Chapter Sixteen
I'm nervous as hell. Bastien checked his appearance in the mirror. He wore a green and blue plaid sweater over a white t-shirt and a pair of dark denim pants, because Mars insisted slacks were too dressy for what he had planned. A pair of brown boots completed the ensemble. Rivka had begrudgingly agreed to leave the bedroom. He'd scoured the Internet for ideas before he gave in and asked Mars for some advice. In the end they'd come up with the idea of a mock five-course dinner that would take place at a number of restaurants. He was taking her to Newport on the Levy, which held a strip of restaurants of all shapes and sizes they could easily walk to. Best of all, they wouldn't have to talk much because their mouths would be busy. Naughty images flickered in his mind. Down boy, think of cold showers.
"This is as good as it gets." He turned away from the mirror and walked to the door. They'd agreed to drive separately and meet up. Now that the wedding excitement had died down, they weren't hiding things. He just had no desire to explain to others why they weren't ga-ga over each other and planning the mating ceremony of the year. Bastien rolled his eyes. There was no way in hell he'd be gussied up and put on display for everyone to see. It wasn't his style, and if he was judging correctly, it wasn't Rivka's either. You're getting ahead of yourself. She barely agreed to do on this date. One thing at a time. He drove away from the house in a black SUV, hoping this date would break the ice. It was almost painful having casual sex with someone you knew was the love of your life. There was no cuddling in the afterglow or sweet words whispered to temper the passion and make him feel like anything other than an able body. A pang of regret hit him as he thought of the nameless, faceless women he'd had sex with over the years. He'd always been up front about what he was looking for, but if they felt like this…
The ghosts of his past hounded him as he pulled into the parking lot. He'd never thought about the damage you could do to others without batting an eyelash. It simply didn’t compute when your emotions were frozen. Short of joining a volunteer group and shipping off to a third-world country to administer aid for a few years, he wasn't sure how he could make up for it all. Bastien placed the car in park. That was the past. Don't fuck up your future dwelling on it. Just like the battles you've fought, you do the best you can when you're in them and then move forward. With his pep talk to himself complete he exited the car and headed to Benita's Café where they'd agreed to meet for appetizers and a starter drink. The three-story, beige brick building had a historic look to it, like most buildings did in this area. Founded in the early nineteen hundreds most of the brick structures were original, though revamped on the inside. The glass-paned windows on the bottom row had black curtains, and the word Benita’s was etched on the door in swirly black letters. When he walked inside he was greeted by the glorious scent of spices that gave a nod to the Cajun-style food they specialized in cooking.
There were a few people in front of him at the hostess stand, so he took the time to study the layout. Square tables, which could seat two to four people, covered in white tables cloths sat on top of a hardwood floor. Signs that said New Orleans covered the wall along with red crawfish and a variety of paintings. Jazz music played over the speaker, but according to the website, they brought in live bands at night. The door opened behind him, and he smiled when he saw Rivka. Dressed in a pair of skinny blue jeans and knee high black boots, she had her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, classic beauty. She scanned the area, and her gaze stopped at him.
"Hi." He offered up a smile as she came to stand beside him.
"Hi." Her face was drawn as she remained standoffish.
"It smells great on here, doesn't it?" He’d keep the conversation flowing and light. She seemed to shut down at anything too serious.
"Amazing. Do you like spicy food?"
" I do."
"Nice."
"Hi, welcome to Benita's. Will there be two of you tonight?" the perky, blonde waitress asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Excellent." The waitress grabbed two menus off the counter and walked around to stand beside them. "If you'll follow me."
They trailed behind her to a spot next to a window in the middle of the restaurant. He pulled out a chair for Rivka, who sat down and mumbled “thank you,” as he pushed her seat in before taking his own.
"Your waitress will be Tracy. She'll be with you shortly."
"Thank you," he said. When she walked away he turned his attention to Rivka.
"How've you been? I haven't seen you since last week at the wedding extravaganza."
"I've been good, busy with ceremonies and a few births. How about you?"
"A lot better now that the three-ring circus is out of our house."
She snickered. "I bet. Are they still on their honeymoon?"
"For a whole other week. It's like we've gone back to being bachelors again."
"Ordering pizzas, drinking beer, and watching the games?"
"Exactly."
They both picked up their menus and for once, a comfortable silence fell between them as they browsed.
"What looks good to you?" she asked a few minutes later.
"I'm leaning toward the Carpaccio."
"Oooh, I've never tried that one." She browsed the piece of paper once more. "Raw beef tenderloin pounded thin with a marinade of garlic, black pepper, Parmesan, olive oil and lemon." She wrinkled her nose. "I don’t know about that one, General."
"It's really good. The meat melts in your mouth, and the flavors sort of explode on your palate before they meld together in one cohesive taste."
"Normally I'd just order my own, but we'd never make it to the fifth place if we did that. I'll go with your call this time, but I call dibs on the dessert."