Chapter 1 #2
The approaching footsteps slowed down near us, and I didn’t want Desmond to witness this. I stepped back and was about to bid him a stiff goodbye when he smiled.
“I never thought we’d meet again,” he said, and this time, his smile had something to it. A hint of the charm that I’d once fallen for.
“Goodbye, Desmond,” I said with finality in my voice.
He’d walked out of my life unapologetically a long time ago. I wasn’t letting him back in.
He didn’t seem disturbed by my abrupt dismissal.
“See you around, Ava,” he said.
The lips stretched out into a smile, displaying more charm. My heart skipped a beat just as I turned away and tried to catch my breath.
I saw the shimmer of his glossy suit out of the corner of my eye as he walked up the steps into the restaurant before he was gone from my sight.
Is he on a date too? It’s going to be really awkward if I run into him again, I thought while I turned to the breathless man behind me.
I saw a young man with light-brown hair, light stubble, and a pleasant smile.
I recognized him from the picture on his Bumble profile.
Harvey Barlow and I had exchanged a few texts in the past few days, before we finally met.
I shook off my fears and allowed myself to hope for a little.
Perhaps this would be the date that went well.
“Ava Hale?” he asked as he walked up to me. “Nice to meet you at last,” he said.
I nodded, and he pulled me into a small hug. I hadn’t been prepared for it, and my cheek was smashed against his shoulder for a moment.
Ouch.
I smelled something on his breath as he let go. He smiled at me just as I registered that it was alcohol.
Was he drinking before the date?
“You’re stomping on my foot,” Harvey said pointedly while I stood frozen.
I balked and looked down, only to notice the tips of our shoes had been touching.
I looked over my shoulder at the spot where Desmond had stood, feeling a sense of regret.
Would I need to go another ten years before I could see him again?
In the year after he’d left me, Desmond had gone to Stanford. At the same time, Mom and I relocated to Austin. In the years that had passed, Desmond and I hadn’t kept in touch. What I knew of him had come through the news.
Desmond had become a venture capitalist and was part of one of the country’s top VCs—the Lead Capital Group.
He owned or held majority stake in many of the top financial firms, insurance companies, and even luxury hotels, many of which boasted full-service Michelin-starred restaurants. In short, he had become a big deal.
When Mom and I’d moved back to New York, I’d dismissed the idea of ever running into Desmond. This evening had shown me how naive I’d been.
Running into Desmond McKinley was unusual for me, but being brushed aside by him?
That should’ve been predictable, but, instead, it only reminded me of the strange fact that we’d been each other’s everything back in high school.
Best friends, lovers, and each other’s future.
How could we go from that to … never saying goodbye?
Harvey was bursting with confidence and looking like he’d never had a regret in his life before.
He sniffed the air. “You know, I can always tell the hygiene levels of the people I interact with just by sniffing. You passed the test,” he said with an unusually wide smile.
I shut my eyes and counted to ten to steel myself before I could respond.
Many weeks ago, I’d made a mistake of bemoaning that I was single.
I didn’t really mean it. I said it in the way one might say they hadn’t seen an airplane fly overhead in ages.
That didn’t mean one wanted to take a flight, did it?
Apparently, to my friend and colleague Freya, it did.
Harvey was still speaking as he led me up the steps to the restaurant. “I have to admit, when your profile said you were a restaurant manager, I was apprehensive.”
He opened the door to the restaurant for me just as I considered that statement. Freya had insisted I put myself out there on a dating app, and I’d been honest about my profession.
“Why?” I asked as I walked into the upscale Italian restaurant.
As I took a few steps in, I couldn’t help myself—my work persona took over.
At first view, I scanned the floor. The tables and chairs were arranged perfectly.
Not a tablecloth was out of order, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Mismanaged restaurants stressed me out. I spotted the host talking to the server and gesturing to the nearest table that needed a refill. This was an excellent restaurant.
