The limo was still parked at the curb when Will and I left Make It Work. Stewart didn’t open the door for us or say a word the rest of the night.
“It shouldn’t be a far drive to The Breezes from here,” Will said.
“The Breezes? Is that where we’re going?”
“Yes, it’s the best place to watch the sunset into the ocean. Plus their food is pretty good. Have you ever been?”
“No. I don’t think I even know anyone who has. Am I dressed ok? I would’ve changed clothes if I knew we were going to such a fancy place.”
“You look stunning. Trust me, you’re perfect just the way you are.”
“Won’t I stand out? I’m sure the other women there will be really dressed up, or maybe more conservative.”
“There won’t be other women there. There won’t be anyone else there. I value my privacy above all other things. I bought the restaurant for the night.”
“Serious?”
Instead of answering, Will motioned for me to look out the window. We were pulling up the steep circular driveway of The Breezes and there were no other cars around. Known almost more for the line of cars that extended around the block, than for it being the most prestigious restaurant in all of Canyon Cove, The Breezes had a waiting list that some said was close to a year long.
The restaurant sat on the top of a cliff, along the shoreline. It was a Spanish style white stone, one story building with gardens of lush tropical flowers and trees surrounding it. When our car stopped at the main entrance, an attendant stepped forward and opened the door to the limo.
“Good evening, Mr. King,” he said as we stepped onto the walkway in front of the building.
“One day we’ll get here earlier and I’ll show you the gardens,” Will said.
“So you’ve been here before?” I asked as we entered the restaurant, our voices echoing against the Spanish ceramic tile floor.
“Yes, but never like this.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I teased.
“No, I don’t,” he said, his face serious. “I know we don’t know each other well, but you’re different than the others.”
“Why? Because I’m fat?”
Anger covered his face and I immediately regretted saying those words. He didn’t need to hear about my insecurities. Under the stress from the contest and being so broke, my mouth proved it had a mind of its own.
“What do you think this is? Charity?” His voiced boomed throughout the empty restaurant. “I bought the restaurant for the night because the table I wanted was booked and because I’d rather be alone with you than surrounded by a bunch of strangers.”
Grabbing my arm a little roughly he led me into a small dining room with blue mosaic tile surrounding a fireplace. Directly in front of me was a large glass window framed by palm trees with a table set for two. I stepped up to the window and looked out at the amber sun slowly sinking into the ocean, with the sandy white beach below. At this height I could see the shoreline for miles.
Standing there quietly I watched the waves crash on the beach, their white crests reminding me of the fabric Will just bought me for my samples.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I’ll show you what’s wrong with you,” he said.
He walked into the next room and I followed without thinking.
“Why is it so dark in here?”
In front of me was a similar window to the one in the room with the view except this one was dark.
“This window faces the other side, with the gardens,” he said and flicked the light switch.
With the lights turned on, the window became a mirror. And I was facing it. I quickly turned away.
“No. Look at yourself,” he said as he stepped closer to me, moving behind me. “Really look at yourself. See what I see.”
With a habit of avoiding full length mirrors like the plague, I hadn’t really looked at myself in years. My black bob had grown out a bit and was just past my chin. I had opened the peek-a-boo keyhole more to show off more of my assets before meeting Will.
The dress looked even better than I could have imagined. The gathering around the waist made me even more hourglass than I planned. I knew the dress looked good on me, but I never stopped to realize I looked good too. It wasn’t just the smoke and mirrors of the dress.
“A few weeks ago I was in the suit department at Hargrove’s,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I turned around when I heard the shuffling of another person and spotted an angel. She had black hair, the perfect juxtaposition against her creamy skin, and it drew me to her. But as I approached I realized she wasn’t an angel at all.”