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“Um, sure,” Amy answers. “That champagne tasted good.”
I opt for water. JD waves a server over and places the drink order.
“Your jacket is with coat check,” I say to Darren.
“Thanks for bringing it,” he replies.
“JD, your house is so frickin’ amazing,” Amy says.
“I can give you a quick tour,” JD replies. He turns to his cousin. “Be right back.”
Darren and I look at each other while JD leads Amy away. The mischievous part of me wants to ask if I get a tour, too, but I know they’ll be glad for their time alone.
Remembering the coat check ticket, I fish it out of my purse and hand it to him. “Thanks again for letting me borrow your jacket. I’m a wuss when it comes to chilly weather. I think my ancestors must have lived near the equator.”
The server returns with my drink and Amy’s.
“Guess I’ll hold on to hers,” I say.
Darren waves off the server and Amy’s drink. “We’ll get another glass for her when she comes back.”
I take a sip of my water and contemplate for a moment before saying, “It’s a good vintage.”
The statement's a bit corny, but he might be a tiny bit amused.
Looking for small talk, I say, “This house is amazing. This view is to die for.”
“It’s even more amazing from the gazebo, where the trees aren’t in your way.”
Spotting the gazebo he’s referring to, I perk up.
“Let’s go,” Darren says.
Though his tone isn’t overtly bossy, I notice he didn’t ask if I wanted to go check out the gazebo. He must have noticed my interest.
“Sure,” I say, as if he did ask.
He gives me a brief glance. I can’t tell if it’s quizzical or amused or weirded out. He nods in the direction of the stairs at the end of the deck.
It’s not easy going down stairs in the heels I’ve got, and despite my best efforts, I stumble just before we reach the bottom. Darren catches me by the arm. A subtle shiver goes through me.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
We make our way down a lighted path to the gazebo. I feel my ankles wobble a few times, but I manage to stay upright. There are two steps up into the gazebo, and Darren holds out an arm as if ready to catch me if I fall. Once I make it into the gazebo, I sigh at the vista. I’ve never seen anything more picturesque.
“I love the reflection of the lights in the water,” I remark. “And the Golden Gate must be like the most beautiful bridge in the world.”
“There’s the Charles Bridge in Prague, the Ponte Vechhio, or Chengyang in China…but, yeah, the Golden Gate tops my list.”
Without heat lamps, the gazebo is cold, but I don’t want to part with the view just yet.
“You’ve seen these other bridges?” I ask.
“I did a semester in Italy when I was at UCLA and did some traveling then. And I’ve been to China a number of times.”
“Do you have family there?”
“Distant relatives.”
