Chapter 34 Nyah #2
Inside, it was signed simply with a C inside a hand-drawn heart.
Pour Deux? I knew enough French to translate it—for two.
It sounded like the name of a restaurant, but I knew every restaurant in the Pan Pacific.
They were the competition, after all. None of them were called that.
Maybe it was the Honeymoon Suite under a new name, but I’d already been tricked once into misjudging Caleb’s intentions tonight, and I wasn’t quick to assume another tactless booty call.
I waved goodbye to Taylor and hurried inside, grateful to escape the cold. The events board near the entrance read:
POUR DEUX - RéCEPTION
The hotel events board inside the entrance seemed unequivocal yet shed no light whatsoever on Caleb’s plans for the evening. Was this just for me? It seemed elaborate, even for Caleb—the man who’d treated her to a spa day with her friends on New Year’s Eve.
“Mademoiselle Rodriguez, bonne soirée,” the man at reception said before I even opened my mouth. “Give me a moment to cover the desk, and I’ll show you upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“To Pour Deux, ma’am. Another couple is waiting in the lobby. I won’t be a moment.”
He returned quickly, escorting an elderly couple from the lobby. The woman’s silver hair was freshly permed, and the gentleman wore opaque glasses, his hand clasped firmly in hers. The way they leaned into one another told a story all its own.
“Hello,” I said, smiling at the woman. “Are you going to Pour Deux?”
“You too?” she replied. “It’s very mysterious, isn’t it?”
“I’ll say. I don’t even know what it is.”
“Mesdames, monsieur,” our host said, sounding less like a receptionist with every word, “follow me, please.” He guided us toward the elevators. “Welcome to Pan Pacific Vancouver, playing host tonight to Pour Deux.”
“Which is?” I asked, half-laughing, half-desperate.
“We are a pop-up restaurant, mademoiselle,” he said. “Tonight only, in our Royal Suite, the chef is preparing a seven-course dégustation menu for seven special couples only.”
“A Michelin-star chef,” the older woman said excitedly. “Isn’t that right, Herb?”
“That’s what you told me, Alice,” the man replied calmly.
“Exactement,” the host confirmed, scanning a key card and pressing the button for the top floor. “Your invitation, s’il vous pla?t.”
“You have an invitation?” I asked, my mind reeling at the fact that one mystery was solved before being replaced by another.
Alice unfolded hers, showing us both. It read like something out of a fairytale—fifty years of marriage, a complimentary Valentine’s dinner for two with the hotel’s address and phone number. At the bottom was a grainy newspaper photocopy of their wedding announcement.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the man, “I don’t have an invitation.”
“Peu importe, Ms. Rodriguez. We were expecting you.”
Somewhere, there was a VIP list with my name and Caleb’s face beside it. I’d prepared lists like that myself countless times. I’d just never imagined being on one. Would dating him always feel this surreal?
“I told you, Herb,” Alice whispered loudly. “She’s a celebrity.” Then to me, “I don’t recognize you, dear, but I knew you were a movie star the moment I saw you. I’m just lucky Herb can’t see you, or he’d leave me in a heartbeat.”
Herb squeezed her hand. “She’s not a patch on you, my love. More beautiful now than the day I married you.”
“Oh, Herb,” she said, leaning into his arm, “you haven’t seen me since the first week after our honeymoon.” She looked up at me in the mirror, passing a finger in front of her own eyes. “Industrial accident. March of ‘62.”
“That must have been difficult,” I said, unsure what else I could say.
“It has been. But on the upside, we get to hold hands wherever we go.”
“Joke’s on her,” Herb said dryly. “I’ve been faking it for fifty years because I never want to let go of her.”
Their affection warmed something deep inside me. Seven special couples, the man had said. How the heck had Caleb gotten a booking? Or perhaps he’d been invited out of the blue like Alice and Herb. I pressed a hand to my heart, trying to steady it, knowing it wouldn’t calm until I finally saw him.
