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I meet Elodie on the sidewalk, and we do what we always do before walking into a restaurant. Take each other’s hands, presenting a perfect united front like the reformed wild children we want our parents—and everyone else who matters—to believe we are.
The restaurant immediately surprises me. I hadn’t paid much attention to the outside, but now that we’re in the dining room, it’s actually classy. Exposed brick walls, white tablecloths, a long bar on the back left side of the room, and waiters in starched shits and black aprons. It smells amazing.
I scan the diners, varying from families with children to elderly couples, to the hottest man in New York, and my stomach drops to my feet.
“Shit.” The word slips out in a whisper as I make eye contact with him. He’s sitting with a woman who has a bright, white smile and luscious black curls. The host walks us over, sets down our menus, and I pull out the chair across from Drew’s gorgeous girlfriend for Elodie.
Drew reaches out a hand to her, “Drew Riley.”
Elodie winks at him. “So…not Jack.”
He grimaces, and I wonder if he thinks it looks like a smile because it doesn’t even come close. “Not Jack.”
“I’m Elodie.”
“Nice to officially meet you. This is my girlfriend Jericho Colson.”
“Oh my God!” Elodie bursts in Jericho’s direction. “Do people call you CoCo?”
“Uh—” Jericho’s smile stays in place, but her eyes give away her confusion and acknowledgement of Elodie’s “extra-ness.” “Jeri, sometimes, but Jericho for the most part.”
“I’m gonna call you Coco.”
“Great!” Jericho says.
“And this is Ollie,” Drew says.
He’s literally never called me that. I’m not sure I like it. But I go with it because my mouth is nearly all the way dry, and Drew is wearing a blue gingham button-down the exact color of his eyes along with flattering gray pants and a belt I could swear is Prada. Cleaning up nice is putting it mildly.
This is the first time I’ve gotten a glimpse of Drew’s style, and I don’t know why I figured it was all work boots and hoodies, but he’s been trying to make it in Manhattan as a model for a while. It was stupid to think he’d dress like a construction worker and not someone who knows what fashion is.
“Hi, Ollie. It’s so nice to meet a new friend of Drew’s.”
I nod, smile, and shake Jericho’s offered hand. Finally, we all sit. My knee immediately hits Drew’s beneath the table, and I jerk it back like Drew’s leg is a hot poker. He smirks as he glances down at his menu.
“We ordered a bottle of red and a bottle of white,” Jericho says.
“You read our minds,” Elodie responds.
I lean toward Elodie and whisper into her ear, “Please don’t mention he’s my doorman. I’m not sure Jericho knows.”
She lifts her napkin to her mouth to cover a laugh and tries to turn it into a cough.
When I pull away, I meet Drew’s hard gaze. I give him a look I hope he interprets as “get over yourself.”
I attempt to summon some of my legendary charm. “Drew’s told me how beautiful you are, Jericho, but he hasn’t mentioned what you do for a living.”
She turns her blinding smile on me. “I work in acquisitions at Spielman and Row.”
Ah, one of the big publishers. So, she’s not just some waitress or bartender. Great.
“Are you an editor?” Elodie asks.
Jericho nods. “Nonfiction. Memoirs and biographies mainly.”
“She’s responsible for Macie Saint’s book,” Drew says, name-dropping the famous rapper like he’s gone to dinner with her. I guess maybe he has.
“Whoa!” Elodie exclaims. “You’re like awesome!”
