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“So?”
“You know what they say about guys with big hands.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Wow. Now who’s the pervert?”
“I guess we’re made for each other,” I say with a cluck of my tongue.
His expression softens. “Yeah.”
I notice someone approaching our table then, a middle-aged man who can’t be any older than fifty, judging by his thinning gray hair. He waves when he catches Aiden’s eye as he nears. He’s dressed in a black suit and matching tie, more snazzy looking than the other partygoers, and I have to assume this is Aiden’s boss. “Aiden! So glad you came. I was sure that you were going to give me the old ‘parties aren’t my thing’ line again this year.”
“Ah, well.” I notice Aiden flushing. “I thought it would be nice to come out for once.”
The man turns his smile on me then, his teeth just visible beneath his thick, graying mustache. “And your lovely date would have nothing to do with that at all, I’m sure.” He extends his hand. “Joseph Cohen, dear. I own this old place.”
“It’s beautiful,” I tell him. “I’m Cassie.”
“Cassie,” he echoes. “How did such an ugly guy land a looker like you?”
I can tell he’s joking, noticing the way Aiden rolls his eyes from behind Joseph, and I shrug as I throw up my hands in mock disbelief. “He wore me down. I’m talking poems-outside-my-window level of wooing.”
“I have no doubt,” Joseph laughs. He points a finger at Aiden. “I like this one.” Then to both of us: “You both have fun tonight, yeah? Have some wine. Dance a little. It’s my birthday, so I insist.”
“I would hate to offend you by not taking free wine,” I say seriously.
Joseph chuffs out another laugh. “Exactly.” He pats the edge of our table. “I have to make the rounds. Everyone loves a visit from their boss on their off night, right?”
I wait till he’s out of earshot before I lean across the table. “Okay. Is that an act, or is your boss cool?”
“No,” Aiden chuckles. “He’s great. He went out on a limb for me when he gave me this job. I had been a sous-chef at a three star for a couple of years after I got out of school, and I wasn’t getting any bites on any of the other places I was applying. Joe walked in one day on a whim, and he liked the food so much that he asked to meet whoever made it. He insisted I come by for an interview, and well, the rest is history.”
“He sounds great,” I tell him. “Definitely better to like your boss than work for an asshole.”
Aiden’s mouth twitches. “And you know this from personal experience?”
“Oh, absolutely. My boss is a real hard-ass. Very demanding.”
Aiden laces his fingers as he leans in closer. “I’d be happy to be more demanding, if you want.”
Warmth pools in my belly, and I have to remind myself westill have drinks, dinner, and dancing to get through before he can take this dress off me. Not that Aiden seems to have any intention of making the wait easy. I try to look unaffected even though I’m pressing my thighs together now, nodding my head toward the open bar.
“I think you’d better buy me a drink first.”
—
The rest of the night seems to pass by in a blur; dinner is some amazing beef dish that I can’t pronounce but melts in my mouth, and after the main course, they bring out a blackberry sorbet that makes me want to live inside their freezer. If we weren’t in a five-star restaurant, I’d have probably licked the bowl clean. Joseph comes and sits with us for a while between courses, telling stories about Aiden and the restaurant and all sorts of fun anecdotes in between. At some point a woman starts crooning softly from the overhead speakers, some French song I can’t understand, and I watch as people start moving from their tables to find the open floor in the middle of the room.
Now, I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman who has dated and dined and danced on more than one occasion before this, but when Aiden rises from his chair to offer me his hand and quietly asks me to dance—I feel downright giddy. Almost like it’s the first time.
He guides me out onto the floor and pulls me close, and his wide palms settling at my hips are a warm, pleasant weight through the silk of my dress. I wind my arms around his neck and grin up at him shyly as he starts to move me to the music; there’s nothing inherently complicated about the way he does it, just a shuffling of our feet in a slow back-and-forth, but I feel fluttery all the same.
“As far as first dates go,” I tell him, “this one has set the bar pretty high.”
I feel his thumb slide against my hip. “That’s good to know. It’s been a long time since I had a first date.”
“Me too,” I admit. And then a little quieter: “Over a year.”
His smile is faint and barely there, but I can just make it out. “Me too.”
