I never pick up the menu, so I honestly never have any idea what’s on it. I know the meals are seasonal and there are a few different options to pick from for each course.
“I’ve never chosen. I always just tell them,chef’s choice,and I’ve never been disappointed.”
“Seriously?” Ethan says with a bit of concern behind his tone. “What if you get frog liver or duck feet or something equally questionable?”
I chuckle.
“Then I’m eating frog liver and duck feet for dinner. You gotta learn to let go, not be so in control all the time,” I say with factuality, leaning forward and lowering my voice because I’m referring to more than just our food choices. “You’ll be amazed at the things you discover about yourself. The things you like that you never thought you would. The loss of control is liberating.”
10
ETHAN
Fucking Christ. Dane is a walking sex billboard that talks.
I hate it.
My body physically reacts to him when he does that deep, low voice thing. Hell, who am I kidding. It reacts with everything he does and Hannah can see it. I think he can, too.
He’s talking about food right now, right? Or am I just conjuring up every syllable of his words to mean something more.
I quickly avert my gaze from his to look at Hannah. She’s flushed, just like I am.
Nothing sexual has happened between us today but I'm riding a high like I’ve never felt just being in his presence.
Hannah signs to me, “The view is gorgeous.”
Turning my head I look out the window and Hannah’s right. It’s stunning.
Strips of lights line the streets of Paris, shining bright amongst the contrast of the dark skyline. The city lights have a dark orange glow making the city look like it’s purposely on fire. You can see everything but gorgeous still doesn’t seem to cover it.
I turn back toward her.
“It’s not as beautiful as you.”
No matter how often I compliment her, she still blushes and I love that shy smile she returns. It’s the only time I see that more timid side of her.
When I finish signing I place my hand over hers on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze as I caress my thumb over her knuckles. I glance up to look at Dane, his eyes are fixed on where our hands meet, and I can see he’s deep in thought.
I’m curious about him. We happened to run into a few people that he knows in Paris today. He only introduced us to them by first name but they all looked like they belonged in a corner office overlooking the city or on a billboard running for the next prime minister of France. They all seemed powerful in some way or another.
Actually, they reminded me of my father. They gave off a snooty confidence that I felt instantly uncomfortable with. All ego and no heart. The french accents didn’t help either.
The fact that Dane, dressed in cargo pants, a basic white tee, and flip flops who appears untroubled in all things in life knew these business men, was…weird.
Now we’re at the most prestigious restaurant in Paris, where we walked in without a reservation, landed a table with the best view of the city, and the price doesn’t seem to be an issue.
The waitress comes back to our table, bringing champagne none of us asked for. “Compliments of the manager.” she says, placing a flute in front of all of us. “Have you decided what you’d like for dinner?”
Dane sits back in his chair, his hands folding into each other as he gives me an assured and pointed look.
I’ve learned to be mindful of my decisions and always think of the consequences of the choices I make, especially after the accident. But the challenge in his eyes, brings something careless out in me.
“Chef’s choice.” My gaze never leaves his and his lip quirks up.
“Same,” he replies, eyes boring into mine.
He stares at me like if he were the chef, his choice would be me.
