LILY
It was turning into a stormy night. Even though I lived just down the street from So Fondue for You, Gabe insisted on calling an Uber for us because it was beginning to rain. The ride felt gloriously longer than it actually was; every detail about him was fresh and exciting. The cut of his pants, the place where his sideburns met his stubble, the way his dress shirt accentuated the contours of his shoulders.
And, of course, the bulge. Oh, the bulge.
When we pulled up in front of the restaurant, I reached for my door handle, but he squeezed my other hand to stop me.
“Not while I’m around,” he said and made his way around the front of the car, eyeing me all the time. Our driver was a rather spiffy older lady with turquoise glasses, and she glanced over her shoulder at me.
“Now there’s a gentleman, hon,” she said.
“And how!” I gasped as Gabe opened my door for me. He offered his hand like he was an old-fashioned hero helping a lady from a carriage.
“Thank you . . . sir!” I said as I smoothed my dress.
“Very welcome, madam,” he said, with a delightful doff of an imaginary hat. Side by side, we headed inside, as dark clouds had filled the sky overhead and little droplets of rain spattered onto my bare shoulders and the blue fabric of his shirt, reminding me of the speckles on a robin’s egg. We waited at the hostess stand for just a moment and were seated at a little table for two near the back.
He held my chair out for me and then took the seat across from me. But as the hostess handed him his menu, she froze with it perched dangerously close to the votive candle. “Hang on,” she gasped. “Are you . . .”
I watched Gabe wince—a barely noticeable instantaneous reaction that I was positive the waitress hadn’t noticed. But I had. It was the merest tightening of his eyes, as if to say, Not this again.
He nodded. “I’m Gabe Powers, yeah.”
“Oh my God,” the hostess said and steadied herself on the table. I stared at her and suddenly felt quite out of place with this man who made unknown ladies gasp out loud. I’d had my fair share of boyfriends over the years, ranging from mediocre to awkward to downright dreadful, but the closest I’d ever come to dating someone famous was a blind date with my sister’s dentist, and that was because he paid to have his face plastered all over every city bus in a thirty-mile radius. I’d never been with a man whose very presence made women act so . . .
Wait, though. What was she doing? I didn’t really know, because I’d never seen anything like it before. She was biting her lip. She was slowly tracing the edge of the table. She was moving her eyes all over him. Now she was sensuously caressing her collarbone! Hussy! “Loved that Borneo episode,” she said, all seductively, like she was actually saying, Wanna get a room? “Where they had to pixel out your—”
I cleared my throat and snatched the menus from her hands. “Yes, thank you! Thanks! Hello! Hi. I’m Lily. Hello.”
She shook it off like she was coming out of a trance. “Sorry!”
“That’s fine! Thank you!” I said in an edgy little clip. “Off you go!”
She breathed out a long breath as she blinked at me a handful of times. “Your waiter will be right over.”
I gave her a thin-lipped smile and a flare of my nostrils, the way ladies at the Universalist church did when they found old buttons in their donation basket. Bless your heart! in action.
When she walked away, I leaned against my menu, sandwiching the page between my boobs and its hard leather backing. “Are you really that famous? Am I an idiot for not recognizing you?”
Gabe coughed in a very gentlemanly way into his clenched fist. “I don’t know about famous. But it’s weird. Every time, it’s weird.”
“I’ll bet!” I leaned in and dropped my voice to a hush. “I can imagine ladies shoving Sharpies into your hand for autographs!”
He nodded slowly, like he couldn’t believe it himself. “Sometimes they even ask me to sign”—he came closer, making the candle flame between us quiver—“their skin.”
“No!”
“Lily, there’s a Facebook fan group. With, like, thousands and thousands of members. Plus a YouTube channel.”
My mouth dropped open. My biggest claim to digital fame was that one of my Yelp reviews had been marked helpful nineteen times. “Shut the front door.”
He shook his head. “I never actually expect anybody to recognize me. The fact that you didn’t recognize me at first was a huge relief.”
I didn’t know if he was joshing me or not, but it didn’t seem like it. Hunky and modest. If he could give a decent massage, he’d be my trifecta. “So you don’t mind that I have the viewing habits of an eighty-year-old woman?”
“Not at all. To you, I’m just a guy.” He smiled. “A very grateful guy, on a beautiful night, in a beautiful place, with a beautiful woman. Who I can’t stop thinking about kissing.”
