Matt thanks him and takes my hand across the table. “Are you okay? If you’re really uncomfortable, we can go somewhere else.”
“I’m just worried about how expensive it is here,” I blurt out.
Matt laughs. “I told you, I know the owner. I get friend rates.” He looks around to make sure we’re not being over heard and then he leans in closer. “Order whatever you like and I only get charged for the appetizer. Seriously.”
I grin at him, starting to relax now. How expensive can an appetizer be? I begin to look over the menu. Everything sounds so delicious. I’ve barely even glanced at it when a waiter appears.
“Good evening. I have a delicate and delightful Sauvignon Blanc tonight sir, or of course I am happy to recommend a pairing with your dishes,” he says.
I force myself to remain causal, like I go to this kind of place all the time. But holy shit. He’s no waiter. He’s a sommelier. Even our restaurant doesn’t have a specific wine guy and we’re pretty high end.
Matt chats with him for a moment about the options then he turns to me. “Do you have any preference Callie?”
I shake my head, completely out of my depth. “I’m happy to go with whatever you choose.”
Matt orders the Sauvignon Blanc.
When the sommelier walks away, I smile at Matt. “I am so out of my depth here. I would have ordered a glass of rose or something.” I laugh.
“Don’t worry about it.” Matt shrugs. “They rely on people being flummoxed by the options. The sommelier is there to upsell the expensive stuff to people who panic and take his recommendation that’s all.”
“Like you did?” I grin.
“Yeah, exactly. I mean go big or go home right?”
“Right!” I laugh. I go back to the menu and finally settle on the chicken and tarragon soup, lightly braised beef with seasonal vegetables for my main, and for dessert, chocolate lava cake.
Matt catches a waiter’s eye and gives him our order. He orders the duck pâté followed by a rib eye steak with mushrooms and a strawberry cheesecake for dessert.
Before we can really start to chat, the sommelier returns to our table. He opens the wine with a flourish and pours a taster glass out. Matt swirls the wine, studies it for a moment and then sniffs it. He nods his approval and tastes the wine. “Perfect,” he says.
The sommelier pours us each a glass and subtly moves away.
I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever get any peace when an older couple approaches our table. Matt frowns slightly but it doesn’t put them off. They hover over our table.
“I thought it was you,” the man says, sounding excited. “Let me buy you a drink. What are you having?”
“I’m fine thank you,” Matt says. He smiles at the man but it’s clearly a fake smile.
“I insist. I’ve been meaning to call you actually, and —”
“Look this really isn’t a good time,” Matt says, interrupting the man. He digs in his pocket and pulls out a card which he hands to the man. “Give me a call during business hours and we’ll talk.”
The man seems to notice me for the first time, and it suddenly clicks for him that Matt and I are on a date. He goes pink and begins to stammer out an apology.
“Really, it’s fine,” Matt says.
The man’s wife finally drags him away from us.
“What the hell was that?” I ask. “Who was he?”
“Give me two minutes,” Matt says, standing up. “I’m going to ask to be moved somewhere a little more private.”
I’m quite happy here, but I have to admit the idea of being somewhere more private with Matt appeals to me. I want to have him all to myself tonight and not have to keep fending off apparent members of his fan club.
I sip my wine too quickly while I wait for Matt to return. When he comes back with the maître d’ who leads us away from the table, I realize I am a little tipsy. The maître d’ takes us through an archway to a quiet dining room with only one other couple seated in it. He leads us to the table furthest away from them and apologizes before leaving us alone.
“This is better isn’t it?” Matt says.
I nod. It feels more intimate and I like the feeling that we’re almost alone here. “Who was the man at the table?” I ask again.
“I have no idea,” he says. “Maybe he had me mistaken for someone else.”
This doesn’t ring true at all. If he had mistaken him for someone else, then why would Matt have given him a card and told him to call him. Why does a damned waiter even have business cards to hand out? “You expect me to believe that?” I demand.
Matt shrugs. “I don’t know what else to tell you Callie. I don’t know who he was, let alone what was going through his head.”
“Okay,” I say. “Forget about him. I don’t know anything about you.”
“You know plenty about me,” Matt defends.
He looks uncomfortable, but right now, I don’t care. I’m getting sick of all of the secrets. I always thought a man of mystery would be hot, but now, I’m finding out it’s actually just frustrating. “I don’t know anything substantial about you. Tell me something about yourself. Something real. Or we might as well just call this date done now. For god’s sake, I don’t even know your last name.”
The waiter appears at that moment with our starters.
“The pâté?” he says.
“Me,” Matt says.
The waiter puts the pâté down in front of him.
“And soup for the lady,” he adds as he sets my soup down.
It smells delicious and I realize I’m starving. I pick up my spoon and taste it. It’s every bit as good as it looks. I am suddenly nervous, afraid to look at Matt. He obviously isn’t going to talk.
