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“It’s great to see you, too, Marcus. This is my girlfriend, Eleanor.”
“Eleanor, you look exquisite,” Marcus says as Eleanor sits down. “I don’t know what a scoundrel like Joseph is doing with you,” he jokes.
Eleanor laughs. “Marcus, you’re much too kind. I can be a bit of a scoundrel as well.” She wiggles her eyebrows and laughs.
“She’s funny, too! Joseph, she’s a keeper. I’ll have the chef send over some small plates for you two; enjoy your night.”
“Thanks, Marcus,” I say as I sit across from Eleanor, still taking in our decadent surroundings.
“I feel like I’m on vacation!” Eleanor exclaims.
“I know. This place is the polar opposite of every other restaurant on the island. That’s why I like to come here when I can.”
“Marcus seems nice. He’s quite the character.”
“He’s great. Just be glad you don’t work for him. He runs this place like the navy.”
A chef walks by our table and places a plate between us with a flourish, “Compliments of the chef, this is our fresh burrata with a balsamic reduction, grilled peaches, and prosciutto, with toast points from Weatherby bakery.”
“Thank you,” I say as Eleanor, and I scoop burrata onto our appetizer plates.
Eleanor scoops some burrata onto a toast point and spears a peach slice with her fork. She groans when she takes a bite, “This is divine. I think I’m hungry for the first time all week.”
“How have you been feeling?” I ask.
Eleanor shrugs. “I go back and forth. I’m still craving protein like a mad woman, so this,” she points to the paper-thin slice of grilled prosciutto, “Is amazing. But sometimes I still want raw,” she trails off and studies the tablecloth. Eleanor’s most mind-boggling pregnancy symptom is her seemingly endless desire for rare stakes, which, unlike the nausea, has yet to wane with the second trimester. We’ve talked to the doctor about it, and she said some women just need more protein when they're pregnant.
“Your body needs fuel,” I offer unhelpfully.
“I know, it just feels weird sometimes. And then, there are nights where I’ll, I don’t know, sleep-eat? I’ll wake up in front of the refrigerator with a container of pasta salad in hand.”
I don’t tell Eleanor about my nighttime excursions to the beach. I don’t want to freak her out more.
“Your body must know that you need the extra calories.”
“I wish it would let me consume them while awake.”
“Fair.” I reach across the table and grab Eleanor’s hand. She smiles.
“So, how’s work going?” I ask, changing the subject.
Eleanor studies the tablecloth again. “I’m not really in the mood to talk about work if that’s alright. It feels too closely connected to Beatrix and everything. We've already scoured the bookstore for ghost-hunting guides. I want the rest of the night to be about us, you know?”
I nod and squeeze her hand, “I think we deserve a night to ourselves.”
“No bosses.”
“No ghosts,” I say with a wink.
“You said it, not me.”
Eleanor laughs again, and the waiter takes our order. I ordered the salmon filet. Eleanor orders a beef burgeon. We spent the rest of the night talking and laughing. The rest of the world falls away. I think only of Eleanor. Marcus sends over a complimentary flourless chocolate torte, which Eleanor and I split.
We are two normal people going on a date on a Saturday night, and tonight, we’ll return to an empty house. My mother’s staying with her sister in Seattle for the weekend to discuss Thanksgiving plans, so it’ll just be me and Eleanor.
I settle the bill and drive us back to the house. Eleanor rests her head on my shoulder.
“I’m glad we did this,” she says softly.
