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Neither is finding someone else again, even though I may have some trust issues I didn’t have before. Although I may seem stoic and serious most of the time, I’m a romantic at heart, longing for love again. I still want a family and my home on Coyote Run.
The maître d’ weaves his way through the elegant restaurant and finally stops at the terrace, just off the main dining area. The whole place is a show stopper with its comfortable looking beige upholstered armchairs, gilded glass murals, and torchiere lamps littered along the length of the restaurant.
It’s widely known the inspiration for the dining room came from a glamorous French ocean liner from the nineteen-thirties. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, the dining terrace overlooks the Brooklyn Bridge and East River. The views are spectacular, especially with the twinkling lights against the backdrop of a dark New York skyline.
Bertram pulls out my chair, but before I sit, a stunning woman approaches the table. I pause, immediately captivated.
She has golden hair that reminds me of corn during the harvest. It’s loose, hanging in waves over one shoulder. Her skin smooth. Her eyes bright blue and captivating like a cloudless sky back home in Stoney Creek, Tennessee. And those curves go for miles, making my head spin. In seconds she has my heart hammering in my chest.
I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. That’s gotta be a first.
“I’m sorry, sir, but this is my table,” she says, in the sweetest lilt I’ve ever heard.
And I can’t help but like the way she just called me, sir.
I eye her. “You must be mistaken.” I shake my head, looking at the maître d, who’s looking just as confused as I’m starting to feel. Another server is right on her heels as they try to work out whose table it actually belongs to.
“Lyle here said this was my seven-thirty reservation,” she says, not unkindly, but firm.
She’s not showing one bit of annoyance over the whole situation; she seems amused. Maybe she isn’t a New Yorker. I smile at the thought, you can spot the locals anywhere, so I rule it out. Or maybe she’s just hungry, like me, and doesn’t want to lose her long awaited table.
This kind of mess up would usually piss me off. Especially a hotel of this caliber, but I decide not to be disappointed if she has a companion. The last thing I’ll be doing is sharing a table with a loved up couple when I’d rather be alone. I’ll sit at the bar.
If she is on her own, however, I’ll fucking share the table, and anything else she wants. Though, I doubt she’s alone. What idiot wouldn’t be by her side on a Saturday night?
I try, and fail, to peel my eyes off her to ask Lyle and Bertram what’s going on. Maybe they can shed some light on the subject.
Her eyes flick to mine as both men try to work out where the mess up lies, and my friend Bert isn’t looking too happy about any of it with frown lines apparent on his face. Amusement sparks in both our eyes as we silently lock gazes.
“I’m terribly sorry, if you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” Bertram says. “I’ll be right back.”
At the same time Bertram shifts his gaze from me to the mystery blonde, she looks down, almost shyly, and my cock stirs.
I’m too taken with this beauty in front of me to give a shit about the mix up. I don't care if they take all night to figure it out.
She purses her lips as her eyes flick to the two of them. Bertram swiftly makes his way over to the restaurant reception to check the booking register.
Take your time, I think to myself, smiling lazily.
I glance at her again. Somehow thinking I can afford to be cavalier. We’re strangers after all.
“Care for a drink while they work this out?” I pique an eyebrow.
I ain’t going anywhere.
Blondie has the option to leave if she wants to, but it took long enough to secure this table, despite both of us having a reservation. It’s also Saturday night and unlikely they have anything else free at this hour.
She’s wearing a simple, fitted, black cocktail dress with a plunging neckline. It leaves nothing to the imagination and looks gorgeous on her. Her black heels give height to her small stature. A string of black pearls hangs around her neck to polish it off. She has an elegance about her that’s timeless.
It's also clear that every guy in the room has noticed, too, because of the admiring glances she’s getting.
It’s her sparkling eyes that captivate me the most. Even before her curvy body called to me in that dress, I’m standing to attention. And so is my cock. From where I’m standing right now, she’s the whole goddamn package of beauty and grace.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she says, her smile bewitching.
I nod and walk around to her side of the table, pulling out the armchair for her.
“May as well take a seat, that’s if you’re not here with anyone?” Better find that out first.
