Chapter Four
IT ONLY TOOK one afternoon for Cierra to move all her essentials into Mia’s place.
And while she was grateful to have that part of her life sorted, the job market was rough; finding a new job that didn’t make her want to jump off the Chrysler Building had been more of a challenge than she’d thought.
June was only a few weeks away, and she was no closer to finding a decent job than she had been when she quit.
But she did have one thing to look forward to: an official first date planned for later that week with Julian.
He’d responded the very evening she reached out, immediately suggesting a place and time.
Currently, it wasn’t even eight in the morning, and Cierra was on her computer at her makeshift office overlooking Central Park when her friend waltzed in from yet another night out on the town.
Mia looked as bedraggled as Cierra felt.
It wasn’t like Cierra hadn’t made any progress on the job search in the time she’d lived with her friend.
She’d had more than a few interviews that went well, and from any standpoint was on the right track, but the thought of going back to her past lifestyle filled her with dread.
Wake up when it’s still dark. Commute to the restaurant.
Go over the menu. Have no say in the menu.
Work every night and weekend. Never commit to any social plans or enjoy downtime when the rest of the world is.
Get stuck making a salary barely enough to cover a one-bedroom in the Bronx (which she would not be doing).
Let others entice you with promises of becoming Executive Chef.
Become Executive Chef, only to realize that now there are new egomaniacs to deal with — investors!
Focus more on the business side of things and forget the joys of the kitchen (all for a say in the menu and better pay).
This thought cycle had consumed Cierra all morning. Already, she had declined two job offers, but she couldn’t afford to be this picky for much longer.
“Morning,” Mia mumbled, half asleep, as she grabbed a cold ice blue Gatorade from the fridge. “Man, last night was fun. The band was amazing, and I met this dope group of people.”
Cierra listened as Mia recounted her amazing evening, which coincidentally sounded like most other evenings.
“I got invited to this party on Saturday. All my new friends are going to be there, and you have to come.”
The last part made Cierra’s ears perk up. “What do you mean I have to come?”
“Look, we made a deal. In exchange for living with me, you agreed to go out once a week.” Mia clasped her hands together like a lawyer. “I have no choice.”
Cierra groaned. Not because she didn’t enjoy an evening downtown, but because she always got self-conscious in social scenarios with any of Mia’s “new friends.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to come — I have that date with Julian, remember?”
“Nice try — your date is on Friday. Dinner is the night after.”
Mia was more on the outskirts of the friend group that Cierra and Harry shared, so whenever Cierra got looped into Mia’s more rogue rich-bitch shenanigans, she felt like an intruder.
She didn’t know how to contribute to conversations about international boarding schools or skiing accidents or, her favorite, transformative spiritual experiences.
“What is it? Scared you’re gonna have too much fun?” Mia teased.
“I’ll come,” Cierra conceded, feeling defenseless against her friend’s only condition of tenancy, “but you have to lend me an outfit.”
In the twilight of the following Friday night, Cierra’s room had become a wrecked zone of clothes and shoes. It had been over six years since she’d been on a first date, and if she watched one more TikTok on what she should wear, she was going to scream.
Julian and Cierra had been chatting for the past few days and had even quickly FaceTimed once; he cheekily demanded proof he wasn’t being tricked.
That’s what he told her with narrowed, playful eyes, before admitting that he was really just excited and wanted to catch up ahead of the date.
It was cheesy, but Cierra ate it up like fondue.
And he was even better looking than she had remembered.
She’d asked Mia to help her get ready for moral support, but she already had concert plans. So, without human company to dampen the nerves, Cierra resorted to grabbing a cold bottle of pinot gris on the way home from another unsuccessful day of job-hunting.
Standing to the left of the door was a rectangular body mirror.
She had settled on a navy, tailored, knee-length dress, with chunky chocolate-brown sandals that gave her height an extra few inches.
A perfect amount of leg showed, and coupled with an oversized camel trench, she thought it was the perfect ratio of elegant to sexy.
She kept the makeup simple but opted for a smudgy, dark blue eyeliner that made her brown eyes pop.
Impressed with what she had pulled together, she was posing in the mirror when she lost her balance and nearly tripped.
