The clock turns its hands.
A crisp cloth napkin rests in my lap.
If I’d known the restaurant was going to be this swanky, I might have packed a different outfit.
“Porter has excellent taste,” I admit.
“In ex-lovers?” Marco winks.
A pang of jealousy twists below my ribs.
I look away.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said…” he falters. “You mean the restaurant he picked?”
I nod softly.
“He does know his way around a menu, that’s for sure.”
As with most top notch kitchens, each large plate only holds a tiny morsel of food.
Edible art, delectable but petite.
My belly is far from satisfied by the time we walk out the door.
And when I see his ass in those pants, I’m ravenous in more ways than one.
But the night is still young.
???
Wandering along the esplanade, we turn down a side street off Cavill.
“Where are you taking me, Mr Adams?”
“Following the music, my love.”
He leads me up a brightly lit staircase.
Wide silver doors open to reveal a vibrant room.
High ceilings and velvet draped along the far wall.
To one side, a curved bar glows from beneath, strips of light running along the edge.
Rows of back lit bottles, glasses lined up in twos or threes.
A rainbow of beverages.
Turquoise, magenta, mint green.
Ice cubes rattle in a shaker, wedges of lime perch on sugary rims.
A lively group of women brush past us.
One wears a veil and a bride-to-be sash.
The bartender turns to greet us.
