Chapter 11
This was more like it! This was bougie yet cosy with its wooden tables and chairs and ambient lighting.
There were promises of cocktails, power lunches and a French-inspired menu.
Plus, it was significantly warmer than outside and not completely full.
But, most importantly of all, in Gabriella’s opinion, it was a few blocks away from Cheyenne, Cheyenne’s pedantic organisation and whatever heavily monitored lodgings All Chapters Publishing had provided. This felt like a choice.
‘The cold air is burning my chest,’ Phoebe announced, hand to her front as they were shown to a table for two next to a window.
It had a view of the comings and goings on the street – pedestrians with umbrellas braced against the sleet, yellow cabs, school buses.
New York was looking all the more wintry by the second.
‘Well,’ Gabriella said, sitting down and picking up the menu. ‘I am certain there will be something soothing here to remedy that.’ She looked at the server. ‘Do you have hot chocolate?’
‘We do.’
‘Hot chocolate, Phoebe?’
‘Yes please.’
‘One hot chocolate and I will have a… an espresso martini. Thank you.’ She swallowed, internally acknowledging her choice.
It was not in any of the ‘life lists’ of Zero Fucks Given to have alcohol in the daytime on a random weekday but, in this moment, her first moments in New York, it was what she wanted.
The server left them and Gabriella smiled at her niece. ‘So, this is better, right? Just us two. And a place called Loulou. It’s like it’s meant to be.’
‘Espresso and martini?’ Phoebe asked.
Called out. Perhaps rightly so given her overindulgence at the Monica Felix show the other night.
‘Just the one,’ Gabriella said, reassuringly. ‘So, what are you going to have to eat?’
‘Nicoise salad,’ Phoebe said with no hesitation. ‘It sounds so good.’
‘Then I will have the same,’ Gabriella said. She looked over her shoulder for the server and then made a decision. ‘I’m just going to pop to the toilet and I will order at the bar. Won’t be long.’
She got up and headed to the bar area where she was quick to catch the attention of the barman.
‘Hi there!’
‘Hey,’ he answered with a smile.
‘So, we are sat just over there, by the window,’ Gabriella said, indicating their table. ‘And we would like two Nicoise salads.’
‘Yes, ma’am. No problem.’
‘And then,’ Gabriella continued. She lowered her voice.
‘Could you arrange for one of your Loulou burgers to be delivered to the…’ She stopped talking, racking her brain for information she should have but didn’t.
‘So, there’s this hotel, a couple of blocks from here, it’s big, it has German and USA flags outside, it has a…
wellness centre, I think. I can’t remember the name. Do you know the name?’
His expression read as mildly baffled and then he replied, ‘I actually don’t live in this area of the city and there’s a lot of hotels, you know.’
‘Excuse me.’
Gabriella looked to her left, in the direction of the voice.
There was a man at the bar, standing next to her that she hadn’t noticed before.
Had he been there when she’d approached?
Looking at him now, it was hard to think that she wouldn’t have noticed him.
He had dark hair, falling in curls across the top of his forehead, but not in an awkward bad perm kind of way, in a beautiful Roman sculpture kind of way.
His green eyes were striking too and currently set on her.
‘If I may?’ he asked. He had his mobile phone in his hand and reality dawned fast. Wow, they didn’t waste any time in New York.
‘Seriously?’ she snapped. ‘You’re going to ask me for a photo?’
Then she caught herself. Calm. The mantra of Zero Fucks Given was not to outwardly show loss of control, no matter what the levels of frustration were. She was the poster girl for this tranquillity revolution. And this was a moment, not a millennium.
‘Sorry, jetlag and lack of espresso. Not the kind Sabrina Carpenter sings about.’ She smiled and adjusted her stance, leaning towards the man who had great bone structure and the kind of hair only the hottest boy band members or Greek gods could achieve. ‘One photo.’
Posing like a seasoned influencer, one who was familiar with this kind of approach in London, she waited for his arm to extend and the mobile phone screen to arrive in front of them but instead…
‘Sorry, I don’t want a photo.’
What? Gabriella sprung back, eyeing the man with suspicion. ‘Are you press?’
‘No,’ he said, offering out his phone again. ‘I was just… gonna show you this photo of the hotel I think you’re talking about. For your delivery.’
Gabriella dropped her eyes to the screen, the device held in a rather large, long-fingered hand. Even his hands looked like they’d been crafted with care… She focussed on the picture.
‘Yes,’ she announced. ‘This is the one. This is the hotel.’
‘The Royce,’ the man said to the barman.
‘OK, gotcha, one Loulou burger to be delivered to The Royce and—’
‘But not yet,’ Gabriella interrupted quickly. ‘And, don’t add it to my bill for the other stuff. I can pay for it now.’
‘O-K.’
‘Here’s my card.’ She took her purse from her handbag and handed over the plastic payment.
‘Give me a minute,’ the barman said, leaving. Gabriella watched him walking over to a payment terminal. Then she turned her attention back to her bar companion.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And, um, you know, sorry, for thinking…’
‘Hey,’ he said with a smile. ‘Never apologise for thinking. That’s what makes the world go round.’
‘I thought that was money,’ she answered, quick and flippant, trying to refasten her bag.
When he didn’t immediately respond she looked up from her bag and there were those uncompromisingly great eyes meeting hers.
Just looking. And Gabriella immediately felt ill at ease.
Quiet made her feel uncomfortable. Silence more than that.
Fill the void with patter. But, before she could rattle forth, he beat her to it.
It wasn’t rushed, it was just self-assured.
‘I think you know it’s not money.’ And then he pushed some dollar bills and a receipt across the bar towards the server as he returned. ‘I’m Luca, by the way, and it was nice to meet you.’
Next, with that confident, wide smile still on his Romanesque face, he turned and left, heading back into the restaurant. Gabriella watched him all the way to the door, then through the window, out onto the street where he met with a companion, an older lady with silver hair.
‘The payment is all done,’ the barman said, pulling Gabriella’s attention back into the room.
‘Great. Thank you. Um… that guy,’ she said, taking the receipt the barman was holding out to her. ‘The guy who was just here. Tall, curls, sure of himself.’
‘Yeah?’
Gabriella cleared her throat. ‘Do you know who he is?’
‘I mean, he’s a repeat customer. He comes in here every couple of weeks. I don’t know—’
‘It’s OK,’ Gabriella said, shaking her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ God, this jet lag was already messing with her mind. Why did she need to know who a random Luca was just because he had made a mildly interesting comment on the way of the world?
‘Thanks so much,’ she said to the barman. ‘And make it midnight tonight for the burger.’
‘Midnight?’ he queried, taken aback.
‘Is that OK?’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘Great. Thank you.’ And, with that said, she made her way back over to Phoebe.