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“Wow,” she says, her eyes wide again as she looks back at the menu. I see her eyes catch on something in particular, and I realize I haven’t even read it myself yet. I start reading, my stomach letting me know that it’s been a while since lunch as I go through mouth-watering descriptions of food that all sounds amazing.
“I don’t know what I’m going to get,” I confess, shrugging my shoulders helplessly. “It all sounds incredible.”
“Me, either,” she says, looking up at me with wide eyes filled with relief. “God, I thought it was just me. Everything sounds so good.”
“That’s settled, then,” I tell her. I glance up at the waiter – that’s all I need to do, here. He’s always on alert, ready to spring into action, and he approaches the table at a brisk clip.
“Are you ready to order, sir?” he asks.
I try not to smile at the look of panic on Gabriella’s face. “Yes,” I tell him. “We’ll have one of everything.”
“Everything?” he says, confirming it with a twinkle in his eyes. I think he’s excited about the size of the check he’s going to be handing me at the end of this meal.
“Yes, please,” I say, lifting my menu to hand it to him. “And a couple of your house cordials for our drinks. Thanks.”
“Certainly,” he says, taking Gabriella’s menu as well with a short bow and then disappearing.
“One of everything?” Gabriella says when he’s gone, her voice low and full of… I don’t know. Maybe awe.
“Is there an echo in here?” I joke. “How else are we supposed to figure out which dish is the best?”
“I don’t know the exchange rate by heart, but I know those are big numbers on the menu,” Gabriella says. Almost warningly. Like she’s telling me off for spending too much money on her. I think I love it.
“And I don’t often get the chance to spend those kinds of numbers on a guest, so let me enjoy it,” I tell her. It’s not just a tactic to make her feel better. I really do enjoy treating the people I care about. Since that circle is very small, it means I can do it whenever I feel like it without going overboard. In my own life, there isn’t a whole lot that I need or want that I can’t just buy, so it feels good to buy things for those who aren’t quite yet at that stage.
“I don’t think you’re going to give me a choice, are you?” she asks. She’s smiling when she says it, so I know she doesn’t mind as much as she’s making out.
“Nope,” I tell her with a grin. “So you might as well enjoy it, too.”
She chuckles and ducks her head. “Then, I guess I will. Thank you for this.”
That smile on her lips… I don’t think she realizes how powerful it is. How I would do just about anything in order to keep it there.
It doesn’t take long for the dishes to arrive. We look down in awe at the array of plates spread out between us, covering the small table. We’re just in the middle of deciding how to split up each plate when a familiar head of hair pokes around the kitchen door, and the chef himself appears to greet us.
“I wondered who it might be that wanted to try everything on the menu,” he says, casual and friendly as he leans on the wall next to our table. He’s still wearing his chef whites, his hands clutching a dishcloth as they always seem to be. I can never tell whether he’s trying to stop himself from touching anything to keep his hands clean, or whether he thinks his hands are too dirty with food to touch anything.
“Hello, Marco,” I say with a smile. “This is my guest, Gabriella.”
“Gabby, please,” she says, darting a look at me which is half-sheepish. She must have been wanting to correct me all this time. I guess that with all the growing up she’s been doing, there have been a lot of changes. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“She’s a polite one,” Marco grins, nodding at her and then glancing at me. “Where’d you find her? Is that a California accent?”
I don’t do her the injustice of speaking for her. She’s more than shown me she’s capable of doing that herself, in spite of the flush that spreads across her cheeks.
“Was I too polite?” she says, waving a slightly flustered hand. “I don’t know. I’ve never met a chef before. And, yes, California.”
“Never?” Marco says, looking almost affronted. “Where else has he been taking you?”
“Nowhere else,” she says with a light laugh. “I just arrived today. I’m visiting colleges this week, and Oz and my dad are… old friends.”
I wonder just a little at the hesitation there. Why would she not be sure about that? Well, she has to be sure of it – she’s grown up seeing us as friends.
