the table Jas grabs my hand, wraps his fingers around mine, and leads me through the restaurant and back into the kitchen where he introduces me to the head chef.
It’s total chaos back here, and I’m all worried about being in the way, but Jas just pulls me toward this big silver pot on a stove and goes, “You have got to try this.” He holds a spoon full of thick red sauce to my lips.
I swallow the sauce, look into his eyes, and go, “Mmm.” Which is my totally pathetic attempt at flirting, which makes me blush, and leaves me feeling like a total cheeseball.
“Good, huh?” he says, pouring us each a glass of wine.
“What’s this?” I ask, sipping cautiously since I’m really not used to drinking wine in restaurants, or anywhere else for that matter.
“Silver Oaks cabernet.” He swirls his wine and looks around the frenzied kitchen. “This is my dream,” he says, smiling.
“But I thought your dad already owned this place,” I say, taking another sip.
“He does. What I mean is I want to be a chef.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I love this life. I grew up in it. And if you think about it, food is just another art form, another medium.” He smiles. “Just think, I could wake up every morning and surf, paint, and sculpt all afternoon, then head for my restaurant in the evening where I whip up one culinary masterpiece after another. A perfect life!” He clinks his glass against mine.
He’s smiling, and his topaz eyes are shining, and his teeth are so white and straight, and his bottom lip has this tiny glistening drop of red wine resting right in the center, and I’m so tempted to lick it off that I distract myself by nervously gulping down the rest of my wine. Which was really stupid because now I’m left with nothing but a dorky smile, a headrush, and an empty glass.
“Want some more?” he asks.
I shake my head no and watch him finish his. Then he puts his hand on the small of my back and goes, “Let’s go see if they’ve ditched us yet.”
Sure enough, when we get back to the table Zane is standing and Mason is grabbing her purse.
“I knew you were gonna run out on us.” Jas laughs.
“We’re taking off. We haven’t seen each other for two weeks,” Mason says, leaning into Zane. “What are you guys gonna do?”
I look at Jas wondering if he’s planned something else, something romantic. But he just shrugs and goes, “Whatever Rio wants.”
If he only knew!
We end up wandering through some of the art galleries across from Main Beach, which is the beach they always show on postcards and stuff. During the day it’s always supercrowded with body boarders and volleyball players, but at night people like to just hang on the benches and listen to the ocean.
As we’re walking into this big gallery called Artist Hut, our hands accidentally bump together, and Jas leaves his like that, warm and lingering against mine. And right when I think he’s going to hold my hand for real, he points at this painting and goes, “Can you believe that?”
Hanging on the wall in front of us is this huge canvas depicting the most dreadful rendition of a New York City skyline I’ve ever seen. The city lights are symbolized by tiny Day-Glo-colored boxes, and the buildings and the sky have such liberal doses of black and charcoal paint that it looks like one of those Tijuana velvet paintings from the seventies. The plaque next to it says the piece is titled,
NYC 24/7.
As a native New Yorker, I’m totally offended.
“Oh, my god, it’s awful!” I whisper.
And then Jas starts cracking up. So I start cracking up. And we’re laughing so hard we’re doubled-over, hanging on to each other. And every time we try to stop, we look at each other and start up again. But then this lady who works there (who obviously doesn’t see the humor), comes charging toward us. So Jas grabs my hand and we run out the door and all the way across the street to Main Beach.
We collapse on this bench near the big white
It’s total chaos back here, and I’m all worried about being in the way, but Jas just pulls me toward this big silver pot on a stove and goes, “You have got to try this.” He holds a spoon full of thick red sauce to my lips.
I swallow the sauce, look into his eyes, and go, “Mmm.” Which is my totally pathetic attempt at flirting, which makes me blush, and leaves me feeling like a total cheeseball.
“Good, huh?” he says, pouring us each a glass of wine.
“What’s this?” I ask, sipping cautiously since I’m really not used to drinking wine in restaurants, or anywhere else for that matter.
“Silver Oaks cabernet.” He swirls his wine and looks around the frenzied kitchen. “This is my dream,” he says, smiling.
“But I thought your dad already owned this place,” I say, taking another sip.
“He does. What I mean is I want to be a chef.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I love this life. I grew up in it. And if you think about it, food is just another art form, another medium.” He smiles. “Just think, I could wake up every morning and surf, paint, and sculpt all afternoon, then head for my restaurant in the evening where I whip up one culinary masterpiece after another. A perfect life!” He clinks his glass against mine.
He’s smiling, and his topaz eyes are shining, and his teeth are so white and straight, and his bottom lip has this tiny glistening drop of red wine resting right in the center, and I’m so tempted to lick it off that I distract myself by nervously gulping down the rest of my wine. Which was really stupid because now I’m left with nothing but a dorky smile, a headrush, and an empty glass.
“Want some more?” he asks.
I shake my head no and watch him finish his. Then he puts his hand on the small of my back and goes, “Let’s go see if they’ve ditched us yet.”
Sure enough, when we get back to the table Zane is standing and Mason is grabbing her purse.
“I knew you were gonna run out on us.” Jas laughs.
“We’re taking off. We haven’t seen each other for two weeks,” Mason says, leaning into Zane. “What are you guys gonna do?”
I look at Jas wondering if he’s planned something else, something romantic. But he just shrugs and goes, “Whatever Rio wants.”
If he only knew!
We end up wandering through some of the art galleries across from Main Beach, which is the beach they always show on postcards and stuff. During the day it’s always supercrowded with body boarders and volleyball players, but at night people like to just hang on the benches and listen to the ocean.
As we’re walking into this big gallery called Artist Hut, our hands accidentally bump together, and Jas leaves his like that, warm and lingering against mine. And right when I think he’s going to hold my hand for real, he points at this painting and goes, “Can you believe that?”
Hanging on the wall in front of us is this huge canvas depicting the most dreadful rendition of a New York City skyline I’ve ever seen. The city lights are symbolized by tiny Day-Glo-colored boxes, and the buildings and the sky have such liberal doses of black and charcoal paint that it looks like one of those Tijuana velvet paintings from the seventies. The plaque next to it says the piece is titled,
NYC 24/7.
As a native New Yorker, I’m totally offended.
“Oh, my god, it’s awful!” I whisper.
And then Jas starts cracking up. So I start cracking up. And we’re laughing so hard we’re doubled-over, hanging on to each other. And every time we try to stop, we look at each other and start up again. But then this lady who works there (who obviously doesn’t see the humor), comes charging toward us. So Jas grabs my hand and we run out the door and all the way across the street to Main Beach.
We collapse on this bench near the big white
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