The Enemy (It Happened in Charleston 2)

A rush of air blows my hair as I step into Sonrisa, and it takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the low lighting. Ryan steps beside me and anchors me with his hand on my lower back. I feel instantly more at ease. My eyes grow accustomed to the dim light, and suddenly, I see everyone. I wish I didn’t. It’s a room full of Amazons and gorgeous Hollywood types. I’m not even sure what they’re doing here. Clearly, they don’t eat.

No one is seated yet, just sort of mingling around the restaurant. Well, that’s what they were doing before we walked in, I imagine. Now, it seems as if every head in the place is turned to Ryan. All eyes are on him—wide, prying, searching. Am I imagining this?

I look up at him and notice that he’s pulled a mask over his face. An impassive smile rests where the open one previously lived. The set of his shoulders reminds me of how he looked around his staff earlier today, but dressed in a finely tailored suit, the effect is much more intimidating.

The gravity of all that Ryan is hits me at once, and it’s like I’m seeing this moment in slow motion. A few cameras flash, and I blink at the circles burned in my eyes. A new energy and buzz fills the room. In this world, Ryan is famous. These people all know him and want to be near him. Even now, they are collectively inching their way toward us. Sweat fills my palms.

In the next moment, a man in a chef’s coat rounds the corner. “Ryan! You made it!” he says, crossing to shake Ryan’s hand with a smile so blinding joy punches you in the gut.

“Congrats, David. This place is incredible.” Ryan nods toward the room, and David beams even brighter.

“Well, that means a lot coming from you. And thanks for showing your support here tonight. I know you don’t really come out to stuff like this anymore.” He shakes Ryan’s hand with gratitude in his eyes, confirming my suspicions that Ryan’s presence here is a big deal. David then shifts his gaze to me and extends his hand. “And who is this pretty lady?”

Ryan grins and then wraps his arm around my waist. The action feels both proud and possessive. “This is June, my girlfriend.”

At that title, I suck in a sharp breath. That’s the first time I’ve heard him say those words, and yeah, I guess it’s true given the discussion we had earlier, but it still shocks me. It’s equal parts wonderful and horrifying. It means I’m officially done with my one-date rule.

This is monumental, and I feel like the world should stop for me so I can soak up this moment. It doesn’t.

Despite the shock rippling through me, I manage to offer David compliments on his restaurant and tell him how happy I am to be here tonight. He kisses my cheek and somehow makes me feel just as important as Ryan. I like him excessively, and if everyone I meet tonight is anything like David, I have nothing to worry about.

There has been quiet music playing overhead, but when David leaves us to step out in the middle of the room and make a speech, everything goes silent. Eyes move from Ryan and me to David, and I feel like I can finally breathe. Ryan pulls me a little closer.

“Everyone! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for coming to the launch of Sonrisa! Translated into English, that word means smile, because I hope that’s all you do while you’re in my restaurant!” He raises both of his hands to his mouth and blows a kiss to the room. “Enjoy!” And then he sweeps himself into the kitchen to the applause of the room as the wait staff begins moving guests to various tables.

To my great dismay, Ryan and I are seated in the very center of the room. I glance over my shoulder and find a brunette with high brow arches staring at Ryan. To my left, it’s a blonde. I bounce my gaze all around the room and find eyes from every color of the spectrum stealing glances at Ryan. A few look at him and then scribble in a notebook. One man is secretly taking Ryan’s photo from under the table. My heart rate picks up, and something feels off.

Suddenly, I feel Ryan’s hand cover mine, drawing my gaze up to him. “Breathe,” he says in a rich warm tone that instantly soothes me. I take a breath and let my shoulders drop. He nods his approval and squeezes my hand. “It’s awkward, I know.”

I lean a little forward. “I didn’t know you were, like…famous famous.”

He grins a little, but it still looks different from the one I’m used to.

“Just in this sphere of life. It wasn’t really until the New York Times ran an article about me. After that, I kinda blew up in the foodie world.” He says it like it’s the most casual thing.

I blink at him, trying not to let my mouth gape open so the man with the camera doesn’t catch it and turn me into a gif.

“What was the article about?”

He shrugs. “How I’m the youngest chef in the world to earn three Michelin stars.”

I don’t get a chance to respond because, in the next moment, a short man in a shiny gray suit and a woman six inches taller than him walks up to our table and clasps Ryan on the shoulder. “Well, if it isn’t Ryan Henderson in the flesh. Gotta say, I’m surprised to see you tonight.”

Ryan doesn’t smile. His eyes slowly slide up to the man’s smug face before he looks back to me. “Noah, this is June, my girlfriend. She convinced me we should come tonight.”

Again with the girlfriend! But this time, it doesn’t shock me so much. Instead, I feel a surge of pride.

Noah reminds me of a snake. His eyes are jet black when he looks at me—appraises me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s definitely looking for something. “June, huh? Well, it’s nice to meet someone who has actual sway in Ryan’s life. We’ll have to talk later.” He winks at me, and then he and his date are directed to a table across the room.

I don’t know how to feel. The vibe is odd in here. Ryan seems oblivious, though. He’s a natural in this setting, and it shows in the confident set of his shoulders. It’s not that I feel insecure, but I certainly don’t feel comfortable here. Maybe it would be better if Ryan and I could actually talk, but we aren’t given a chance. Important person after important person works their way up to our table and monopolizes Ryan’s attention for the whole evening.

We are served the most delicious Columbian cuisine of pineapple empanadas and grilled plantains with braised beef, but Ryan is barely given a chance to take more than one bite of each food. Every journalist wants to know what he thinks of the dishes, and Ryan, wanting to help his friend, gives them all a praiseworthy quote.

Newer chefs shyly inch up to him and ask for his advice, and a few women boldly ask if he’s single. He always says no and directs their attention to me, but I kinda wish he didn’t, because it makes me nervous to walk to the bathroom alone the rest of the evening.

After an hour and a half, I wish I could take Ryan up on his thirty-minute suggestion. I miss him even though I’ve been sitting across from him all night. Actually, no. I haven’t been sitting across from him all night. I’ve been sitting across from Ryan Henderson, the famous chef. I’m coming to realize there’s a big difference.

It’s not that Ryan is offensive in this state. In fact, if I were a random girl sitting at one of these tables, I’d be drooling too. It’s just that he’s more…refined. Serious. Poised. He wears his fame well, and for some reason, that unnerves me. He looks comfortable here under all the scrutiny. Almost like it’s where he belongs.