The elevator doors slid open.
“Mesdames, monsieur,” the receptionist said, directing us to the right. “Your evening awaits.”
My pulse thudded harder with every step down the corridor. The double doors at the end were propped open, attended by a distinguished-looking ma?tre d’ in a black waistcoat and bow tie, the kind of man who made you straighten your spine without realizing you’d slouched.
“Mademoiselle Rodriguez, Madame et Monsieur Tremblay,” he said, bowing as we approached. “Welcome to Pour Deux.”
The room beyond stopped me short.
It was one of the hotel’s suites, stripped of its usual furniture and transformed into a restaurant—seven small tables set for two, five already occupied by couples leaning toward one another in quiet intimacy.
The lights were dimmed just enough to soften everything, the curtains pulled back to reveal the glittering nightscape of North Vancouver, and in the corner, a pianist played soft music on a baby grand.
It was the most intimate restaurant I had ever seen. I stood there, momentarily spellbound, and stepped aside to let Alice and Herb walk in ahead of me.
“Mademoiselle,” the ma?tre d’ said softly, turning back to me, “if you would like to join Monsieur at the bar”—he nodded toward the familiar, broad-shouldered back of a man seated at the small bar—“I will be with you as soon as I have seated our guests.”
Monsieur? The phrasing made me smile, even as it made me wonder. Were Caleb and I not guests as well? Or was this simply the rhythm of French hospitality, translated a little too literally? Either way, I understood the logic of seating the elderly couple first.
I turned toward the bar.
The empty seat beside Caleb beckoned. He was mid-conversation with the barman, shoulders relaxed, unaware of me.
“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world,” I said, slipping into my best Bogart drawl, “I had to walk into yours.”
He startled at the sound of my voice. Then he turned and leapt to his feet. “Oh, my G—. Sorry, wow. You look…”
His words failed him, trailing off into something like awe, and I felt a flutter of nerves under my ribs. His reaction was almost as satisfying as Harsha’s earlier—almost—but this one mattered more.
I smiled, suddenly self-conscious beneath his gaze, and let my eyes drop briefly to my own body, checking that the boned bodice of my strapless dress hadn’t shifted under the intensity of his attention. “Overdressed?” I asked lightly.
“Stunning.”
The word landed low and warm.
“I had help,” I said, stepping closer, unable to resist reaching out to smooth his jacket collar. “Though obviously, you didn’t.”
He laughed softly. “What would I do without you?”
He offered me the barstool beside him before taking his seat again, and the barman appeared as if on cue, offering espresso martinis. I accepted after catching Caleb’s nod, the shared decision sending a thrill through me. Little things. They mattered.
“How did you hear about this place?” I asked.
“Honestly, I didn’t have time to plan anything elaborate—”
“So you got someone to hook you up?” I teased.
He shrugged, unapologetic. “Something like that. It seems nice, though. And intimate. Only six other couples here.”
We looked around together, taking in the romantic ambiance of hushed conversations between lovers beneath the unobtrusive music from the piano.
“Is that what we are?” I asked softly. “A couple?”
Caleb turned on his stool, his knee brushing mine, the contact sending a spark straight up my spine.
“That’s what I want for us,” he said. “Yes.” He gnawed uncertainly at the corner of one lip. “If you’ll have me. I think tonight could be the start of something wonderful.”
Relief washed through me, spilling out in a half-laugh, half-sigh I hadn’t known I was holding in.
“I want that too,” I said honestly. The fear I hadn’t even named—the sense that something precious had almost been stolen from me, that I’d missed the chance for this first date—lifted like a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying.
“Thank you for arranging this,” I added, leaning closer.
“It’s very romantic.” I beckoned him nearer, and when he complied, I placed a light kiss at the corner of his mouth.
Not a first kiss. Not yet. More like an invitation. An appetizer.
Judging by the colour blooming in his cheeks, he was every bit as hungry as I was.
