The special today is roast turkey. Could it be any more Christmasy? It’s almost as if Nate has planned it.
‘It has to be done, right?’ Nate raises those luscious lash-framed eyes from the menu.
I don’t need to ask what he means. I simply nod.
‘We’ll both have the roast turkey, please.’ Nate’s voice rings with confidence and authority.
He’s a man who likes to be in control, but that’s not a bad thing because he seems to know exactly what I want. What I like. And not just in the restaurant.
Dan always used to make decisions for me during the short time we were dating. I hated it. But then again, he had no idea what I liked, or any inclination to find out.
‘And you thought Christmas was cancelled. Instead, here it’s come early.’ He fills my glass before filling his own.
‘It certainly has.’ I raise my drink in a toast. ‘Most people don’t ever get to meet their heroes. By some mad twist of fate, I get to spend December with mine. That has to be the best Christmas gift ever.’
‘Somehow, I think the gift is all mine.’ He smiles with a lascivious twinkle in his eyes.
‘That’s because you know what a great Mariah Carey impression I can do.’ I raise the glass to my mouth and take a sip. The wine is divine, not that I’m much of a connoisseur, but even I’m getting hints of blackberry and pepper.
Nate leans across the table and lowers his voice, even though we’re the only ones here. ‘It’s because you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met and easily one of the most intriguing. And, apart from all that, you’re saving my sorry one-trick pony ass by working the extra role, because I can’t muster any chemistry, even the fake type, with Olivia.’
‘Glad to be of service.’ I nip my lower lip, thinking of exactly how I’d like to be of service. He was adamant we come out tonight. Like on a date. I’m trying hard not to read into it, not to get ahead of myself.
Nate’s mouth opens, then closes again as if he wants to say something else but stops himself. He fiddles with his cutlery. ‘I owe you big time.’
He doesn’t. Not even a bit. Because while I seem strangely able to inspire him, he’s also inspired me. He just doesn’t know it yet. Would he think it weird if he knew my best work was his face?
I put the final touches on his latest portrait before he collected me, which is why I wasn’t dressed when he arrived. And I started another one, a side profile with a bare, ripped chest and pecs that look so lifelike, I want to squeeze them.
If I manage to keep this pace, by the time Christmas actually comes, I’ll have enough to showcase a small collection somewhere. And with the extra role, I’ll have a few extra grand to help fund it. As long as I manage to find a gallery that doesn’t mind painting after painting of a striking, ebony-haired actor.
‘You owe me nothing,’ I assure him. ‘The pleasure is mine.’
A low, guttural growl rumbles in his throat. ‘It will be. That, I can promise you.’
My thighs press together in anticipation.
How am I going to give this man up in a few short weeks? I can’t bear thinking about it, which is why I bury that knowledge in the same locked and bolted compartment of my brain that stores the memory of my tits going viral, and that I’m a laughingstock.
The waiter brings our food, keeping his eyes firmly on our plates. The roast potatoes are so fluffy it’s as if they floated straight down from heaven. But they have nothing on the company.
It’s like Nate and I have known each other forever.
I suppose it’s no surprise when we’ve spent the last couple of weeks either talking or tangoing - horizontally.
Nate’s not showy or flashy or arrogant, like some celebrities might be. He’s easy to talk to, more quick-witted than the finest stand-up comedian, and hotter than hell.
‘Were you ever married?’ Nate glances at my left hand.
Until now, we’ve been tiptoeing around hard facts, sticking to lighter topics like favourite TV shows, all-time celebrity crushes. He was mine, obviously. Sandra Bullock was his, less obviously. Sure, she’s unquestionably beautiful, but I thought he’d go for someone more obvious. Or younger. Or blonder like the women he’s been photographed with.
So this question, now, is a new development.
I suppose it was inevitable. Though it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.
‘No. But you’re not the only one who just broke up with someone.’ I place down my knife and fork and push my plate away.
‘Did he hurt you?’ Nate’s jaw ticks.