“Really?” I asked in barely a whisper. I realized I’d been clutching my menu to my chest so hard that the paper had crumpled up against my boobs. I tried to smooth it, but my hands were a little bit sweaty and it wrinkled under my palms. Some women got more graceful and self-assured as they aged. I was not one of those women.
Mercifully, the waiter appeared, and I paused trying to hide the boob wrinkles. He, at least, had the good taste not to start fondling himself as soon as he looked at Gabe. “Hello, you two. Welcome to So Fondue for You. What can I get you to start?”
“I’d like a lemonade,” I said, now trying to reposition the corners of my menu into their little holders. “With extra lemons.”
Over the top of my menu, Gabe’s face caught my eye. He cocked his head slightly. “Not much of a drinker?”
I stopped with my menu fussing. “I’m as fond of a mango margarita as the next girl, but I’ve got audio to do for you. And I don’t want to mess it up.”
Gabe stared at me as if to say, I’ll tell you what I’d like to mess up . . .
And suddenly I found myself fondling my collarbone.
Gabe told the waiter, “Lemonade for me too, then. For dinner, we’ll do . . .” He leaned conspiratorially toward the waiter and pointed to something on the menu. Judging from where he was pointing—three-quarters of the way down—he was asking for the full So Very, Very Fondue for You for Two prix fixe menu. It was the one I always eyed enviously, with its luxurious bold font and special box to make it stand out. The full spread. The works. The five-star treatment. An assortment of cheese fondues, a salad, an entree, and white, milk, and dark dipping chocolates for dessert. His leg pressed against mine under the table, a firm and manly quadriceps warming the side of my bare thigh. So fondue for you indeed!
“Excellent choice, sir,” said the waiter, tucking his pen into his pocket with a smile.
“Good.” Gabe handed over our menus. And then he turned to me, reaching under the table to give my leg a squeeze. In that instant, a flash of lightning lit up the room. Followed by a heart-rattling rumble of thunder.
The lights flickered and seemed to become half again as bright, casting everything into extra-sharp focus. Gabe and I locked eyes for a seemingly never-ending second. The lights got so bright that they seemed to buzz. His cheekbones caught the light, and his deep-set eyes became doubly dreamy and alluring. Then all at once, the music went silent and restaurant went dark, and everybody let out what felt like a single “Ooooooh!”
The power had gone out, but the electricity between us definitely had not. Gabe pushed aside the votive candle and knitted his fingers into mine across the table. He pressed his leg against mine a touch more firmly, and I gave his hand a squeeze. It was as if we were the only two people in the place somehow. The waiters had hopped into action, and votive candles were added to every table, filling the room with golden light. The world bustled and hustled around us, but I hardly noticed—it was like being in the center of a snow globe.
But then the waiter reappeared, frazzled and shadowy above a tray full of candles. His slight comb-over had come undone in the chaos and floated wispily above his head, carried higher by the warmth of the small flames. “I’m so sorry, you two. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to get your order in before the power went out. We’ve phoned the power company. It’s not going to be on anytime soon.” He let out a big sigh, one so forceful that his nostrils whistled and a few of the candles on the tray blew out. “If you’d like to stay and wait it out, I’d be delighted to bring around your drinks. And bread, if you’d like.”
I tightened my grip on Gabe’s hand. Underneath the table, his other hand moved an inch higher up my leg, and his thumb pressed into my thigh. It sent a wave of desire prickling through me, and my own breath came out in a shudder that made the candles dance.
“What do you want to do?” he asked me.
Aside from going back to the Willows and frantically ripping off every piece of clothing on his body, I did actually have a rather romantic idea for us. He’d said it himself—we were here on a beautiful night in a beautiful place. In my hometown. Which meant I had a couple of tricks up my sleeve for how to make this night last and last. “Are you up for a little adventure?” I asked Gabe.
“Might as well be my middle name,” he said.
“It’s hardly monster hunting,” I teased.
He gave me that glorious up-and-down stare, like he was tugging my dress off in his mind. “Maybe not. But I’ve got a couple of mysteries I’d like to solve myself.”
Mmmm! Somehow, I managed to turn politely, if red-faced, to the waiter. “I think we’ll come back another time, if that’s OK.”
“Absolutely,” he said and hustled off to distribute his candles around the room.
Gabe stood and came around to pull back my chair for me and offered his hand as I rose to standing in my kitten heels. Rather than letting him guide me toward the front door, I led him out the back door, onto a deserted cobblestone alley. The air was cool and fresh, like the summer heat had broken for the night. I held out my hand for him and he grabbed it, and together we ran across the Dayton Ramp footbridge while the thunder rumbled above.