Chapter Four
Ishmael
Jessica Neufield was a spoiled heiress that after tonight, was not going to receive any further dinner invitations from Ishmael, neither would he be accepting any. This was their second outing together, the first having been as a friendly plus one at an art gallery opening two months previously. With the distances between the two social events, Ishmael thought that perhaps Jessica would have at least gotten a vague clue that they were not, in fact, dating.
The paparazzi snapped their photo through the restaurant window as they were being seated, she leaned over and pecked him on the lips. He stiffened, not returning the kiss. Instead, he quickly stepped away and pulled out her chair. That, too, was deemed worthy of a photograph it seemed.
“You're always such a gentleman,” she gushed. “Wait, stay right there behind me.” She lifted her phone for a selfie. “Hashtag second date. People are going to be totes jealous and wish they were me.”
Hashtag never again.
He stepped away and took his seat. The waiter handed them their menus. “I’ll return shortly with the wine you pre-ordered, Mr. Lux,” the man said smoothly.
Jessica giggled and leaned forward to speak over the top of her menu in what she thought was a whisper. “You ordered the wine when you made the reservation? How did you know what you’d be pairing it with? Or did you already know what you’d be ordering?”
“I knew that there would be several choices on the menu that would pair well with it or I could order something special from the kitchen.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, you know the chef?”
His lips twisted sardonically. “You could say that.”
“Oh! Do you think you could ask him to cater an engagement party?” Her hand reached for his as she spoke. He moved his hands closer to himself, avoiding her touch. Looking hurt, she pulled back. The look had flitted across her features so quickly that had he not been an astute observer, he would have missed it.
The waiter returned with his wine. After scenting the cork and tasting the sample of wine poured into his glass, he nodded his approval.
“Oh, it’s white. I only like red,” Jessica said.
“Do you see one you would like?” the waiter asked her politely.
“Oh, just bring me a bottle of red from the same winery,” she said dismissively.
The waiter turned a quizzical gaze towards Ishmael, well aware that his bottle had been a special order. The restaurant did not normally carry an 1811 Chateau d'Yquem and there definitely was not an equivalent red to be had from the same winery.
“This was a special order. Shall I order one to suit?” Ishmael asked her.
Jessica simpered. “Yes, please. Something sweet and fruity that will go well with chicken.” The waiter stared at her, trying to hide his astonishment.
“With chicken,” Ishmael repeated. He looked at the wine list to try to hide his irritation.With chicken! No such thing, really, but as she insists on red and wants sweet and fruity...
Making his selection he looked at the waiter, a wry hint of a smile on his lips. “The Kruger-Rumpf Riesling Nahe Munsterer Pittersberg Icewine, I think, as she wants sweet and fruity.”
The waiter smiled back. “An excellent choice for a sweet red,” he agreed.
“Icewine? Ohhh, is it all tingly or do you drink it over ice?”
“It’s called that because the wine is pressed from frozen grapes that were left to freeze n the vine,” he told her. “Have you decided what you wish to eat?”
“I said chicken, right? I don’t eat red meat,” she said in a conspiratorial tone.
“You did indeed. But which chicken dish? There are four on the menu.”
“Oh! I better take a closer look, huh?” She giggled.
This meal can’t be over fast enough.
Raoul, their waiter, returned with Jessica’s bottle of dessert wine.
“I think I’ll have the peri peri chicken,” she said.
