“Good.” I wink. That’s exactly how I want you.
It takes about twenty minutes before we pull into the street parking within walking distance to one of my favorite oceanside cafes. The food is good, the wine is better, but the rooftop view is why I never regret dropping a hundred or two on dinner. Besides, they’re pet friendly and Walter’s practically a local celebrity.
“Jude! We haven’t seen you in a while.” The owner greets us with a wide smile.
“It’s good to see you, Gio. I didn’t make a reservation.”
“Pssh.” He waves off my comment. “We always have room for Walter.”
“What about me?” I pretend to be offended.
“Make me a deal, and maybe I can find an extra chair.”
Rachel observes our banter in silence, but by the hint of her smile she finds it entertaining.
“I’ll order your best bottle of Merlot.”
“You’ve got yourself a table.” Gio holds out his hand and we shake on it. “Nessa, please show Mr. Lawrence to his table.”
A pretty young woman grins. “Right this way, sir.”
I press my hand to the small of Rachel’s back, taking any excuse to touch her, no matter how simple it might be. My fingers tingle with the desire for more. The growing hunger in my belly has nothing to do with the pasta and fresh seafood Gio’s chefs whip up inside the kitchen. I’m a man starved. Each smile, laugh, or look she grants only fuels my desire.
“How’s this for you?” Nessa asks.
It’s the same table I sit at every time I visit Gio’s. My gaze trains on Rachel, cataloging her reaction as she takes in the view. Up here on the deck, with the summer breeze to temper the heat, the view of Laguna Beach is spectacular. The sky is painted in pinks and oranges, the beginning of another gorgeous California sunset, but it’s her that catches my attention and holds it like a vice. I couldn’t look away if I tried.
“Wow,” Rachel breathes, then lifts her gaze to mine when I don’t reply to the hostess.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
She laughs, the sound a little tight. “Ah, yeah. Twist my arm.”
I allow a smile to take over my lips as I pull out a chair for her, the one with the best view, then take the seat to her left. Walter spins in a circle, his usual one-and-a-half rotations before resting between our feet. I deftly go through the motions as the hostess hands over menus and conversation floats around us, but it’s as if a sheer bubble surrounds our table. I can’t concentrate on anything other than the way Rachel’s lips press together as she studies the menu, or the way her eyes soften when they drift to the ocean.
She’s beautiful, but that word doesn’t do her justice. There’s an essence about her, and sitting next to her does a strange thing to my heart. It sounds ridiculous. I’d never dare admit it. But the emotion is there all the same. Anticipation builds in my chest, a feeling I can’t quite name. One I don’t really want to dissect. It’s thrilling and terrifying, and my God, I can’t stop staring.
Rachel glances up from her menu, her eyes widening when they find mine. “What?”
It hits me that I’m probably smiling like a loon. I should stop. God, I’ll probably scare her away. Instead, my pulse speeds as her lips widen with amusement. There’s a good chance she’s holding back the urge to laugh at how ridiculous I must appear, but I don’t even care. Not if it brings her joy.
“Ma’am. Sir.” A server stops by to pour two glasses of wine. We place our orders and I include a few appetizers for us to share. And maybe to extend our dinner. We’ve only just arrived and already I don’t want this night to end. I might get to take her home after, and she’ll be sleeping in my bed, but it’s without me. Something I aim to rectify as soon as possible.
“So.” I take a sip of wine and lean forward. “Tell me about this wholesome childhood of yours.”
“Oh, I don’t know how wholesome it was.” She laughs.
“That sounds like a story right there.”
“Well, my brother was sort of obsessed with Madonna. He was always organizing these shows in the neighborhood. We’d practice for weeks, then perform his latest masterpiece for the parents. He was really creative and bossy too, the perfect director. Although he was sort of a stage hog because he also cast himself as the lead.” She laughs to herself and shakes her head. “After the Madonna show, I’m surprised my parents didn’t move.”
“Why’s that?”
“He had all the little boys dressed in drag and we were all singing “Like A Virgin.” The neighbors were horrified. Now that I think about it, after that he had to get song approval for future shows.”
“Is that how your makeup career started?”
“No. It’s more where my singing and acting career ended. I hated being in front of everyone, so I made myself useful creating props and decorating programs, that kind of stuff. It wasn’t until my brother and his best friend became obsessed with cosplay that I started playing with makeup. The rest, I guess, is history.”
Our server brings a plate of bread with different dips, then dinner soon after. The food does not disappoint, and I enjoy every second of our conversation. Rachel tells me more about growing up in Iowa. About living in Chicago through her twenties. Her brother, who must be a riot, but very clearly is protective of her. With each refill of her wine glass, her inhibitions fade and sharing comes easy. I’m enthralled. I could sit here all night. It doesn’t escape me that I’ve never before cared to listen to these kinds of tales. Not by anyone I’ve dated anyway.
Not that this is an official date.
I wish it was. So much so that while I respect the boundaries she’s set for us, I wait for a sign that maybe she’s changed
