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Chapter 8
PETE
Tinker Bell is waiting on the stoop when I pull up in front of her building. She is across the sidewalk and opening the car door before I can even get out.
Settling back into my seat, I close my door waiting for her to get into the car. Clipping her seatbelt, she turns to me with an expectant smile.
“Why are you frowning?” her eyes are wide as my lips thin, my eyes lingering on her door. She glances over, a smile playing across her plump lips. “Is it because I didn’t wait for you to open my door for me like a gentleman?”
My teeth grit. Well, when she says it in a teasing tone like that… it sounds ridiculous.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to treat your date like a lady,” I reply stiffly, starting the ignition. Her bubbly giggle wraps around my senses.
“I promise to stay sitting right here, like a good girl, when we arrive, and you can open my door.”
Fucking hell. I know she’s teasing me, but I remember when I called her a good girl, right as she came on my dick. It’s a nice memory, and now I’m sitting here, driving through Saturday night traffic, hard as steel. Just perfect.
“So, where are we going? You didn’t say in your message.”
“Dinner and a show, Tinker Bell.”
“Like, the theater?” She is bouncing in her seat excitedly. Glancing over as I pull onto the boulevard, I smirk, raising my eyebrows at her.
“Have you never been to the theater before, Tinker Bell?”
She flushes, and I feel like a god damn asshole.
“It wasn’t really my dad’s thing. He’s more a fishing and beer guy.”
“And your mom?”
She fidgets with her purse and her bracelet. “She is a very practical woman.”
“So, not really into the theater?” I guess, pulling up at the restaurant. Mel tips her head to the side and sighs.
“No. Not really into the theater.”
The valet opens her door, and she glances over in surprise. I quickly exit, clapping the kid on the shoulder and handing him my keys. When I extend my hand, Tinker Bell takes it with a small smile. I don’t bother dropping her hand, tangling our fingers together as I lead her into the restaurant.
Mel looks around with wide eyes as we walk up to the hostess station.
“Mr. Rampwood.” The woman’s mouth stretches into a wide, toothy smile. “We’re so glad you could join us tonight. We have your table set aside for you and your guest. Right this way.”
Releasing Mel’s hand, I place my own on the small of her back, guiding her through to the restaurant. This place has been a staple of Seattle fine dining since the 1950s, and my grandfather has a table permanently booked. I called around. No one was using it tonight, so I claimed it.
“Oh, wow,” Mel whispers, her eyes staring out over the marina. The hostess holds out her chair, and I place a hand on her shoulder, pressing her into it. I’ve made sure her back is to the restaurant so she can see the phenomenal view.
I wave away the very thick wine list booklet, taking my seat.
“We’ll have a bottle of the 2015 Blanchot Chablis,” I tell the waitress, who smiles and nods, leaving the menus with us and melting away.
“Are you one of those wine people?” Mel asks, her voice full of laughter. I arch an eyebrow, smirking across at her as she slowly opens her menu.
“And what are those wine people like?”
She laughs, her eyes holding mine. “Snobby.”
Flipping open my menu, I grin widely at her. “I’m very snobby when it comes to wine.”
“Sometimes, I drink it out of a teacup or a jam jar.”
I know she might be teasing me, but there is a nugget of truth in her statement. I huff out a pained sigh.
“Well, this,” I nod to the waitress as she presents the bottle with a flourish and begins to pour, “is definitely not a wine you drink out of a teacup or a jam jar.”
The waitress sets our bottle down and melts away again. I reach for my glass, but Mel’s eyes are glued to her menu.
“There are only six items on this menu,” she hisses, her eyes darting up to meet my amused ones.
“Yes.”
“The wine list book thingy was, like, a hundred pages long.”
“Ninety-two.”
“Okay, you didn’t even look at it. Is this where you take all your dates to impress them?”
Chuckling, I take a sip of the crisp white wine. Mel is still watching me with raised eyebrows as I set my wine glass down.
“No. I mainly come here with family.”
“Not your mysterious construction company owning best friend?”
“Andy?” I snort at the very thought. “The man would be hung, drawn, and quartered before he set foot in a place this fancy. I meet him at a seedy sports bar Downtown.”
“I like the sound of him more and more,” Mel mutters. The low growl rips out of me before I even register it. Mel’s eyes dance with mischief as they meet mine.
“Did I touch a nerve?” she asks innocently, her eyes wide again. My eyes narrow on her. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“I’m sure Andy would drink cheap wine out of a teacup with you, Tinker Bell,” I say drily, flipping open my menu and running my eye cursorily over the six items there. “But he wouldn’t be caught dead at the theater.”
“Which is why I’m here with you.”
Yeah, she’s mocking me. I nod my head at her menu. “Do you know what you’re going to order?”
“Uh, there’s not a lot of choice, so I can pick quickly.”
The waitress appears, taking our orders and the menus, melting away again. Mel plucks up her wine, sniffing it and taking a sip.
“It’s delicious,” she moans, closing her eyes and savoring the taste in her mouth. God, she’s so fucking gorgeous. “It wouldn’t taste the same out of a teacup?”
“I find the atmosphere and the view are part of the tasting experience.”
Mel’s eyes dance over my shoulder, taking in the view again as she savors another sip.
“You’re right. Looking at that while drinking it makes it taste better.”
“I’m usually right.”
She snorts into her wine, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to assume that, unlike me, tonight isn’t going to be your first theater experience?”
Settling back in my chair, I sip my wine and grin at her. “Unfortunately not.”
“Unfortunately?”
“My mother is not a practical woman. She redecorates her house, she organizes charity galas, and she drags her five-year-old son to the theater.”
“You poor, poor thing.”
“I would rather have been at a Mariners game.”
“My heart bleeds for you.”
I wink, grinning at her sarcasm. She blinks in surprise as the first course is laid before us.
“This isn’t what I ordered.”
“They put in surprise courses. Don’t worry, I called ahead and told them about your allergy. It’s safe to eat.”
Mel looks doubtful, picking up her fork and taking a bite. Her eyes dart to her purse, no doubt thinking about her EpiPen.
“Don’t you trust me?” I ask, spearing a piece of charred cauliflower with my fork.
“You? Yes. This place? I don’t know. I’ve never been here before.”
Grinning, I wait for her to swallow, the suspicious look disappearing from her face as she happily takes another bite.
“Okay, it’s kind of delicious.”
“I’ve never had any complaints about this place.”
“So, you called ahead and organized this amazing table just for me?”
I chuckle, taking another sip of wine. “I’d like to take the credit, but this is a standing reservation for the family. I just organized that we could use it for tonight.”
Mel’s eyes dart around, taking in the grandeur. “Your family has a permanent reservation? That’s…fancy.”
“Remember what I told you about my mom?”
Mel grins, toying with her fork. “What else is your family like?”
“Oh, let me tell you about the pain in my ass that is my second cousin, Artie.”
