“Where are we headed?” she asks, crossing one leg over theother.
“A place my Grampssuggested.”
About thirty minuteslater we pull up to Shagri-La Hotel. Lauren whips a set of speculative eyes onme.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure you know they have a few good restaurantshere.”
A smile creeps up on her face, washing away all the doubt she was showing. “Ofcourse.”
The valet takes my keys then Lauren and I walk up a small set of steps, to glass sliding doors that open as soon as we draw near. Our shoes hit the marble floors while overhead glass chandeliers illuminate the walkway as I lead Lauren to a restaurant my Gramps says will sweep her off herfeet.
And when we arrive toShang Palace,Lauren’s eyes gleam. “Jaxson, you brought me to the only Chinese restaurant in all of Paris? I could just hugyou.”
I wish youwould.
Once we are seated I admit, “I’m sure glad you like Chinesefood.”
“I have been craving it, truthfully. André had Thai delivered for lunch today. Not the same,” she says, accepting a menu from theserver.
We order the chef’s special: wonton soup, fried rice with barbecue pork, and braised lobster with spring onions. Along with sparkling water and greentea.
Lauren admits she doesn’t prefer to drink alcohol. I don’t dare push. Besides, I don’t think I could handle liquoranyway.
Lauren alone isintoxicating.
“Thanks for picking me up Jaxson. Especially on such short notice.” She opens her napkin, resting it on herlap.
“My pleasure. I was out for a leisure drive, you know, taking my Porsche out for a maidenvoyage.”
“You only just bought ittoday?”
I chuckle at her innocent amusement. “This evening. I was a little down and needed a pick-me-up.”
The waiter drops off a small kettle of green tea along with our bottles of sparkling water, then gives a slight bow before walkingaway.
Being the gentleman I was raised to be, I pour tea into a cup for Lauren, then pour some into a cup formyself.
“Thank you,” she says. “Why were you a littledown?”
Her blunt-force inquiry doesn’t catch me off guard. “You really want toknow?”
She sips some tea. “I asked,right?”
Resting my cup of tea on the crisp linen-topped table, I cock my head to the side, looking right into Lauren’s eyes and say, “You. You had me a littledown.”
One eyebrow raised, she says, “Me?”
“Yes. I guess I was down because when I came clean about who I really am, you didn’t even seem to care. Then you gloated about your date tonight. A date I wished you’dcanceled.”
“And why is that?” Her cheeksbrighten.
“You really need to ask that question,Lauren?”
She observes me for a few tense seconds before a smile slowly dances on her lips. The absence of words over her actions expresses more than she’ll everknow.
Then, like perfect timing, our food arrives, and Lauren and I partake in consuming every delectable bite, fitting in pieces of small talk inbetween.
“What inspired you to startHauteCouture?”
