“I…yes.”
“Were the clothes to your liking?” he asks.
I run my hands over the top half of the dress. “Yes. Thank you.”
Damien nods and places his hand on my lower back, guiding me out of the house. I wait as he locks the door. As we begin to walk again, I hook my hand around his arm, and Damien stops.
“You don’t have to follow the protocol, Ellie. Not today,” he says, and I realize I have been following all the rules as if we are at the Opal Room.
I slide my hand off his arm, and Damien grabs it, lacing our fingers together. This is new. It also feels like a danger zone. A danger zone I don’t particularly want to leave.
We pick up Luca at Rachel’s on the way. He’s quiet in the back seat as we drive, and I notice Damien glancing in the rearview once in a while. I can’t read his expression, but it’s almost like there is a curiosity there. There’s also concern.
The festival is crowded and crazy, but not in a bad way. As Damien said, it’s mostly family-oriented. There are bouncy houses and food trucks and art booths and bands playing. As we take everything in, I look down at Luca.
“What would you like to do?” I ask him. Luca pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and squeezes my hand tighter, moving to stand slightly behind me.
“There’s a lot of people here,” he whispers. Damien looks at me. I smile and bend down.
“There are. How about we get something to eat? Maybe a burger?” I ask.
Luca shakes his head.
“A corn dog?”
He shakes his head again.
“Turkey legs? Or noodles. There’s a Thai truck over–”
“I don’t want that,” he says, and I’m starting to worry this is a bad idea.
“Grilled cheese,” Damien chimes in, and Luca’s attention perks.
“There’s grilled cheese?” he asks.
“Yep,” Damien answers.
Luca looks around, and so do I.
“Yeah, where?” I whisper without moving my mouth.
But Damien’s eyes just sparkle with a hint of mischief. “Follow me.”
Damien takes my hand, I take Luca’s, and we wind through the crowd.
“You do realize,” I say as quietly as I can to Damien, “that if you say Luca can have something, you have to deliver. It’s the rule of hopeful five-year-olds.”
“What’s the matter, Mariposa? You think I won’t deliver?” Damien asks, and my cheeks flush. His lips curl in satisfaction. Something about him using a nickname, a nickname he usually only uses in the bedroom, feels like we are being naughty, and I can’t help but smile too.
Damien wasn’t lying. Right down the street, close to the Bellisimo, one of Damien’s other hotels, is a grilled cheese food truck.
“The Cheddar Truck?” Luca asks.
“The Cheddar Truck,” Damien echoes. “Best grilled cheese you’ll ever have.”
But Luca being Luca arches a skeptical eyebrow. “How do you know?”
Damien bends down towards him. “Because I own it,” he half whispers. Then he walks over to the truck and steps through the back door, leaving Luca and I for about five minutes to wait and wonder.
