Angel appears calm and collected, as though he hasn’t even noticed the looks and the glances; he seems almost athome here, but maybe that’s just the confidence he carries everywhere with him. I could use some of that… I take his hand on the table and gently give it a squeeze, hoping it gives me some.
“This is amazing,” I say, “I do feel a bit under-dressed though.”
“No way,” he says, leaning towards me, “you’re the most beautiful woman in this place.”
“Why thank you… Mr. Sharpe.”
He groans. “No, please don’t call me that.”
“Yeah, it didn’t sound right as soon as I said it,” I laugh, “honestly, I always assumed you used Gálvez, like Donovan.”
“They both switched back to Mom’s maiden name after the divorce, but it was easier for me to keep Frank’s, hardly ever use it anyway. I don’t like hearing you say anything connected to him though.”
“Then I promise not to use it again… Sir.”
“Now that I like,” he chuckles and pulls me into a kiss.
I’m guessing it’s not the type of kiss that patrons in this place are used to seeing, it definitely isn’t proper… but fuck it, I snake my arms around his neck and return it with equal passion.
We’re interrupted by the gentle clearing of a throat, pausing our kiss but not moving away from each other, I glance up to see a server looking at us.
“The wine list, Sir,” they say, presenting the menu to Angel.
“Thanks,” he says, looking down at the extensive list of wines in front of him. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, and I realize he has no idea what to order.
“I really like the 2020 Casa Castillo Las Gravas,” I say, placing one hand on his arm and using the other to point it out on the list. “Would you mind if we ordered that?”
“Not at all, ladies’ choice,” he says to the server as he hands the list back.
“Very well, Sir,” the server says, before leaving.
“Thanks for rescuing me,” he says, “I didn’t know they’d have so many types of wine.”
“That’s okay, honestly they’re not going to stock shit wine so any bottle would have been good, I do genuinely like the one I picked though.”
“Good,” he smiles.
The server quickly returns and presents the bottle to Angel, who just stares back.
“May I?” I ask the server, to which they pour a small amount into my glass.
I take a sip and pretend to mull it over, before nodding. The server pours a glass for each of us before leaving once again.
Angel laughs. “What the fuck was that?”
“It’s a thing,” I say, “you approve the wine before they pour it. It’s bullshit, everyone’s just thinking ‘yup, that’s wine’ but they pretend to know what they’re talking about and nod along.”
“That’s so fucking stupid.”
“I know. So why did you bring me here?” I ask gently, “You know I’m happy with a bucket of seafood dumped on some newspaper in front of me.”
He looks down at his hands. “I wanted to take you someplace nice; most of our time together has been spent in your tiny-ass apartment, or the clubhouse, I wanted you to have the best.”
I lean in to give him a gentle kiss on the lips. “Thank you.”
Again, we’re interrupted by another clearing of a throat.
“Are you ready to order food, Sir?” the server asks, the calm look on their face only faltering slightly at Angel’s disgruntled expression.
