Page 28 of Somebody To Love

After jumping in the shower, I got dressed and Becca wished me luck. I made my way to the restaurant where Jean-Bernard and I were supposed to meet. I hadn’t been nervous up until that moment. What if he took one look at me and ran the other way? What if I had photoshopped a bit too much in my profile and he didn’t recognize me?

What if—?

All thoughts of what-ifs went from my mind as I caught sight of him. He was easy to spot. He was the guy stepping out of the Tesla with a smile on his face as he scanned the outside of the restaurant clearly looking for me.

I gulped hard. Maybe this birthday gift would be worth it. Maybe everything would go great. Maybe I would fall in love and live happily ever after with this guy with a fancy car, fancy name, and a GQ kind of style. That’s exactly what it was. It looked like he stepped off the cover of a men’s magazine. He was dressed stylishly in a dark suit and brown shoes. His hair looked freshly cut and I liked the long-ish beard he sported. He was kind of sexier than Ty. Kind of. Speaking of Ty, I secretly hoped he wasn’t walking by at this very moment since I hadn’t exactly cut off ties with him as the relationship advisor had requested. Yeah, yeah, I was violating the contract, but whatever. It didn’t count unless I was caught, right?

“Piper?” Jean-Bernard said, coming to stand in front of me.

I nodded, suddenly tongue-tied. He looked nice, smelled nice. He was probably a bit more than my senses could take.

“How do you do? You must be Jean-Bernard,” I said, trying to sound as fancy as he looked. I felt so stupid. Who said “How do you do?” anymore? Grandmas who grew up back in the Great Depression. That’s who. To me, I sounded stuffy and ridiculous. I wanted to kick myself.

He didn’t seem to notice my antiquated vocabulary. Instead, he smiled widely and I was like... woah. Dude was even more gorgeous when he turned the full force of his pearly whites on me.

“You’re even more beautiful in person than in your pictures,” he said without a hint of a French accent.

“Thank you.” I knew I was blushing and I knew now was my chance to say something clever and flirtatious, but I couldn’t come up with anything. So instead I said, “So, are you hungry?”

God, I was such a great conversationalist. Not!

“I’m starving, absolutely ravished,” And then he let his eyes travel over me as he said the last part. Apparently, food wasn’t the only thing Jean-Bernard wanted to ravage. Again, I knew that I was blushing, but I was thankful for the nighttime sky I was sure disguised it.

He handed his keys to a valet that looked pretty excited about the prospect of parking the Tesla, and then he took my elbow and gestured for me to walk in as the doorman opened the door for us.

Polite. Rich. Gorgeous. Winner, winner.

I continued to be impressed as we made our way to our table, the maître d chatting happily with us about nothing at all. It seems she knew Jean-Bernard since she asked about his travel plans.

He was polite, but clearly distancing himself as he answered. I didn’t think he was being rude. I think he was just trying to make it clear that tonight he wasn’t open to idle chitchat. He pulled my chair out for me and I sat down and looked around. “Thank you,” I murmured, enjoying the ambiance of the restaurant. It was small, intimate. There were probably about ten tables and each already had diners.

“What do you think?” he asked.

I let my eyes travel across the area again and then smiled at him, “It’s beautiful and deceptively large. It looks tiny from the outside.”

He nodded, “That’s true. I like it here. Not too loud. I like to be able to hear myself think and of course, be able to talk without yelling over other people.”

“Isn’t that the worse?”

He laughed and sat back. “I once dated a girl that insisted on large athletic events for all our dates.”

“Was she a huge sports fan?”

He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t think she could tell the difference between football and soccer, nor did she care. I think she just didn’t like having to talk to me one on one.”

“So let me get this right—she would make you take her to like a football game and then just completely not know what was going on?”

“Exactly.”

“How many times did you go out with her?”

“About six times.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “Are you kidding me? After the first time, I would have said, “No, thank you.”

“She was hot. I was young—”

“So her hotness was the only thing that mattered to you at the time?”