I settled on the Ratatouille and handed my menu to the waiter, feeling Nathan’s eyes remain on my neck. His stare left me both full of trepidation but also full of power. My eyes wandered over him as he ordered. Dark hair. Green eyes. Crooked nose. Sexy lips. Broad shoulders. He was perfection. The weak in the knees, teenage fantasy, butterflies in the stomach kind of handsome. He turned, finished with his order and caught me admiring him. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as his smile broadened. I wasn’t going to make it through this dinner with him being more delicious than the food.
“We make Christmas,” my mouth formed words without my brain having the chance to filter. Dammit.
“I’m sorry,” his brow furrowed. Even confused at my random outburst he was adorable.
I blushed, “My red dress and your green eyes… we make Christmas.”
“I feel like those rosy cheeks should be included in the party.” Rosy cheeks?
I bobbed my head in confirmation of hearing him, but could only picture Grandma pinching me. The waiter arrived, saving me from providing a response. I had no idea how to respond. He poured wine into both glasses with a flourish and left.
I bobbed my head again and swallowed, “Great service.” Jesus. You fantasize for months about a chance to get Nathan in a romantic setting and all you can come up with is Christmas and the excellent service at a swanky restaurant?
“Although, that’s not new. It’s always great when I come here. The décor, the ambiance, the food, the whole package is just wonderful. I’m not sure how someone pictures all of this from just a plot of land or an empty building, but it’s truly remarkable. Now that I’m thinking about it, I wonder how much money it takes to start a restaurant… and I wonder who decides? A chef? A businessman with a vision? A random accountant who’s tired of living behind a desk?…”
I can’t stop my babbling. I don’t do awkward silence well and apparently my body’s decided pathetic rambling is preferable. I don’t so much finish the thought as trail off. I brave a look at his face. He’s smirking.
“Maybe all of the above? A man can dream can’t he?”
And just like that he’s saved me. Made it ok that I’m a total nerd who can’t handle a dream come true. I laugh a little too hard for what I can tell he only meant as a joke on the surface. Nathan wants me. Something about this restaurant: the décor, the ambiance, something is creating magic between us. My shoulders relax. For at least this meal, Nathan is mine.
The food arrived and my mouth watered. I scooped up a bite with my fork, leaned over and started to blow to cool it off. I ensured my mouth made a perfect, pouty O shape and glanced up through my lashes, trying my best for a come hither stare. I had his attention. Now just don’t fuck it up.