“I said we’d rather deal with a waiter who isn’t a rude little shit with a disrespectful tone,” I say pleasantly, smiling at him. “The sort of prices this place charges, we expect at least to be spoken to politely, not like something you stepped in. I don’t have the first clue what makes you think you have the right to treat us this way, if you don’t like the way we look or something, but rest assured, we’re not tolerating it.”
His mouth opens and closes like a guppy, and after a few seconds, he walks stiffly away in the direction of the kitchen, clearly torn between indignance and embarrassment.
Leo holds up his hand for me to high five, and I oblige. “I love when you do that,” he says, grinning.
“What, put asshats in their place?”
“Yep. Nobody does it better than you.”
I shrug. “I’ve always been intolerant of being talked down to.” It’s something that has always driven my strict, dictatorial, equally intolerant father completely mad. Dad wasn’t always as bad as he is now, but he and I donotget along.
“True, you’ve always commanded respect.” He takes my hand and kisses my fingers casually. “Never change.”
It’s jarring in the best way, to have someone compliment the very parts of you that your ex and yourfathernever appreciated.This is something new,I think to myself,and, damn it, Wendy, you were right: it could easily be what I’ve been looking for all along.“I won’t,” I promise.
He sighs. “I hope their food is good enough to make up for a rough start.” My heart melts at the disappointed look on his face. For this to happen on his first proper date with a woman he’s liked for years…tough break.
“I’m sure it will.” I didn’t want to say, but I always find restaurants like this to be over the top, overpriced, and overhyped. Then again, I can appreciate that he wanted to treat me to something special.
But if there’s anything with foam on the plate, I won’t be able to stifle my laughter. Cuckoo spit next to a couple of lettuce leaves is not a meal.
A new, older waiter walks up to us with a toothy smile and two leather bound menus. “Good evening, sir. Madam. I understand there was an issue with your waiter. Allow me to apologise on behalf of Chagall. Most unfortunate, and I hope you will accept your first round of drinks gratis, as our guests.” His voice is dripping with contrition, and any opinions he has about my dress are neatly concealed by his professional veneer.
That’s more like it.
“Excellent. We accept. And I would suggest that management considers sending that guy on a customer service course for the future,” Leo says evenly.
“Indeed, sir, we shall be updating his training as quickly as possible.” He hands us the menus, and I am immediately a bit suspicious that the prices are not listed against any of the meals.
“Sadie, what would you like to drink?”
“A glass of white wine, please.”
“Excellent, madam,” the waiter replies. “May I recommend the Chateau d’Yquem?”
“You may,” I smile.
“And I’ll have the same.” Waiter Mark Two bows - actually bows - and rushes off to bring us our complimentary apology drinks.
I glance through the menu, and as suspected, style over substance.
“Order anything you want, and don’t worry about it,” Leo says to me quietly and firmly.
I look up at him. “The fact that you are able to afford a place like this isn’t the point, babe,” I reply.
“Babe, huh?” His face breaks into an ear-to-ear grin, and it gives me a few tingles. Leo is sex on legs whether he’s in a suit ortracksuit bottoms, but moments like this, where I’m single and he wants me and he’s smiling like I’m the hottest thing walking, serves to dress it up with fairy lights.
“What?” I tease. “I’ve called you babe before.”
“Yes, but you don’t normally look at me like I’m a total snack.” He raises his scarred eyebrow playfully.
“Speaking of snacks,” I deflect, because he’s putting me off my banter game with those burning hazel eyes that see right through me, “what are you planning to order?”
He smirks, knowing what I’m doing, and looks back at the menu. “Probably the Langoustine to start, followed by the lamb.”
I look at the listings, and they do look delicious. “I think I’ll join you in the lamb, but have the, ah, heritage tomato with the parmigiano reggiano and Genovese basil to start.” I close my eyes so I don’t roll them. Tomato and basil with parmesan, for crying out loud. And I bet it costs as much as two main courses elsewhere. Enough to pay for a decent meal for more than one person at the homeless shelter I’ve volunteered at before. I know he’s trying to treat me, and I’m not ungrateful. He’s treating me like a queen. I’ve just never been a fan of expensive restaurants inflating their prices for small portions of basic fare.
We order when the new waiter brings us our wine, and he's a model of efficiency. The wine is, I have to admit, excellent, the flavour perfectly balanced between the richness of dried fruit and a floral lightness. It seems like the Chagall experience is looking up, which relaxes us both enough to sink into our usual easy banter.
