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Every cobbled stone in the village that I’ve taken for granted since I was a little boy is something exciting to be cherished by her. And seeing it that way, I, too, find myself cherishing it that little bit more.
But the dinner is shaping up to be the best surprise yet.
“Thanks, Tom,” I tell the chef as he places my meal in front of me. He does the same for Alana and then nods his head before heading back to the kitchen – a man of few words but great skills. “Alright. Dig in.”
“This looks incredible!” Alana exclaims. She is hesitant with a knife and fork over the starter, poised but still. “How am I supposed to destroy it?”
I chuckle. Tom is known for his exceptional skill at plating up as well as his flavors. The perfectly poached egg balanced right in the middle of the dish is one of the highlights.
All the more so because of its small size, having been laid by a quail.
“Take a picture if you like,” I tell her. “That way, you can both enjoy the art of it later and its flavor now.”
“Yes!” Alana says excitedly, grabbing up her cell phone and then flushing across the top of her cheekbones in a way that I find utterly irresistible. “To be honest, I wanted to take some shots, but I thought it might be rude.”
I smile at that. “Well, you don’t have to stand on ceremony with me,” I say. How refreshing it is to find a woman who isn’t trying to be someone else – to be cool, to be some kind of influencer, to be unobtainable.
She is just herself, awkwardness and all. She isn’t afraid to admit it. “In fact, don’t hold back with me at all. Trust me. I won’t find you rude. Or strange, or uncool, or whatever else you might think.”
She smiles and lays her phone down, picture taken. “You know, it’s strange, but I really believe you,” she says.
“You’d better,” I joke back, taking the first bite of the food.
Alana follows suit, and almost immediately, her eyes roll back in her head, and she moans in delight.
“It’s even better than it looks!”
“Yes,” I mutter, smiling as I feast on her with my eyes. “It is.”
We devour the starter, small as it is, and then by magic, Tom reappears – he has a knack for knowing when the guests will be done. That, or he has a way of spying on the dining room – I have never been able to tell.
Whatever the case is, he brings out two main courses and plates piled high with well-made food in rich flavors.
“Don’t forget to leave room for dessert,” I warn as we pick up our cutlery again. “It’s a mistake I’ve made many times with Tom’s food. You’ll be sorry if you do – the dessert is always the best.”
“Noted,” Alana says, but her eyes are wide again as she takes in the impressive plate full of highland flavors. “Though I don’t know how I’m going to hold back.”
I stifle a grin, she has no idea how much it sounds like she’s talking about me and the desire I feel for her.
“At my age,” I say because I’m desperate to raise the age gap again and make sure that she is fine with it. “You have to be careful of what you eat. Of course, I’ll regret all this next week when I’m running at five in the morning to make up for it, but it feels worth it right now.”
“You get up to run that early?” Alana mutters with a horrified face. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been up that early.
“I mean, aside from long travel days, when I know I have to be up and out early to catch a plane or get in the car for the rest of the day. But even then, I can take a nap while I’m on the move.
“Well, you’re still young,” I chuckle, further driving the point home.
“Not that young,” she says. “I bet it feels like it wasn’t so long ago you were my age.”
I tilt my head at that. In some ways, she’s right. There is a lot of water under the bridge since that time in my life. Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes, I still feel like I did in my twenties, and it’s a bit of a shock to remember that I’m not.
“You’re right, I suppose,” I say, taking a sip of my wine. She has no problem with our age gap, clearly. That’s one thing I’m glad to get out of the way. “So? What do you think of this one?”
Alana rolls her eyes and makes a muffled sound through the bite she’s eating. She swallows and shakes her head. “I’m going to lure your chef to the States so that I can eat this every day.”
“Please don’t – I need him,” I laugh and then think I might as well toss another idea into the ring. “Besides, you don’t have to take him. While you’re here, you can eat his food.”
“But I’m only here until the end of the week,” she says, making a pouting face.
