hair complementing the wild colors that fill this space. “Mr. and Mrs. Stark, it’s so wonderful to see you again. I have your booth ready, so if you’ll just follow me.”
“Our booth?” It occurs to me that Damien assumed I would make it this far tonight and has planned ahead. He, however, says nothing.
The booth that Monica leads us to is, in fact,
our
booth. It’s the very one that Damien brought me to the night that Blaine finished my portrait. And I happen to know that it is very well soundproofed.
These private dining areas are set up like tiny rooms. Each is a booth, with walls at the diners’ backs and a door at one end of the table and a window overlooking the ocean at the other. Access is controlled by a red light/green light system, and when the red light is engaged, privacy is ensured.
The area is not entirely a booth, though. If you slide all the way through, there is a small space between the table and the window that is sufficient for standing. I look at it now, remembering the way it felt to be pressed up against that glass with Damien’s hands upon me.
I shiver slightly, and when Damien’s hand presses lightly against the small of my back, I am certain that he knows exactly what I am thinking.
I tilt my head up to look at him. “Even if I’m wrong and there’s no clue here, it’s worth it just to be back.”
His smile is soft with silent agreement, but I can’t tell from his expression if this really is the right answer to the clue, and I resign myself to taking it in stride and simply going with the flow of the game. If this is where the next clue is hidden, sooner or later that will be obvious.
And if it’s not?
Well, I’ll just have to keep trying.
I slide into the booth, and Damien settles beside me. Monica tells us that the owner, Damien’s childhood friend Alaine Beauchene, isn’t on the premises tonight, but that he has taken the liberty of ordering for us, if that’s okay.
It is, of course, and when our waiter returns with the wine Alaine selected, I take a sip and sigh with pleasure.
The tabletop is also a cook surface, and soon enough it is topped with a pretty copper fondue bowl filled with melted cheese, the delicious scent of which fills the room and makes me realize just how hungry I am.
Damien spears a cube of bread and dips it in the cheese, then blows on it before feeding it to me.
I am at his side, our legs touching, because I do not think that it is possible for me to be so close to Damien and not touch him. I shift a bit though, so that I am facing him more directly, and we touch and talk and eat, with Damien feeding both himself and me.
As we finish the cheese and move on to cubes of steak and pork in a fragrant port sauce, he tells me about the progress on Stark Plaza, a Century City office and retail complex that Stark Real Estate Development is working on. I fill him in on my progress with several apps I have in development, and with the details about a tech conference I’m hoping to attend in the summer.
The talk of trips reminds him that he may need to travel to New York soon to meet with the new production manager at one of his subsidiaries, and he promises that if I take the time to go with him, he’ll take me to at least one Broadway play.
I let him know in no uncertain terms that I will travel anywhere with him, play or no, and then give him the general rundown on my to-do list, most of which can be done on the road with a laptop.
It’s comfortable. It’s normal.
Hell, it’s even married—and I love this cozy familiarity and affection.
But none of it is bringing me any closer to figuring out what the next clue is, though I am absolutely certain that it is hidden here somewhere. All I have to do is figure out where.
My frustration has spiked by the time the waiter clears the table of the main course, and I decide that it’s time to get more aggressive in my search. I slide down and look under the table, then hear Damien’s amused,
“Our booth?” It occurs to me that Damien assumed I would make it this far tonight and has planned ahead. He, however, says nothing.
The booth that Monica leads us to is, in fact,
our
booth. It’s the very one that Damien brought me to the night that Blaine finished my portrait. And I happen to know that it is very well soundproofed.
These private dining areas are set up like tiny rooms. Each is a booth, with walls at the diners’ backs and a door at one end of the table and a window overlooking the ocean at the other. Access is controlled by a red light/green light system, and when the red light is engaged, privacy is ensured.
The area is not entirely a booth, though. If you slide all the way through, there is a small space between the table and the window that is sufficient for standing. I look at it now, remembering the way it felt to be pressed up against that glass with Damien’s hands upon me.
I shiver slightly, and when Damien’s hand presses lightly against the small of my back, I am certain that he knows exactly what I am thinking.
I tilt my head up to look at him. “Even if I’m wrong and there’s no clue here, it’s worth it just to be back.”
His smile is soft with silent agreement, but I can’t tell from his expression if this really is the right answer to the clue, and I resign myself to taking it in stride and simply going with the flow of the game. If this is where the next clue is hidden, sooner or later that will be obvious.
And if it’s not?
Well, I’ll just have to keep trying.
I slide into the booth, and Damien settles beside me. Monica tells us that the owner, Damien’s childhood friend Alaine Beauchene, isn’t on the premises tonight, but that he has taken the liberty of ordering for us, if that’s okay.
It is, of course, and when our waiter returns with the wine Alaine selected, I take a sip and sigh with pleasure.
The tabletop is also a cook surface, and soon enough it is topped with a pretty copper fondue bowl filled with melted cheese, the delicious scent of which fills the room and makes me realize just how hungry I am.
Damien spears a cube of bread and dips it in the cheese, then blows on it before feeding it to me.
I am at his side, our legs touching, because I do not think that it is possible for me to be so close to Damien and not touch him. I shift a bit though, so that I am facing him more directly, and we touch and talk and eat, with Damien feeding both himself and me.
As we finish the cheese and move on to cubes of steak and pork in a fragrant port sauce, he tells me about the progress on Stark Plaza, a Century City office and retail complex that Stark Real Estate Development is working on. I fill him in on my progress with several apps I have in development, and with the details about a tech conference I’m hoping to attend in the summer.
The talk of trips reminds him that he may need to travel to New York soon to meet with the new production manager at one of his subsidiaries, and he promises that if I take the time to go with him, he’ll take me to at least one Broadway play.
I let him know in no uncertain terms that I will travel anywhere with him, play or no, and then give him the general rundown on my to-do list, most of which can be done on the road with a laptop.
It’s comfortable. It’s normal.
Hell, it’s even married—and I love this cozy familiarity and affection.
But none of it is bringing me any closer to figuring out what the next clue is, though I am absolutely certain that it is hidden here somewhere. All I have to do is figure out where.
My frustration has spiked by the time the waiter clears the table of the main course, and I decide that it’s time to get more aggressive in my search. I slide down and look under the table, then hear Damien’s amused,
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