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“You’ve obviously never eaten out with a five year old before.”
He laughed. “Actually, no. Not since I was a kid.” He put a hand on hers briefly. “Relax.”
She compressed her lips and nodded, putting the eye-watering expense out of her mind. But if he thought she was going to let him get the tab then he had another thing coming.
The restaurant was busy and Melinda hoped that there might not be a table for them.
“Can I help you, sir?” Did she imagine the hint of recognition in the waiter’s face? No. He looked at Ra’if as though he knew him.
“Three.” Ra’if spoke without much civility so Melinda softened it with a smile. Jordan, beside her, was moving from foot to foot and already she was terrified he’d knock something or someone over.
“Certainly, sir. This way, please.” He bowed, which Melinda found odd to the extreme. Then again, this was probably the fanciest restaurant she’d ever been in. Maybe that was normal here.
He held Ra’if’s chair for him, earning a stern look from Ra’if, who stepped back and allowed Melinda to take it. Her cheeks pinkened by the bizarre turn of events, she settled herself. Ra’if aided Jordan into his seat, surprising Melinda by immediately settling a napkin onto his lap and moving the crystal wine glass out of reach.
“You don’t have to have experience with kids to know that’s a recipe for disaster.”
She nodded, but the fun was at risk of evaporating. She frowned at the menu, and then looked beseechingly at Ra’if. She was completely out of her comfort zone.
He didn’t seem bothered, but he understood. He leaned closer to her. “The menu is mostly in French. Would you like me to translate?”
“You speak French?” She asked softly. Jordan was busy tracing lines on the table cloth with his index finger.
“Oui. Growing up, we were expected to be fluent in several languages. French was one of them.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Were your parents diplomats?”
“In a sense,” he said carefully. “They believed it important to be able to hold conversations with many people, regardless of shared cultures and philosophies. If we all spoke more of one another’s languages, perhaps war wouldn’t be on the news every day.”
She felt her heart turn over in her breast. “You speak like …” Like what? A politician? No. There was nothing rehearsed about the way Ra’if spoke. “Like you know a lot about it,” she finished lamely, her smile lopsided. She refocussed her attention on the menu. Worryingly, this menu didn’t even have the prices listed, unlike the board outside.
“What do you feel like eating?” He murmured, his hand brushing her leg beneath the table.
She startled and then forced herself to relax. She was being edgy for no real reason. It was just the strangeness of the situation. That was all. She pulled a face and shut the menu. “You choose.”
Ra’if’s frown was brief. “Steak? Chips? Chicken? Fish?”
“Sounds good.” She forced a smile. “What about you, Jordie?”
“Pasta.”
Ra’if laughed. “I see your son has none of your ambivalence.”
She grinned, her heart turning over in her chest. “Apparently not.”
He lowered his voice, catching only Melinda’s hearing. “I had fun this evening.”
“I did too.” She watched as Jordan put his elbows on the table and braced his little face, his eyes scanning the hustling crowds beyond the window. “Jordan loved it.”
“He’s very athletic.”
“Yeah, I think he might be.” Her smile was tight. Brent had been. Cricket, tennis, golf, rugby, football, he’d excelled at all of them.
Ra’if seemed to understand where her mind had wandered to. “Not from you?”
She laughed quietly. “You should see me try to catch a ball.”
“You skate beautifully.”
