Chapter Eleven
“Do you like calamari?Because they do a calamari, grapefruit, and avocado bruschetta antipasto that isto die for, Iswear!”
Drew rested his elbow on the table, and cradled his chin in his hand as he watched his date pore over the menu with the same obvious excitement he’d shown for Drew’s simple attire of jeans and a deep green cashmere sweater, the rustic but elegant restaurant decor, and the football game, which apparently the Patriots were winning at thehalf.
West Kitchen, a fairly new fusion restaurant Drew had eaten at several times, was impressive as always - dark wood tables, snow-white linens, twinkling fairy lights, and conscientious servers. Mark was asobjectively hotas ever in a dark blue suit, to the point where Drew almost wanted to take a selfie to sendPeter.
But sadly, the most interesting part of the date for Drew thus far was the comical way Mark kept over-pronouncing the Italian words. He couldn’t help but wish that Sebastian were here, if only so they could share a commiserating glance every time Mark trilled out “brrrruschetta.”
Mark glanced up at him expectantly, and Drew realized he’d missed a question. He quickly backtracked, forcing out a smile. “Uh, yeah. Yes. I likecalamari.”
“Oh, that’s great! See, I knew we would get along!” Mark beamed. His phone beeped and he slid it out. “Pats scoredagain!”
Drew nodded, drawing a pattern on the linen tablecloth with his forefinger. “That’sgreat.”
“Celebration time!” Mark announced, and Drew stifled a sigh as Mark lifted a finger to signal theirwaiter.
“A bottle of Cristal, please. Something from before… let’s say, 2006.” Mark smiled wide, like the world’s most pretentious shark, and Drew imagined what Bas would have said about celebrating a football score with a $200 bottle ofchampagne.
“We have a 2005, sir,” the waiteroffered.
“Perfect,” Mark agreed, delighted. He looked at Drew and blinked as the waiter departed. “Oh, I suppose I should have checked with you! You do like champagne, don’tyou?”
All the blinking made him look like a turtle. A turtle wearing a curly brown wig. And his dirty-green eyes seemed dull and… even a little bit smug. Nothing like the intelligent fire in a certain pair of blueeyes.
“Not much, no. But then, I don’t really drink that often, and hardly ever on a first date,” Drew told him with a small smile. “You goahead.”
Mark pouted, sticking his lower lip out. “But champagne’s no fun unless you share it. You’ll have one glass, won’tyou?”
“Oh. No, Ireally…”
“One tiny little glass,” Mark insisted. “It’s just that I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to get you on this date. You have no idea. We need tocelebrate!”
Ugh. Drew had been afraid of exactly this - encouraging Mark by agreeing to this date. He didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings, but as he’d once told Bas, he could only be guilted sofar.
“One glass,” he agreed, firmly intending to dump the glass into the small potted tree that the universe had conveniently placed just inches from their table. He cleared his throat and cast around for polite conversation. “So… how was yourholiday?”
“Perfect,” Mark said. “I went skiing with somefriends!”
He pantomimed holding a set of ski poles, complete with swishing sounds, while a tiny part of Drew’s souldied.
“That’s, uh… perfect,” Drewagreed.
Mark checked his phone again,frowning.
“Did the other team score?” Drew asked. It was a good thing he had little invested in this date, or else he might have been slightlyoffended.
“Pardon?”
“Your phone,” Drew said patiently. “Is it thescore.”
“Oh. Uh. Yes. Yeah, the score.” Mark put his phone away again and focused his brilliant, sharky smile on Drew. “What were wesaying?”
“We were talking about Christmas. I spent my holiday in New York. With mymother.”
Mark’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow. Your mother? I had no idea she was still alive. That’s sogreat!”
Only a decade spent in and around courtrooms prevented Drew’s jaw from dropping open.Who said shit likethis?
