I swing the pink door of the restaurant open and am immediately hit with the rich scent of garlic and fresh herbs and the sight of the man from the airplane.
He’s at a small table near the back next to the wall of windows. An antique chandelier hangs above the table, and the view of the Great Wheel against the setting sun. The remaining streams of daylight pour into the restaurant. A single candle stick sits aflame in front of him, and he drums his fingers against the white linen tablecloth.
I breathe a sigh of relief because he’s even more handsome than I remember. But maybe that’s a testament to the way he’s dressed. His baby blue button-up hugs his biceps and is rolled up at the elbows, revealing the veins that perfectly wrap around his forearm. He didn’t shave, but the scruff on his face is cleaned up, and his dark hair looks like he just ran his fingers through it.
“Do you have a reservation?” the host asks, interrupting my daydream.
“Just here to meet a friend,” I answer, gesturing to the green-eyed masterpiece in the back of the restaurant. I make my way to him. “You’re early.”
He glances at his watch as he stands, placing a hand on my elbow and kissing me softly on the cheek. “I just got here.”
I smile at him. “I’m five minutes early and the way you were drumming your fingers on the table tells me you’ve been here a while.”
“I’m on time,” he says as we take our seats across from each other.
“So punctual.” My eyes flit to his, then land on our server as she takes our drink orders.
After she leaves, he leans over the table. “And just so you know, I’m early because I was nervous.”
I laugh, certain he’s joking.
“I’m serious.”
I roll my eyes, unable to not smile. “Why?”
“Uh, because we met on an airplane and I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“I invited you,” I counter.
“People change their minds all the time.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “Did you text Austin about me?”
He flashes a guilty smile. “Of course. Due diligence.”
“Hmm. Or fear,” I tease.
“Did you text your sister about me?”
“No,” I laugh out the response.
“Liar.”
“I am no such thing.”
He leans back in his chair, his posture screaming confidence. “Really? Not even a little nervous I’m a serial killer?”
A small laugh tumbles out with my breath. “I do not light up a room, so I have no such worries.”
He grins. “Just fearless, aren’t you?”
“Well, compared to you, who seems to be scared of everything.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “What?”
“Airplanes. People who cross their legs...” I list off the fears I’ve been aware of for the last eight hours.
“Only when we’re landing and taking off,” he counters, pointing a finger at me. I grab it and hold it against the table.
