with the menus, and that horrible tension trickles back in, so I drain my wine and try to lighten the mood.
“So Lizzie said the funniest thing today.
Pickles was in one of his moods where he wanted to be outside, but not if we weren't out there with him, so he constantly had me letting him out into the garden only to come running back in when I walked away from the door.
And it got to a point where I was getting nothing done except letting the cold air in, so I blurted ‘For fuck's sake, Pickles!’ without thinking.
But thankfully Lizzie hadn't been paying attention.
Or so I thought. Because ten minutes later when he came back to beg me to let him out for the twentieth time, Elizabeth shouts, ‘Box ache, Picka!’ It was the cutest, most ridiculously inappropriate thing and I couldn't breathe for laughing. I wish I'd been filming it!”
Brad and Larissa burst into laughter at this, and I barely hear Brad's solemn promise to get her to do it again when I clock Jake's silence as he stares across the table. When he notices my questioning gaze, he forces a smile and hum that I think is meant to emulate a laugh.
“Shari, I meant to say earlier that I love your necklace. It's so pretty! Can I ask where you got it?” Larissa gushes.