Lost In Us (Lost 1)

"Speed limits aren’t your thing, huh?" I ask, clutching the edges of my seat, because he doesn't show any signs of slowing down even after we enter the city.

"Sorry," he says and hits the brakes so ferociously I'm positive I would've flown through the windshield if not for the seatbelt, which cuts deeply into my skin.

"Damn it, James," I cry.

He turns to me. "Are you all right?"

"Except for a near heart attack, yes."

"I got lost in thoughts, I—"

"I'm fine," I interrupt, startled by the desperation in his gaze and voice. "We should get going. There's a line behind us."

We start again, this time at an almost embarrassingly slow speed.

"We don't have to let the slugs overcome us," I say.

He smirks at me, but there's something forced about it. His hands have the same rigid clasp on the wheel they had when we started from the airport. Is he still thinking of Natalie's comment? The thought of asking him about it tempts me again, but I decide against it. I focus on the surroundings instead.

I was in San Jose once before with a group of enthusiastic, would-be entrepreneurs from my class, who wanted to attend a conference with the Valley's biggest venture capitalists—an inspiration in their entrepreneurial chase for the next big thing. I trailed along, because I rarely miss a free conference, and I must admit, between the speeches and the spectacular view from the top of the fifty-story building we were in, the positive atmosphere was catchy. But I had read too many statistics on how few entrepreneurs succeed, how few ventures survive, let alone become as successful as James's, to get too excited. Many of my classmates plan to open their own businesses, or join a new venture in the Valley. I’ve never seriously considered anything besides banking. Or, well, I have. But jobs in huge corporations that would get me the paycheck I need to keep me, and Mum and Dad, afloat. Silicon Valley is one too many notches of risky for me.

We drive past the business district and its tall buildings, taking side street after side street, until we reach a park. James parks right next to the entrance.

"The restaurant is inside the park? Nice," I say as he turns off the engine.

I make a move to exit the car, but James interrupts, "Wait." He gets out of the car and comes over to my side, opening the door for me. Instead of saying thank you, I raise my eyebrows after I get out. He smiles widely, all traces of whatever thoughts he had gotten lost in seemingly gone. "I just thought I'd make a nice impression on our first official date."

A thousand butterflies flutter their wings simultaneously inside me, taking over my heart, leaving me breathless, unable to pronounce anything more than a surprised, "Oh."

He offers his arm and I take it clumsily, unsure what to make of the whole thing. As we enter the park, I rack my brain, trying to recall all the things Jess repeats to herself out loud in front of the mirror before every single one of her first dates, then I remember most of the things wouldn't fit in my case anyway, given last Saturday.

I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm the wild drumming in my chest, hoping that my nervousness isn't visible in the dimly illuminated alley lined with palm trees. The drumming reaches a new height when the restaurant comes into view, an elegant two-story cottage, with terraces on both levels, buzzing with people enjoying the warm evening.

"Welcome to L'Etoile," a pretty blonde with a tight bun and a heavy French accent greets us at the doorway. Her eyes rest on my jeans for a few seconds, then shift over to James's casual shirt. One closer look at the guests reveals that we're one suit and a chiffon gown too underdressed for this place.

James seems completely unperturbed by this. He unleashes the full force of his smile's charm on the poor woman a second later, when he says in a low voice, "James Cohen, I called for a reservation about two hours ago."

The woman's look of contempt instantly melts, the most ridiculous eyelash batting taking its place as she murmurs a weak "Follow me," before swirling around in her pumps and proceeding inside. Amazing, the effect he can have on women. I exchange a quick glance with James and both of us burst into less-than-discrete laughter. The woman trips over her own feet as she starts climbing a narrow spiral staircase. We don't head, as I expected, toward the terrace once we're on the second floor. The blonde leads us in the opposite direction to another door that opens to a balcony. When I step outside, my first thought is that the balcony is completely empty. Then I see the small table with two chairs. And the red candles in the middle of the table.

"That's our table," James says and I realize I've stopped walking.

"James, I… this is so… you didn't have to…"

Thankfully, he stops my incoherent babbling with a kiss. Soft and sweet in the beginning, until I feel the cold wall against my back, and James pressing himself against me, deepening the kiss with an urgency that awakes the desperate longing I've been trying to keep under control since I first saw him this evening. I can't suppress a moan when his hands find their way under my top, and James breaks off the kiss, gasping.

"Why don't we have that dessert before I change my mind?" he says in a low, raspy voice and turns around, taking my hand and leading me to the small table.

For once, I wouldn't mind skipping dessert. Even if it is chocolate.

The second we sit, a waiter appears out of nowhere, wearing an elegant white uniform and a polite, serious expression. I bite my lip, hoping he hasn't caught anything from the earlier scene. My entire face catches fire when I realize that even if he didn't see us, the blonde who led us here surely did. Why else would she have disappeared?

"What do you want to drink?" James asks me, already immersed in the menu.

"Whatever you're having."

The waiter bends to lig

ht up the candles, and as the small flames dance in front of my eyes, I can't help thinking of Michael and how we never had a candlelight dinner in our six years together.