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“That depends.” Her green eyes twinkled at me from across the table. “Do you like cheese?”
“Who doesn’t?” I quipped.
“Someone who’s lactose intolerant,” she mused. “But I’m glad to hear that doesn’t include you because Zinqué’s sharing board is a great way to start our meal.”
When the server set down water, I ordered the board while Celia looked at the wine list.
“What do you like?” she asked.
“Red or white. I’m not picky.”
“White sounds good to me tonight.” She scanned, found a couple of options, and handed the list to me. “We could do the Chablis Domaine Gueguen or Puligny-Montrachet Bourgogne.”
Scanning the list, I smiled when I found the wines she’d recommended. Both were excellent vintages, with one toward the lower end of the price list while the other was on the higher side. I appreciated that she’d put thought into what would pair well with our cheese board instead of suggesting a bottle of Dom or a two-thousand-dollar Bordeaux.
Glancing up at the server, I requested, “The Puligny-Montrachet please.”
“Of course, sir.”
Celia rubbed her hands together before opening her menu. “It also pairs perfectly with their signature bowl with salmon. Or the tuna tartare tartine. You could also do the moules-frites with it because the wine will help the meal feel light.”
“Dining with a chef is fun.”
Celia wrinkled her nose. “Sorry, one of the pitfalls to my career.”
“No.” I stretched my arm across the table to rest my hand on top of hers. “I meant it as a compliment.”
“Thank you.”
The wine came out, quickly followed by the board. Before the server left, we ordered. Celia chose the bowl, and I went with the moules-frites. She seemed pleased that I chose a dish she’d recommended.
We talked about our careers as we nibbled on cheese and French country-style sourdough. Our fingers brushed toward the end, and neither of us moved for a moment. I felt the shock of awareness all the way up my arm, and she seemed to as well.
“Excellent suggestion,” I finally murmured, tilting my chin toward the nearly empty board.
“Almost too good.” She leaned back to pat her belly. “I doubt I’ll have room for my meal and dessert. Which is a shame since the apple tarte tatin is one of my favorites.”
“We can take dessert home.”
The pink returned to her cheeks. “Um…”
It took me a moment to realize she was blushing because of how my offer sounded. “That wasn’t a new spin on asking you to come up and see my etchings. I meant our respective homes.”
“Ahh, good.” She took a sip of her wine. “Sorry, didn’t mean to assume.”
I reached out to take her hand again, this time brushing my thumb across her knuckles. “In this case, you can assume away. I’d like nothing more than to take you home tonight, but I want a second date with you too much to rush this.”
“Slow is good.” She turned her glass, not quite looking at me. “My divorce was finalized a month ago.”
I squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“It was over much longer than that, but thank you.” She met my gaze. “I almost didn’t come tonight.”
“Your hesitation is completely understandable. I’ve been divorced for almost ten years, and I still haven’t got it all figured out.”
She shook her head with a laugh, the tension easing from her shoulders. “That’s weirdly comforting.”
“Good, we can muddle through together.”
