He’s as built, handsome, and well-dressed as his immaculate hand and as confident as his presumptuous approach told me he would be.
Though increasingly rare, men like him are very familiar to me.
I’ve spent most of my life living in their favorite North American hunting grounds—New York and Washington, DC. They look like a dream but are vessels of mayhem and disappointment. I’ve just escaped the clutches of one.
Ishoulddispatch him with an icy glare, but mustering the energy to be bitchy is more work than I want to do tonight.
I smile up at him. “Yes?”
“I couldn’t help overhear you just now. You were trying to get a table, right?” He smiles like he knows it’s hypnotic.
“I was.” I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to say more.
“I have a table for two and my date just canceled.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And?” I prod not sure where this is going.
“I was wondering if you’d like to share my table.”
“Oh. Really?” I give him a once-over, warily taking in his immaculately pressed trousers and dress shirt. “What’s the catch?”
“There isn’t one.” He shrugs. “You need a table. I have a spare seat at mine.”
The reflexive, “No thanks” that should be on the tip of my tongue isn’t.
I booked this hotel for the views and so I could eat at Dogon. I love the chef’s restaurant in New York and had been so disappointed when the hostess turned me away. Whynoteat with him?
I look him square in the eye. God his eyes are dark as midnight. Not even the light’s reflection in them reveals his pupils. “No catch? You’re just being nice?”
He puts his hands in his pockets and leans back in his seat, smiling. “Crazy concept, right?”
Sometimes it feels like one. I don’t reply, but return his smile.
I could do with something nice. He’s not asking me on a date, and it’s not like we’d be alone. How much damage could he do over dinner in a public restaurant?
I brighten my smile and grab my purse. “Okay, yes. I’d love that. What time is your reservation?”
“In about seven minutes. Are you ready?”
I pick up my drink and step off the stool. “Very.”
“Great.” He puts a hand against the small of my back and sweeps his other arm out in the direction of the restaurant. “Shall we?”
I nod and step away from his touch as we head back toward the restaurant.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
He’s facing straight ahead, his jaw set. He’s the kind of handsome that’s timeless. Smooth, clean-shaven, caramel brown skin, an immaculate goatee, skin that looks like he takes good care of it, and a fresh low fade topped with waves that deserve a round of applause.
His eyes are deep set and narrow, with thick lashes that curl like I wish mine would. He’s got broad shoulders, a flat stomach, slim hips, long sturdy legs and is tall enough for me to climb.
Something has got to be wrong with him because if “too good to be true” was a person, it would lookjustlike him.
“Kwame. I thought that was you.” The hostess’s screech drags my eyes away from him and my attention back to the present.
She steps from around her booth and throws her arm around his shoulders. “I saw your name on the list tonight, but I was sure it was an error. I’m so glad I was wrong.”
They hug like long-lost friends and I try not to be offended that he doesn’t introduce me before we’re shown to our table.
