31. We would never actually date.
31 /
we would never actually date.
rafael
We arrive in an industrial area, and I can practically hear the questions in Charlie’s head. It does look shady as fuck, taking a woman to a place like this on a date, but Adam assured me this restaurant is legit. I’d never used his celebrity status to get me anything before, but he insisted. Of course, I didn’t tell him who I was taking out, and he didn’t pry too much, likely assuming it was someone I just met.
The thing is, that hasn’t happened—meeting someone new—since Charlie walked into me. Actually, that’s a lie. I haven’t gone near a woman since I kissed that blonde last New Year’s Eve and caught Charlie watching. Something about the anger in her eyes turned me on so fucking much. I feigned feeling unwell and didn’t go home with anyone that night. The fact that her eyes on me turned me on more than the woman I was kissing was confusing as hell. That was a little over a year ago now, and I’m still confused.
Turns out, I’d rather be confused and on a date with Charlie than confused and without her. Now, there’s a thought that feels far too deep to tackle in this moment .
“Uh, where are we?” She peers out of the window as I pull into the parking lot of an all-black building.
“I know it looks sketchy, but I promise it’s a great spot. Trust me?” It’s an innocent enough question, but she twists instantly to face me and, damn, those blue eyes knock the breath right out of my lungs.
After a long pause, she lowers her chin. “I trust you.”
Every cell in my body comes alive with her admission. I know I’ve officially crossed a threshold not many people in her life get to, and it feels like an honor I’m not worthy of. One I’m not going to fuck up.
“K. Grab your sweater.” I shoot her a smile and open my door, then jog to her side to open hers. In an attempt to bring the fun back into this date, I bow and extend my hand to her. “M’lady,” I say in a deeper-than-normal voice.
Her answering giggle is like a warm breeze enveloping me. Her hand slides into mine, and I don’t let go as we walk into the building that has one single sign with the words The Patios on it.
When we walk in at six o’clock on the dot, the hostess, dressed in all black with a name tag that matches the sign on the door, welcomes us with a smile. “Mr. Machado?” I smile back. “Right this way, please.”
She leads us through an area with a few sofas on the left and the bustling kitchen on the right. At the back of the building, there are a series of black doors with small white numbers on them. She opens door number four and holds it for us to walk through.
We’re on a patio. A completely private patio, complete with several heaters, a table set for two, a couch with pillows and blankets, and a fireplace already lit in front of it. There are string lights surrounding the space, and a view of the now fully illuminated city below us.
“You have this space to yourselves. Washrooms are back the way we came to your right. Morgan will be your server this evening and the only person to come into your space. Before he opens the door, he will ring the doorbell, wait a few seconds, and come in. If you need him, there’s a call button on your table as well as on the side table next to the sofa. Do you have any questions for me?” I look at Charlie, and we both shake our heads. “Great. Have a lovely time.” She backs up to the door and closes it, leaving us alone in our private patio.
“This is incredible,” Charlie says as she walks to the glass railing, her hand slipping out of mine and leaving me feeling a little colder. Emptier. The view of her ass in those goddamn pants, though, that warms me right up.
We walk to the table and I pull out a chair for her. As she sits, the smell of roses hits my nostrils, and I force myself not to inhale a deep breath. Too obvious, Machado.
The doorbell dings, and after a beat, a tall, lanky guy with curly blond hair walks in with a friendly smile. We make small talk with Morgan and order our drinks.
When he leaves, I note she’s already eyeing the handwritten menu. They don’t normally release the menu ahead of time to anyone. There’s no website for this place, either. I had to come here on Wednesday night and get creative with convincing the head chef, who turned out to be a very lovely woman in her fifties. She mentioned there were no guarantees she wouldn’t change something, so I’m a little nervous to look down and find a completely new menu.
Of fucking course, the cursive writing on the menu might as well be written in Dothraki. Unfortunately, I am not Khal Drogo.
“Oh, they changed one of the desserts from crème br?lée to a lemon sorbet. Hmm.” She scowls as she studies the piece of paper.
“Did anything else change?” I settle for just asking rather than reaching for my phone. Her brows relax as the realization of what I’m asking settles in .
“No. That’s all.” She sets the menu on the table. “Have you had a chance to read it already?” There’s no pity, no condescension in her tone. This is just Charlie asking a question like any other. That trust she gifted me with? I’m realizing I’ve already gifted her with mine, too.
“Yeah, but honestly, everything sounds so good; I hadn’t really decided on anything. I kind of just wanna get everything and try it all, you know?” The way her eyes light up at the idea is all the confirmation I need that this is exactly what we’ll be doing tonight. “Wanna?”
“Yes!” She practically jumps out of her seat. “I’m so glad I didn’t eat all that carrot cake in the car.”
I laugh at her completely serious expression. “Me too.” I take a sip of my water because seeing Charlie like this is cutting into that thin thread of self-control.
The doorbell rings, and Morgan walks in a few seconds later with our drinks. With a smile etched on his face, he sets our drinks down and tucks the tray under his arm. “Have you had a chance to decide what you’d like, or maybe you have questions for me?” His gaze swings between me and Charlie.
I smile at her before lifting my chin to look at our young server. “We’re going to have one of everything, please.”
Morgan’s eyes widen, and his smile grows. “Oh, I like you two! Any changes to any of the dishes?”
I look to Charlie, who shakes her head. I realize she hasn’t said much to Morgan. “No, thank you,” I respond.
“Great. I’ll be back in with your appetizers in about fifteen to twenty minutes, but please feel free to use the call button if you need me before then.” He twists on his heel, and then it’s just the two of us again.
I thought it was a great idea to book this place so there wouldn’t be a busy restaurant for us to compete with or be overwhelmed by other patrons. But suddenly, it dawns on me that I’m nervous. The last time I was nervous on a date, I must have been seventeen.
“This is the most perfect date, Rafael.” She eyes me carefully. “It’s thoughtful and fun, and I really appreciate that you took the time to make this special. Even if it’s not, you know, real.”
I swallow the disappointment lodged in my throat. “What’s not real about this date, Chuck?” The nickname slips out. This is the one I seem to use when I need some distance from her, from getting too caught up in her.
“Well, I just mean because you’re helping me with research. It’s not as if we like each other like that or anything. We would never actually date.” I can’t see her hands on her lap, but I would bet that she’s clutching them together. I grab the bottom of her chair and pull it so she’s next to me. She yelps at the sudden movement.
I hate to bring it up, but I have to make my point, so here goes. “You went on a date with Zach for research. That was real . You didn’t know if you’d like each other like that either, but you kissed at the end of the night.” I take her hands in mine, steadying her movements and hopefully whatever emotions are running through her. “What do we need to make this date real? Two people who want to spend time together? Who are physically attracted to one another? Because both of those boxes are checked off for me. If they’re not for you, then we can end this right here, right now. No pressure. No hard feelings. No questions asked.” I swallow again, but this time, it feels more like a giant cotton ball is stuck in my mouth.