“I do,” he says. “And I took the liberty of ordering for us to save time. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” I say, though I’m secretly miffed. As a diehard foodie, I wanted the opportunity to savor the menu, to let the descriptions tempt me. But Antoine’s right. We’re on a schedule.
“But how do you even know what I like?”
“I had a feeling.”
“Are you psychic?”
“No,” he says lightly. “But I work with large personalities. Understanding people is part of my job. I perform research before signing a client.”
“Online?”
“Online and in person.”
I tilt my head. “You’ve known me for a few hours. What exactly have you ‘gleaned’ about me?”
Antoine lifts his water glass, studying me with that calm, analytical gaze of his. “I know you teach autistic children,” he says.
“I know you’ve been written up in a few professional journals for your innovative approach to the subject. And, of course, I’ve seen 'the photos.'”
He says this last sentence in an insinuating tone, his eyebrow lifted.
My stomach drops. I’ve never had any compromising pictures taken. At least, none that I know of.
“Photos? What kind of photos?”
“Mostly the ones you posted on your social media. You and your roommate posing with buckets of popcorn in your living room, a big screen glowing in front of you. You two seem to love movies.”
“Oh. Those. Yes, we do.”
Before we can continue, a waiter arrives with a chilled bottle of white wine. He tilts the label toward me.
“Would madam enjoy wine?”
“No, thank you. I need to keep my wits about me.”
I stifle a laugh when a server comes to give Snorty what looks like a fresh, new course.
“A tasting menu for dogs?” I ask, meeting Antoine’s gaze before I turn to the server. “Thanks. This is so impressive.”
“It is our pleasure,” the server replies smoothly. “French restaurants have a long tradition of accommodating well-behaved pets.”
I smile at the compliment, though I can’t quite agree Snorty is ‘well-behaved’ as a rule. He has his moments. For the most part he’s obedient, but the other times…
Our appetizers arrive. Lobster and avocado timbales that look like artwork. Antoine begins what is clearly his version of an interview.
“So, tell me more about this little dog of yours. How did you find such an exquisite creature?”
“In the dog pound.”
I take a bite of the lobster and nearly sigh with pleasure. I have to give Antoine a point for ordering well.
“The pound?” Antoine pauses, his fork hovering. “Unusual. A purebred like Snorty can cost upwards of ten thousand dollars. Curious how he ended up there as a puppy.”
“I’ve wondered that myself,” I say. “I told you about his breathing issue earlier. The vet thinks the original owner found out the price tag for the surgery and dumped him at the pound rather than pay the cost.”
“You would think that if someone spent ten thousand on a French bulldog, they’d have the money to handle the medical cost,” Antoine says, shaking his head.