Harvey was speaking to me. “Because I was always under the impression that managers are crazy workaholics.”
I frowned.
“I’m not a—” I stopped as I saw a waiter fold the cloth napkins at an empty table. What a wonderful idea. I needed to add this to our routine at the restaurant. “Sorry, I missed what you just said,” I said.
Turning to him, I saw a wry smile on his face.
He had a knowing look on his face, which seemed to confirm his previous suspicions.
“Sorry, I got a little distracted,” I admitted, biting my lip.
A cheerful-looking host, dressed in a white blouse and black pants, walked up to us, and I had to stop myself from commending her on what a good job she was doing.
I’m on a date. I need to chill for the next two hours.
“Table for two, under the name Harvey Barlow,” he told the host, and she nodded.
Harvey still hadn’t forgotten my profession. “How ironic that you leave one restaurant and head to another, eh?” he said in an undertone while our host picked out two menus for us.
Despite my best efforts, I found that I was irritated.
I took a deep breath. “Of course this is the right thing to do. Having a date show up at a restaurant you work at is not wise.”
It would be preferable, especially with a back door whose exact location I could find with my eyes shut, but not wise.
“You wouldn’t want a date with your coworkers watching every move you make, would you?” I asked with a smile.
“We’ve got you at your favorite table right here,” the host said as she led the way.
I looked around at the booths nestled against clear glass windows with a view of the street. The restaurant was packed with people, and it surprised me we could even get a spot.
I took a quick look at Harvey. This restaurant had been open only for a couple of months, and yet he was a regular? Before I could dissect that statement, the host was showing us to a small table that was by the kitchen doors. The smile fell off my face, but Harvey was beaming.
“I always ask for this table. It helps me see all the dishes the serving staff brings out of the kitchen, so I know what to order the next time,” Harvey insisted while he sat down.
The host smiled at me weakly. The kitchen doors flew open three times in the duration I took to sit down in my chair. This would not be the date where I got to have an actual conversation.
The host handed us two menus, but before she could leave, Harvey stopped her.
“A tequila shot for me, please,” he said.
She nodded and looked at me, but I shook my head.
“I need a minute to decide what I’d like,” I said, reaching for the drinks card, and she said she’d give me a few minutes.
I scanned the menu quickly before turning to Harvey. “So, if you’re a regular here, what do you recommend?” I asked.
Harvey smiled. “A woman who’s open to my suggestions! There aren’t enough of you to go around,” he said while my mouth fell open.
This was not looking good.
He took a sip of water and continued, “I knew this date would go just great.” He turned to the waitress, who arrived with his drink. “She’ll have the J?gerbomb,” he said with a naughty wink.
I stared at him in surprise just as the waitress nodded and walked away before I could disagree.
When I set the drinks card down, I saw Harvey had emptied his tequila. This date was proceeding too fast for my liking.
As I watched, he leaned toward me, and his hand slid across the table and settled over mine.
I looked at him, and his eyes were staring directly into mine, a little too intensely. I pulled my hand back and looked away, breaking his gaze. Why was Harvey affecting an intimacy we did not share yet? It was our first date, for heaven’s sake.
“Sorry, I just have extremely rough fingers,” I said, hoping I was using a reasonable excuse.
Who the heck is this guy? Why did the dating app think we were a good match?
“From working at your restaurant? I’m not surprised,” Harvey said as he reached for his glass of water. Taking a sip, he set it down and gave me a lofty look. “Do you know your restaurant has an abysmal forty-nine reviews on Google?” he asked.
I had an awkward feeling about this. Of course I knew. I woke up every morning with a minimum of five ideas to improve my restaurant’s marketing, ideas that would never face the light of day because everything needed money.
Harvey did not seem to notice anything awkward about his statement.
“Lucky for you, I know how you can improve that,” he said.
I frowned. I wanted to be understanding. To be open to feedback and criticism. That was what an excellent businesswoman would do. But it was never easy when the person who was giving you feedback had a low opinion on women.
