Fake (West Hollywood 1)

“How does yours look?” I asked, peering over the candle and the floral centerpiece. “Wow, are those kale chips?”

He popped one into his mouth and chewed. “Yes.”

“Huh.”

The side of his mouth twitched. “How’s yours?”

“I’m being a food bully, aren’t I? Constantly picking on your healthy choices. I should be ashamed of myself.” I tried to think of one nice thing to say. It wasn’t easy. “Your chicken does appear to be nicely seasoned.”

He just looked at me.

“I got steak with broccolini and fancy artisan fries. Hand-carved potato perfection.” I picked one up to show him. “Look at this gorgeous bastard, Patrick. It’s probably the most expensive fry in town.”

“Give it here.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

All hesitation aside, I just up and did it. The romantic cutesy thing. I reached out, offering him the fry from my fingers. An expression of surprise slipped across his face. Then, after a brief pause, he leaned in and took it with his mouth. Something low in my stomach stirred in a thrilling fashion. I couldn’t believe he actually met me halfway. Why, an explorer teaching a wild animal to take food from their hand couldn’t have been more exhilarated. I had somewhat tamed a paranoid, emotionally closed-off heartthrob.

A little, at least. Not that we were even really dating.

“Is that who I think it is? To my left, a few tables back?” I asked, carving into my steak.

Patrick glanced up and nodded. “Yeah.”

“My grandmother loves his films.”

“He’s one of the greats. I used to watch his stuff all the time when I was in high school. One of the people that inspired me to get into acting.” He looked around the room, taking it all in with sudden interest. “The other guy at the table with him is an Academy Award-winning director. Then down the front of the room, there’s a couple of big-name producers and a pop star.”

“Wow. I spy a big-time social media influencer and a world-famous guitarist and his partner also. This place is pretty popular.”

“Hmm,” said Patrick.

“We’re surrounded by greatness.”

Amusement once again showed in his eyes. “We’re surrounded by egos.”

“That too. Do you think people come here for the food or to be seen?”

“A bit of both,” he said. “Just like us.”

I popped a fry in my mouth, chewed and swallowed, all the while thinking deep thoughts. Because I’m a multitasker like that. “You know, it occurs to me that if we were really in the throes of a passionate whirlwind romance, we wouldn’t be sitting on opposite sides of this booth.”

He froze mid-sip of wine.

“We wouldn’t tolerate being so cruelly and unnecessarily separated from each other.”

He set down his drink.

“Just a thought.”

With all due care, Patrick collected his silverware and plate, moving them over to my side of the booth. His wineglass and napkin soon followed. Then the man carefully shuffled around to sit beside me.

“How’s that?” he asked.

I stared at him lovingly. Because that was my job.

“You’re better at this than I am.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” I said, reaching for another fry. “I might be the kind of person who overthinks things. Especially when it comes to the opposite sex, dating, and relationships. Which, as it turns out, might be quite helpful in this instance.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Now if I could just monetize my knowledge of old song lyrics and ability to quote Mean Girls, I’d be set for life.” I pointed a fry at him to emphasize my next point. “Something else occurred to me, by the way.”

“What’s that?”

“At least one of those plants our photographer is standing amongst is a cycad. Spiky as all hell. He cannot be comfortable.”

This time, I definitely witnessed him hold back a smile. “You know what, Norah? I’m actually okay with that.”

“I’m going to respect your choices and not tempt you to sin. But you’ll tell me if you’re interested, right?” I asked, fork hovering over the blueberry galette with vanilla bean ice cream.

Slumped back, an arm lying across the top of the seat behind me, Patrick appeared to be the epitome of at ease. Our knees were less than an inch apart. For some reason this seemed wildly important. It amazed me how relaxed he was in these environs. Billionaires, business types, and other assorted babes were in the room and he couldn’t care less. Or rather, the man was one of them. He sat amongst his own kind.

“I don’t believe you,” he said at last, swirling the last of his red wine around in the glass.

“What don’t you believe?”

“That you would willingly share that dessert.”

I laughed.

“Look at you, hunched over the plate, holding the fork like you might stab me at any moment if I make a move.”

“First of all, it is really good and I don’t actually want to give any away. I was just being polite. And second of all, you made a joke.” I smiled. “It was about me, which is kind of harsh, but I’m willing to let that slide.”