parked in front of a beautiful brick building with 10 foot windows all the way around it. It was right up against the water and Michael had not only purchased the building, but all of the surrounding land. He took me inside and I was greeted with a candlelit dinner, our own waiter, and soft jazz music filtering through hidden speakers. I would be lying if I said I didn't shed a few tears.
Though the restaurant was a modest size the land in general covered 3 acres. He had plans to build a small gelato café next to the restaurant once business was good. The land even included a small dock where I noticed a small boat had been sitting each time we came; but he never mentioned its purpose.
The building was beautiful on the inside. The floors were a rich creamy tile and the tables were an elegant mahogany. There was a small stage with a beautiful baby grand piano perched on it, and an old fashioned microphone. At the center of the restaurant was a large wrap around bar that could easily be seen from anywhere in the two-story building. The upstairs had been made into a more intimate lounge area with plush booths that Michael referred to as his VIP section. He said it could be reserved for meetings, parties, or a nice place for us to escape and have dinner with each other. That was the thing about Michael; he was sweet without trying. He naturally did things that made me smile on a daily basis.
I had easily fallen into my role of co-captain around the restaurant. While Michael busied himself with ordering liquor and food I had hired a lot of the waiting staff. I had personally interviewed each host, bartender, and waiter. We spent countless hours at night picking the silverware, glasses, plates, and linen. By the time we made it to the week of the opening I could easily rattle off phone numbers to at least 10 different suppliers.
Truth be told I had loved every minute of it. It felt good to finally have a bit of stability, and it felt good to laugh as much as we did. Michael had gotten an apartment nearby mine, though it seemed pointless since we rarely spent a night apart. We spent countless hours getting everything ready and by the time we left the restaurant in the wee hours of the morning all I ever wanted to do was collapse in his arms.
We had ended so many nights by dragging our feet through the doorway of his apartment building or mine, riding the elevator with half-closed eyes. The second we made it through the door though…that's when we came alive. Our passion for each other had become something unexplainable. Every touch, every kiss—everything was perfect. We spent hours competing with each other over who would satisfy the other more. Each morning I woke with sore muscles, swollen lips, and beautiful memories—we were untouchable to the outside world.
The second we exited the apartment we became the power couple. Getting the restaurant ready was no small task—but we were enjoying it. His family had stopped by every now and then; adding their suggestions no matter how welcome or unwelcome they were. Elena had been the most helpful; tweaking some of the recipes and working with the three chefs that Michael had hired. She made suggestions for specials and even gave us her secret tiramisu recipe. I had nearly cried at the first bite. Alice had stopped in and begged Michael to turn the restaurant into a club after hours, which Michael quickly declined despite Alice's pouting.
The most entertaining visit had been when Frankie came in, yelling about how there, "weren't any pictures of the greats in the joint."
"What's the matter with you, knucklehead? You dense or somethin?" He had been sitting at one of the cushioned bar stools, while Michael and I stood behind the bar. Michael had been crunching numbers; I had been stocking the top shelf.
"What do you mean?" Michael sighed, raising his head for a moment to look at his Uncle.
"You think because you're hot shit you ain't gotta pay homage, boy? Frank Sinatra, Dean
Though the restaurant was a modest size the land in general covered 3 acres. He had plans to build a small gelato café next to the restaurant once business was good. The land even included a small dock where I noticed a small boat had been sitting each time we came; but he never mentioned its purpose.
The building was beautiful on the inside. The floors were a rich creamy tile and the tables were an elegant mahogany. There was a small stage with a beautiful baby grand piano perched on it, and an old fashioned microphone. At the center of the restaurant was a large wrap around bar that could easily be seen from anywhere in the two-story building. The upstairs had been made into a more intimate lounge area with plush booths that Michael referred to as his VIP section. He said it could be reserved for meetings, parties, or a nice place for us to escape and have dinner with each other. That was the thing about Michael; he was sweet without trying. He naturally did things that made me smile on a daily basis.
I had easily fallen into my role of co-captain around the restaurant. While Michael busied himself with ordering liquor and food I had hired a lot of the waiting staff. I had personally interviewed each host, bartender, and waiter. We spent countless hours at night picking the silverware, glasses, plates, and linen. By the time we made it to the week of the opening I could easily rattle off phone numbers to at least 10 different suppliers.
Truth be told I had loved every minute of it. It felt good to finally have a bit of stability, and it felt good to laugh as much as we did. Michael had gotten an apartment nearby mine, though it seemed pointless since we rarely spent a night apart. We spent countless hours getting everything ready and by the time we left the restaurant in the wee hours of the morning all I ever wanted to do was collapse in his arms.
We had ended so many nights by dragging our feet through the doorway of his apartment building or mine, riding the elevator with half-closed eyes. The second we made it through the door though…that's when we came alive. Our passion for each other had become something unexplainable. Every touch, every kiss—everything was perfect. We spent hours competing with each other over who would satisfy the other more. Each morning I woke with sore muscles, swollen lips, and beautiful memories—we were untouchable to the outside world.
The second we exited the apartment we became the power couple. Getting the restaurant ready was no small task—but we were enjoying it. His family had stopped by every now and then; adding their suggestions no matter how welcome or unwelcome they were. Elena had been the most helpful; tweaking some of the recipes and working with the three chefs that Michael had hired. She made suggestions for specials and even gave us her secret tiramisu recipe. I had nearly cried at the first bite. Alice had stopped in and begged Michael to turn the restaurant into a club after hours, which Michael quickly declined despite Alice's pouting.
The most entertaining visit had been when Frankie came in, yelling about how there, "weren't any pictures of the greats in the joint."
"What's the matter with you, knucklehead? You dense or somethin?" He had been sitting at one of the cushioned bar stools, while Michael and I stood behind the bar. Michael had been crunching numbers; I had been stocking the top shelf.
"What do you mean?" Michael sighed, raising his head for a moment to look at his Uncle.
"You think because you're hot shit you ain't gotta pay homage, boy? Frank Sinatra, Dean
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