“Well, theHerb-Crusted Lamb Provençalis popular tonight, and so is theSaffron Risotto with Poached Prawns. If you want something richer, theRosemary-Cedar Salmon with Dijon Creamis really—”
“Do you know all the dishes on the menu?” he asks, that deep voice of his dripping into my system inconveniently.
I have to fight the urge to look at him.
“I’ve only tried two of them, but I know what each of them have in terms of ingredients,” I tell him, keeping my eyes on the tablet.
Lincoln leans back, drumming his fingers slowly and gracefully on the table. Speaking of grace, he seems to carry a grace and elegance he never did before. It’s not like he was ever clumsy or anything, but he just seems… different.
When I risk a peek at him, I notice something in his face. A hint of sadness. Or maturity. Whatever. Maybe he’s just acting like this because he’s at this place.
“Why don’t you pick a dish for me?” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Um. What are you in the mood for?” I ask, still trying to be professional, looking down at my tablet.
“You tell me.”
When I look up at him and then over at Sarah, I feel stuck.
Sarah looks pissed.
“Babe don’t waste her time, she has other people to go serve. I don’t want to wait too long either. I like to give good tips to my waiters who are spiffy,” Sarah says, her condescending glare locked on me, her little smile spelling murder.
My mouth is open, ready to say something, but I stay frozen, staring at Lincoln instead.
“Why are we in a rush?” he asks, tilting his head at Sarah, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Because she hasotherpeople to serve.”
“They can wait. We’re paying for this. Or rather I’m paying for it this time around, so… I want to enjoy my experience.”
He smiles tightly at her, like he’s putting her back in place without saying it outright.
I want to laugh so bad when Sarah’s face crumples and she rolls her eyes like a spoiled brat.
It'sveryuncomfortable watching Sarah and Lincoln together because they're both dressed very well, and they're both so pretty. It feels as though they had been made for each other. Nowonderpeople want to see them as a couple.
They already look like one.
My heart is notsupposedto feel broken. I'm supposed to be over this man. There's that part of me that still cares about him, but I'm not giving him that. He doesn't deserve any more love than the basic humanity I would show him for him having once been my spouse.
“Anyway as I was saying, why don't you pick a dish for me?” he directs his focus back to me.
“Well…” I start looking at the menu. Then I begin rattling off some of the different dishes, scrolling through them on mytablet, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice. Before I can get through even the second one, Lincoln interrupts me.
“Gabby, you know me better than that,” he remarks. “Ifyouwere going to order something for me… what would you pick?”
“I have no way of knowing that, sir,” I say, stuttering.
“Ofcourseyou do. We knew each other for well over a decade, and you know my palette better than I do.So…Gabrielle…”
The way everything stands still the minute he says my name sends a shiver up my spine. There's another throb between my legs. “... Look at me… and tell me what youthinkI'm in the mood for.”
His smile almost comes off as mischievous, like there's a secret he's not telling that he knows only I can unlock. Usually I can tell, but he’s hiding his face, so, at the moment, I can't tell if he's flirting with me or being an asshole or if he's just being kind.
I take a breath. “You’ll like the rosemary-baked halibut, or the braised short ribs,” I say.
“And with that, can I have the Le.. Le… Shhh-”
