James orders a French-sounding wine, chocolate fondue, and something else I don't catch, and the waiter disappears inside. To my astonishment, he returns almost immediately, holding a bottle of wine. He pours generously in both our glasses, then bows courteously and goes inside again. He doesn't reappear this time.
"A toast," James says, holding up his glass.
Our glasses meet in a sweet cling. "To this evening," he says, staring at me intently above the candles and I know he's expecting me to say something, but between the candles and the wine and the kiss I don't know what I could say that would do justice to all the feelings overwhelming me, without sounding like a complete idiot. So I sink my lips into the red liquid without one word.
I grimace a little.
"You don't like it? We can order another one."
"It's fine," I say quickly. "I just don't drink wine very often."
"I see," he chuckles, "only tequila." I blush furiously.
"No, that was a one-time thing because—"
"You wanted to hook up with someone and didn't have the courage?"
"Precisely," I say, keeping my eyes firmly on my plate.
His chuckle turns into full laughter. "In case you were wondering, it worked very well. You looked like you wanted nothing better than to spend the night with me… not exactly talking."
My head shoots up. "Why didn't you ask me to leave with you?"
"I don't usually take advantage of women." He puts his glass on the table, not taking his eyes off me.
"I wasn't that drunk," I say.
"No, you were angry and hurt. That's even worse."
I stare at him stunned. Of all inappropriate things I said that night, I don't remember ever mentioning—heck, not even hinting at—Michael.
How could he tell?
"I didn't want you to do something you might regret later. I honestly never thought you'd show up at my parents’ house," he says, shaking his head as if the thought still surprises him. "But I'm glad you did."
"I'm glad too," I say.
"You are?" he asks, his expression unreadable.
"Why would I have called you today if I wasn't?"
"I think we already established the reason for your call," he laughs softly and I'm sure my face is as scarlet as the candles before me.
Two waiters appear on our balcony, each carrying a large tray. I frown as they start unloading.
A bowl of strawberries in front of me, a cup with three scoops of ice cream and a lot of whipped cream in front of James, and a small fondue burner in the middle. I can't help clapping my hands as he puts the fondue over the burner. Hot, liquid chocolate, waiting for me to devour. One strawberry at a time.
"What do you have?" I ask.
"Walnut, caramel and straciatella," James says, already taking a spoonful.
I stick the small fork in a strawberry and dip into the liquid chocolate.
"Oh my God," I say, "this is delicious. Aren't you going to eat anything?"
He shakes his head, taking another spoonful of ice cream. "Not a big fan of chocolate."
"So this is all for me?"