“Most people do, Brendan. What makes yours so special?” I say in a way I hope comes off sexily.
“Trust me, it is special.” He is laughing heartily now.
“Ah, what is your favorite dessert?”
“Chocolate chip cookies that are still warm from the oven,” he says wistfully.
“That is my second favorite. I find red velvet cake to be irresistible.”
“I will have to remember that.” Before we can ask any more questions, the appetizers and drinks arrive.
“Are you ready to order?” she asks.
“Yes, I will have the Bistecca e Aragosta, with a Caesar salad,” Brendan says.
“And for you, ma’am?” She turns toward me. Her leers are getting weird; I am starting to wonder if I have something in my teeth.
“I will have the Ravioli Trattoria, with a house salad, ranch dressing, please,” I quip. I blush furiously. Though this man, the love of my life, has been inside of me multiple times, when he does something as benign as touch my hand, it drives me crazy.
Eventually, our food comes, and with that, so does the creepy waitress, unfortunately. What the hell is she looking at when she looks at me? I wonder if I should excuse myself and check it out.
“More Pellegrino?” she asks me. Her stare is getting to be too much, but Brendan is blissfully unaware.
“Yes, please,” I answer.
Two more times, before we even finish the meal, she comes back. Hovering, this time he notices and speaks up.
“Is everything okay?” Brendan asks her.
“Yes. I am just trying to place you, ma’am. I know I have seen you somewhere before.”
“My family comes here yearly for vacation. Maybe that’s where,” I suggest.
“That might be it,” she says. “But my coworker says you are in the mafia. Is that true?” I am shocked. No one has ever just come right out and asked me that before. But now is not the time to be wishy-washy. This is so not the way I wanted to tell Brendan about it.
“Let me ask you this. If I was in the mafia, do you think I would tell you? Tell anyone for that matter? That would be insane, right?” I ask, playing it off like it’s crazy.
“Oh my God. You are right. I’m sorry. Please enjoy your meal.” I watch as she scurries away from the table. As soon as she is out of earshot, I look at Brendan. I know that I am blushing because my face feels like it is on fire.
“I, uh, do not know where to start.”
“You do not have to tell me anything. Bart told me everything when I hired him to be my VP. Even after I ran a background check on you; there were so many unanswered questions. Full disclosure and all that. You do not owe me anything.”
“I owe you an explanation on why I kept it a secret from you. Wait, you really ran a background check on me?”
“Of course, I did. You didn’t run one on me? In this day and age?”
“I didn’t.”
“Who did?” he asks, picking up on the way I said I.
“My father. Before we had dinner at their house.” Makes sense as to why he gave his blessing so freely without really knowing me.
“I get why you didn’t tell me, Cherry. I knew when I asked you to be mine forever. I don’t care what your family is into. I love you.”
“Aren’t you worried about your company? You have a legit company; I mean you are technically in bed with the mafia. How is that going to look?” she whispers, leaning closer to me across the small table.
“I have been in bed with the mafia for a while now, Brynn. It’s not a big deal. You can’t walk two feet in New York without touching some fringe of organized crime. There hasn’t been any backlash of any kind since Bart started working for me.”
“You’re right,” he says.
“I know,” I say, grinning.
As we eat, we keep the conversation light. For dessert, we share a piece of tiramisu. He pays the check, stands, and reaches for my hand. I stand, placing my linen napkin on the table and put my hand in his.
“So where to now?” I ask, already knowing he won’t give anything away.
“It’s a surprise, Cherry,” he says. I giggle as we leave the restaurant. He heads in the opposite direction than we came from, further down Duval Street. I wish I wore flats now. These shoes, while gorgeous, are killing my feet.
“Hang on,” I say as I stop to slide off my shoes. He stops and holds his arm out for me to balance on. Once the shoes are off, we are too. We head down an alleyway I know leads to the beach. Once out on the beach, I see a huge bonfire. Teenagers are hanging out.
“Are we going to sing “Kumbaya”?” I ask, laughing.