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I’ve got a good feeling about this . . . he was handsome and so nice; I mean, he even told his assistant about me when he had to travel overseas. It sounds like he’s as eager as I am.
I walk up the street and see the swanky gold sign:
MONSIEUR
Wow, what a place to have a first date.
I’ve wanted to come here for forever. This place is legendary. I’ve tried to get a table here before, but it has always been booked out for months in advance.
I push open the heavy doors and walk in. The waiter at the front desk smiles. “Hello. How may I help you?”
“Hi, I have a booking for seven thirty tonight?” I smile nervously as I look around. Wow, this place is something else. French furnishings. Big, beautiful murals are painted on the walls. Lamps with warm glow bulbs are everywhere.
“What was the name?” he asks.
“Um.” I shrug, unsure of the answer. “Henley James?”
“Yes.” He smiles. “Your table is right this way.” He leads me through a hallway and out to another area, then down some stairs, and we arrive at a quaint garden courtyard. It’s a different feel out here, more playful and intimate.
Music is playing, and the sound of jovial chatter floats through the air. Beautiful murals are painted on the brickwork. There are huge plants in terra-cotta pots, and fairy lights are strung up above, creating a canopy.
Wow, touchdown on the location.
He knows his stuff; this date is a ten already.
And then I see him . . . and my stomach flips. He’s sitting at a table for two in the corner as he waits.
He’s early too.
I had a sneaking suspicion that this was all an elaborate hoax. He glances up. Our eyes meet, and he instantly rises out of his chair to greet me.
He’s wearing a sport coat and pants, a black shirt with the top button down. I can see a peek of his chest.
“Hello.” He smiles as he kisses me on the cheek. “You look lovely.”
Oh, he smells good.
“Hi.” I swoon.
He pulls my chair out, and I slip into it. “Thank you.” I can feel that my face is a nervous shade of red.
Okay, scratch that: this date is a twenty.
I roll my lips and rearrange my cutlery on the table as my heart races. I’m so nervous it’s ridiculous.
He sits back in his seat. “So . . .”
“So . . .” I smile.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the waitress asks.
Tequila, bitch . . . all of it.
I pick up the drink menu. Quick, pick something.
“What would you like, sir?” she asks him.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” he replies in his deep sexy voice.