He looked at me with that expression, as though he were weighing the benefit of telling me a long-held secret.
He finally relented and leaned forward. “You need to pay customers to leave you reviews,” he said in a low voice.
He sat back in his chair with a smug smile. “There. You have the secret now.”
“Pay?” I almost wanted to laugh. “I’m pretty sure that’s not ethical.”
He put on an air of extreme patience and elaborated like one would to a five-year-old. “There are review sites that pay you to eat a meal for free and post a review of your experiences.”
I took a sip of my water. “Yes, I’m aware.”
He gave me a wink. “Wait till after dinner, and I’ll let you in on the most popular paid review site. How else will a restaurant get the word out unless it gets people to eat their food and review?”
The glass of water almost slipped from my fingers, just as the waitress came by with my drink.
“At the end of our meal, I have a special favor to ask from you,” he said as the waitress—with a name tag on her shirt that read Stella—pulled out her pad and pen, ready to take our order. “But first, let me order.”
I picked up the menu while Harvey spoke to Stella, and my gaze flicked over the names of the dishes until I saw the gnocchi. I set the menu down with a smile and waited.
Harvey was still speaking. “A mushroom risotto for me,” he said, and just as I opened my mouth to speak, he added, “And a panzanella salad for the lady.”
My jaw dropped. Who exactly did I match up with?
Stella nodded, putting her pen and pad away, just as I put an arm out to stop her from leaving.
“Sorry.” I gave Harvey a confused look before turning back to Stella. No way am I letting this man decide what I eat. “I’ll get the gnocchi, please. Not the salad.”
Stella’s eyes met mine in a silent understanding of how overbearing my date was being.
She gave me an encouraging you go, girl look and nodded.
Harvey, looking between us, seemed to understand that in this tiny interaction, it had become a women versus him sort of situation and looked put out.
He grunted and asked Stella for a refill of his tequila shot.
He faced me when she walked away. “I needed your opinion on the panzanella salad,” he said.
Creepy thoughts entered my mind. Is he using me and this date to get paid by the restaurant for a review? What if I refuse? Will he demand I hand over my phone and type it out himself?
I reached for my purse and pushed my phone to the very depths of my bag. My mouth was going dry. I checked my phone, fingers itching to call Gabriela.
How soon is too soon for a bailout?
I closed my eyes and willed myself to give the guy a chance. Just one more chance.
I opened my eyes, and my gaze fell on Harvey, who was looking at me with a smile.
He placed his hand on the table just in front of mine, our fingertips almost touching.
I did not want him to take my hand in his, which was plainly his next move.
Straightening up, I pulled my hand away and smiled a nervous smile at Harvey.
“I need to use the restroom,” I said and stood up.
Walking past the tables, I passed Stella, who was approaching us with Harvey’s second tequila shot.
“It’s the first door down the hallway to your left,” she said, slowing down her walk. “Take your time. I’ll make sure he stays occupied,” she said, gesturing to the refill.
I smiled in relief. “Stella, you’re the best,” I breathed out.
If I needed access to the restaurant’s back door, I knew I could count on her.
“If you are ever in need of a job, come to my restaurant—The Galley—and ask for Ava. I’ll make sure you get taken care of.”
I passed a couple of tables and went down the hallway before I stopped outside the restroom and breathed out a small sigh of relief. Freya, my extremely romantic friend, had been insistent that I give this date a try before rejecting him for no reason.
Well, I have a reason now, Freya. Many of them!
I leaned against the restroom door and closed my eyes, feeling worried. How much longer do I need to tolerate Harvey?
Something underneath me seemed to give way abruptly, and my eyes shot open just as the door I’d been leaning against opened. I stumbled in a backward free fall and threw my arms out. Someone behind me caught me just moments before I hit the ground and helped me up.
Straightening up and turning around, I saw a man with a generous smile on a charming face.
Desmond.