“I don’t know.”
“Actually, I don’t even know why I’m acting surprised,” he says. “There’s a joke around our office that Ellis is, like, psychic.”
“What?” I try not to sound as alarmed as I feel.
“He just…seems toknow. When you need help with something, when you’re going through a bad time—he’s that guy. You can rely on him.”
Well, this is distressing. Daniel seems to sense the slight shift in my mood because he says, “Maybe we cannottalk about Ellis on our first date?” with a grin shot my way. It goes straight through me, landing firmly low in my belly. It is just a fact of nature that Daniel is incredibly attractive. His eyes burn over me before facing the windshield again. “You look beautiful, in case I didn’t say it already.”
My jacket feels warm. “Thank you.” I take a surreptitious glance at his camel crewneck sweater and navy trousers. His sleeves are pushed up and long white shirtsleeves peep through. Impeccable. “You look…like a Frenchman. In an ad. About nice watches.”
We both start laughing. “Wow,” he finally says. “I’ve peaked.”
I ask Daniel to tell me “fun architectural facts” about L.A. as we drive down the 110, twisting through the Arroyo full of oak trees and ancient bridges. “Did you know this was the first highway in America?”
“I did, and it makes sense given that it has literal ninety-degree-angle off-ramps.”
“It’s dangerous but exciting, right?” His enthusiasm for L.A. is contagious.
“You’re truly gambling with your life every time you get on it,” I agree cheerfully.
“What was it like for you to grow up here? I can’t imagine.”
Cars are stopped ahead of us, so Daniel slows down. He knows my mom died but not the full extent of the tragic details. “I always thought L.A. was actually really normal and not that glamorous. Imean, I went to school and hung out with friends at the mall. But when I traveled after I graduated high school, I realized how unique L.A. was. How integral sunshine was to keeping me sane. How I was so blessedly invisible here.”
“Really?” he says. “I always imagined growing up in L.A. was like, you studied at the beach and partied with celebrities at night.”
“Okay, I think you watched too much90210.”
“Oh, I hadsucha crush on Jennie Garth.”
“You would!”
“Please, you were a Dylan girl.”
“Literally I’d be a psychopath if I was a Brandon girl.”
There’s our shorthand again. It’s almost like the getting-to-know-each-other has been bypassed, and we’re in a super comfortable space already. In that way, this doesn’t feel like a first date at all—it feels like one in a string of many we’ve had over the years. We drop the car off with a valet and walk into the unassuming but immaculately designed space. It’s an upscale Korean restaurant that has been buzzy ever since its opening and we get seated in a cozy corner table. The hostess seems to know Daniel and the two exchange pleasantries.
“Are you like the Mister Rogers of the L.A. restaurant scene?” I ask as he pours me a glass of water from the carafe placed on the table.
“Maybe? Sexy, huh?” His hands are steady as he fills my squat glass. The word “sexy” vibrates in the air for a second.
“Nothing hotter than a man in a cardigan,” I say.
“I’ve got a wardrobe full of them,” he says quickly, winking. I laugh and am still laughing when the server comes to take our order. I wave at Daniel, giving him permission to order for us. He does, with care, but zero pretension somehow. I realize, then, that I’ve been secretly waiting for him to be an asshole of some kind. Somevery smooth, urbane, bachelor type that is single for a reason. So far, I’ve got nothing. He’s smooth, yes, but just because he’s comfortable with himself. It’s not practiced, it’s natural. And I suppose that the whole British factor might be a part of it. We American women are so utterly incapacitated by a British accent.
“Tell me about your dating history,” I say after the server leaves. It’s time to cut to the chase.
“Pardon?” he says, only half joking.
The soft lighting in the restaurant makes him look dreamy and soft, but I will not be deterred. “I’ll give you mine. I’ve had a few serious partners, but I’ve never had one serious enough to live with or contemplate marriage with. And my last serious relationship was a whopping five years ago.”
“Okay,” he says slowly, smiling. “Well, I have had only two serious girlfriends, and one of them Ididlive with.”
Something jealous and spiky pushes into my chest. “Oh yeah? How recent?”
“We broke up seven years ago. I beat you. Anyway, we broke up because I worked too much,” he said. Then he shakes his head. “Actually I don’t know why I said that. It was because…I didn’t let her in. That’s what she said, anyway. And she was probably right, although I felt like I was letting her in as much as I could.”
