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“No. Am I dressed okay for it?” I ask, looking down at my work clothes. They have seen better days, but I only had consults today, so they are relatively clean.
“Yes, of course. You’re in for a treat. That’s my dad’s restaurant.”
“Named after you?” I say as the name of the place dawns on me.
“Yep. He opened it right after I was born. He’s currently working in New Orleans on Annika, named after my mom. It’ll open soon. We can go somewhere else if you want.”
“No. It’s totally fine. I’ve always wanted to eat there.”
Outside, she locks the door and takes my hand as we cross the street. I look down at her tiny, hot-pinked tipped fingers nestled in my larger hand. It looks and feels so fucking right. I let her drag me down the sidewalk to the restaurant. I open the door for her, and we stand at the hostess stand.
“Belle!” a girl shouts, pulling Belle into a hug.
“Hey Camille.”
“Did you make a reservation? I didn’t see you on the books.”
“No. I was hoping you had a table. Camille, this is Kent. Kent, my cousin, Camille.”
“I do, but your Dad is here today. He’s on the warpath. You and your beau may want to go elsewhere.” I guess there is no time for pleasantries.
“Oh no. What happened?” she asks Camille before turning to me. I also notice that she doesn’t correct her about me being her beau. “It would have to be huge to take him away from Annika’s.”
“Oh, it was. Jacques quit this morning.”
“What? Jacques is the executive chef.” I love that she’s bringing me into the conversation.
“It gets worse,” Camille says, leading us to a half-circle booth in the corner of the room.
“He went to Chez Henri’s.”
“Oh, no. They’re rivals,” she says to me. All I can do is nod.
“Here’s your menu. I’ve got people at the door. Nice to meet you, Kent.”
“You too, Camille.”
“Bucky?” a male asks, coming up to our time.
“Paul! It’s so nice to see you again. I didn’t know you still worked here. I thought you were going to medical school.”
“I am, but I don’t have classes this summer. Your dad gave me my old job back. Who’s this?” the kid asks, looking butthurt.
“This is Kent, my…”
“Man,” I supply, extending my hand to him.
“Oh, wow. Really?” he asks, shaking my hand.
“Yes,” Belle says wistfully.
“He knows all about the vow?”
“Shut up, Paul. We’re ready to order.”
“He doesn’t know, Bucky?”
“I’ll have the steak, medium rare, loaded baked potato, and Cesar salad. A Coke would be fine.”