The two glasses of cold white wine had done the job.
She was feeling much less nervous, and fairly confident, which was exactly what she wanted.
Besides, this wasn’t a big deal — it was just a date. A dip in the pond.
Cierra arrived at a small Tex-Mex joint in the rowdy neighborhood of Hell’s Kitchen right on time, and she was impressed to find Julian already sitting at the bar.
He wasn’t on his phone but sitting contentedly, occasionally sipping on what looked like a chilled glass of sangria.
His eyes widened when he noticed her, and when he sauntered over to greet her, the two hugged excitedly.
The restaurant was a little kitschy, but still had a cozy, dimly lit atmosphere.
It had the regular bright-colored decor of a Mexican restaurant, but there was also a massive disco ball, as if it could turn into a dance floor anytime.
Sandy-yellow walls and exposed wooden beams made the restaurant feel like a lavish villa.
Paintings of beautiful dark-haired women and stern-looking gaucho men looked out upon the crowd.
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw your message few days ago. Honest to God, I thought you’d thrown my number away the second you got home.”
“What?! How could you think I’d do something like that.”
“I don’t know. You seem like the type of woman who probably has a ton of guys coming out of the woodwork right now. I thought I might get lost in the crowd or something.” He looked away shyly as Cierra smirked at his flattery. “Seriously, though, I’m really glad you reached out.”
“Me too.”
The host came over. A young man, probably all of twenty-one, with shaggy hair brushed toward the front and a jangly silver cross earring. “Good evening. Will you be dining with us tonight?”
Cierra looked over the host’s shoulder to see an extremely full dining room.
A packed house was a good sign for the restaurant her date had picked, but she was secretly starving and hoped they wouldn’t need to wait very long.
She’d barely eaten all day, and with the two glasses of liquid courage swimming around in her stomach with nothing to soak it up, she urgently needed carbs and cheesy refried beans.
“I have a reservation,” her date replied assuredly. “Julian Torres, for 7:30.”
“Oh, great,” the youth said, without a hint of enthusiasm. Julian glanced at Cierra and moved his eyebrows up and down while the host grabbed two burgundy menus. “All right, follow me, please.”
Julian gently motioned for Cierra to go first. “Please, after you.”
His courteous manner captivated her. If she were being honest with herself, romance had left the relationship between her and Harry years before they’d finally ended it.
And now here was this man, showing up on time .
. . selecting a cute date spot . . . and he had manners?
Were men like this now? Cierra had never regarded herself as a “traditional” type, but if this was what gentlemanly treatment was, she could get used to this. Like, immediately.
In her tipsily confident state, she came up with the idea of casually taking her jacket off while walking in front of him, hoping he’d get a nice view of her backside. She envisioned a burlesque dancer coyly turning toward the audience while pulling her silky robe down inch by inch.
But when she tried dropping her jacket seductively below her shoulders, she underestimated the proximity of her right hand to the head of a woman sitting at a tightly squeezed nearby table, and it caused a bit of a commotion when they inevitably collided.
She profusely apologized to the woman, who assured her it was “fine,” albeit the scowl on her face suggested it was anything but.
She could hear Julian chuckling a bit in the background, but Cierra didn’t have the heart to turn around.
Great.
When they sat down, Cierra’s cheeks flushed with heat as a server walked by with a sizzling fajita plate. Forced to face Julian in her seduction-gone-wrong glory, all she could do was laugh nervously. She placed a hand on her forehead and shut her eyes.
“Oh my god . . . I don’t even know what just happened . . . you must think . . .” she started. But when she looked at Julian, he still had a smile on his face, as if silently assuring her that her clumsy mishap had been all right with him. Even endearing, maybe.
“I prefer a strong opening,” he said with a chuckle. “So, how have you been?”
“I’ve been alright. Busy. I’ve been looking for a new job. You know how that goes.”
“Any luck?” he asked.
“Eh, somewhat.” Cierra opened her menu, not wanting to divulge her unemployment woes. “What about you?”
“Busy for me, too. Your message, it was unexpected,” he said with a light laugh. “Good unexpected, just a surprise.”
“Just so you know,” Cierra began, “I know I reached out, but I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.”