The ma?tre d’ returned just as the barman set down our cocktails and guided us to our table—the best in the room, positioned directly before the windows overlooking the harbour.
“What a view,” I said as he pulled out my chair. “Should I ask how we managed to swing the best table?”
“Mademoiselle,” the ma?tre d’ said as he circled to seat Caleb, “you and Monsieur Evans are Pour Deux’s most distinguished couple. Everyone here,”—he gestured discreetly—“is celebrating a relationship milestone.”
He nodded toward a young couple near the door. “One year.” Then another pair by the bar. “Five years.”
My gaze drifted instinctively to Alice and Herb. “I met those two on the way up,” I said, leaning toward Caleb. “Fifty years. Can you imagine?”
“I can,” he said, without looking away from me.
Heat crept up my chest and into my neck. I was the first to look away, finding refuge in the ma?tre d’s calm presence.
“But we’re not celebrating an anniversary,” I said.
“Neither are they,” he replied, indicating another young couple near the piano. “They announced their engagement in this morning’s paper. And you and Monsieur Evans,”—he opened his arms slightly—“you are celebrating the most important milestone of all, n’est-ce pas?”
I turned back to Caleb. “You announced our first date in the paper?”
He grinned. “I was tempted. But I didn’t want to jinx it. Like I said—”
“You’ve got contacts.”
“Mademoiselle, monsieur,” the ma?tre d’ said, presenting a velvet jewellery box, “with compliments of Pour Deux, your fellow guests have selected a gift.”
He opened it to reveal not diamonds, but a colourful African-style braided rope formed into a figure eight.
“This,” he said, slipping a loop around each of our wrists and clasping our hands together, “we call the Lovers’ Embrace. You must wear it all night. A reminder never to let go.”
Every eye in the room seemed to turn toward us.
“Did you know about this?” I asked Caleb, mortified and touched all at once.
He lifted his free hand. “Innocent.”
“I wish this were our second date,” I murmured, embarrassed by all the attention.
“I don’t,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I know every date with you will be special and memorable, but for the first one, I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“You did know about—”
“I didn’t,” he said, indicating the band on our wrists.
“Not exactly. I just placed a call, told them the kind of evening I wanted, and the kind of lady I would be sharing it with. The rest...” He looked around at the other couples, who had all turned back to focus on their partners.
“I want us to have what they have. So if a little bit of their lucky-in-love rubs off on us tonight, it’ll have been worth it. ”
As it dawned on me that Caleb hadn’t used his influence to sneak them into an exclusive couples’ experience, he’d created an exclusive experience. From scratch!
The suite, the Michelin-star chef, dinner for seven couples—even the ma?tre d’ and the wait staff—it was his doing, and all for us on this one special date.
The ma?tre d’ returned with a bottle of Champagne and two flutes, which he filled and presented to Caleb and me. “Mademoiselle Rodriguez, Monsieur Evans, if I may be so bold, I would like to propose the first toast.”
We both took up our glasses and waited for him to continue.
“May we all have the unspeakable good fortune to win a true heart—”
“Hear, hear,” whispered Caleb.
“—and”—he paused long enough to catch both sets of eyes—“the merit to keep it.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Caleb said.
“So will I,” I whispered, clinking my glass against his. Placing it back on the table, I lifted our joined hands and asked the ma?tre d’ lightly, “Did the other guests have any advice as to how we should eat when we’re tied together?”
“There is a couple here tonight,” he replied, “who have been married twenty-five years—”
“Oh, wow.”
“—and the wife asked the same question.”
“Oh?”
The ma?tre d’ smiled warmly. “Her husband replied, and I am paraphrasing because he put it in much more colourful language, ‘If that is the worst problem they face as a couple, they will have a blessed life indeed.’”
Caleb squeezed my hand again. “I can think of worse things than being tied to you.”
“Me too,” I said, squeezing back. “Me too.”