Except she planned to have a cup of coffee and a salad washed down by water and lemon. Her stomach snarled. She pressed a hand firmly under her rib cage and concentrated on the breathing exercise learned in Yoga. It always got her through a difficult deposition. She couldn’t afford to gain any weight. She had a hard enough time getting a date as it was.
Look at me, sitting in the exclusive, isolated spot, waiting for some man as hard up as I am, all to scratch a primal itch that normal people didn’t need a special service to arrange. It had sounded so much better in theory.
A cup of coffee appeared in front of her, and she jerked her gaze upward, blinking at the waiter she’d seen exiting the kitchen. Unlike most of the other staff, he actually wore a jacket, the rich black a perfect complement to his dark hair and too-blue eyes.
“Good evening.” The rich, rolling cadence of the south drifted through his voice. “One cup of coffee, black.”
“Thank you.” She closed her cool fingers around the hot cup. She’d barely eaten and had forgotten her suit jacket at the office. The combination of low blood sugar and cooler temperatures left her chilled. “I don’t suppose there are menus?”
The waiter’s eyebrows lifted. “Yes, ma’am, typically we offer menus.” His mouth quirked in an amused smile. “But your meal was prepared tonight by the owner, especially for you.”
“I see.”
He wasn’t a waiter. The fact that he wore a jacket over a button down white shirt and none of the other waiters did was a clue. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she trusted her instincts. No way was he the waiter. So was her date playing a game with her? As her mind raced over the possibilities, her stomach chose the one moment of silence to gurgle. She lifted the coffee cup to her lips to hide her discomfort.
“He planned the meal for six-thirty, but he wasn’t sure whether you preferred a white or a red wine and that will tell him a lot about what to serve first.”
Oh, he didn’t, did he? Well, two can play. She lowered the cup. “My wine selection?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Again with the amusement. What does he know that I don’t?
“Wines say a lot about someone. A person who orders a dry white is a focused individual, and prefers clearly defined foods, with a smoky cheese. Whereas the patron who enjoys a fruity white is more likely to indulge in a spicy dish.” The lyrical cadence to his words fascinated her.
She rubbed her finger against the warm side of the coffee cup. A swallow of the bitter black brew helped. It was far less than her stomach wanted, but it would have to do for now.
“And red wines?”
“Reds are complicated. First, there are the blushes. The shy palate prefers a blush because she knows what she’s getting, but she really wants to experiment. She just doesn’t know how. She who desires a merlot possesses sophisticated taste, but is very clear on what she won’t try. And Burgundies…” the faux waiter sighed, dragging the word out until the breath caught in her throat. “Burgundies are for those hungry for something they’ve never had before.”
“And you can tell all of that by what wine a person orders?” Her heart thudded against her ribs with a curious thrill of anticipation. If he was the example, this restaurant would be a smashing success.
“Yes, ma’am. Which wine would you prefer?”
“Can you tell what wine a person will order by looking at them?” Good Lord, I’m flirting with him. Please be the date just playing a game. Her gaze flicked to the empty seat across the table and back to him. It was a subtle hint, but the man seriously seemed to notice everything. His blue eyes were amazing, but he didn’t seem to take the hint.
All the noise and chaos behind him faded as he leaned in with a secretive smile. “Sometimes.”
“Surprise me.” She nibbled her lower lip, probably scraping what was left of her lipstick off, but she didn’t care. He wasn’t looking at her mouth. Correction, the waiter wasn’t looking just at her mouth. Instead, he seemed to take in her whole body and she straightened, almost self-conscious of the appraisal.
“I’ll do that.” He circled the table to retrieve a napkin and snapped it out to lay over her lap. The move was so at odds with the location and yet utterly charming nonetheless. “My name is Damon and it will be my pleasure to serve you tonight.”
He winked and pivoted neatly to disappear behind the swinging doors. She exhaled sharply, her skin tingling all over. Her pulse raced like a wild hummingbird. Heat uncoiled in her belly.
He had to be Madame Eve’s date. She wasn’t sure why he wanted to pretend to be the waiter, but he was really cute at it. She told herself that the flutters in her belly and the stuttering of her heart had nothing to do with her decision to continue to play along.