Trusting David was the best choice he could’ve made.
In addition to the basket of fries—crisp and golden and salty—David had also returned with a small wedge of baked Brie, wrapped in puff pastry and crusted with crushed pistachios. It was decadent, layered with honey and fig preserves, sweet and savory, and it went perfectly with the glass of Torrontés David dropped off.
“Whew, you’ve got to slow down,” Farzan said. He was only halfway through the Spanish rosé. “I’ve still got to walk out of here, you know.”
“You didn’t drive, did you?” David asked.
“Streetcar.”
“Perfect.” David chuckled. “But I’ll take care of you.”
Another one of those winks. Farzan’s heart hitched a bit.
“How about tasting pours instead? They’re two ounces each.”
“Deal,” Farzan said. He could handle tasting pours. The Torrontéswasa perfect pairing with the Brie, and he didn’t want to miss out on what other wonders awaited.
While David disappeared again, Farzan checked on the group chat once more. Still no response from his friends; Arya was probablyswamped, if he even had signal—if he was at the Kauffman Center, probably not—and Ramin always put his phone on do not disturb when he and Todd went out.
Still, he sent a photo of his spread so they’d know what they were missing.
After the Brie came a fennel and orange salad (David let him keep the Torrontés for that), sharp and fresh and tart, and then an individual chicken pot pie, the crust crisp and flaky, the chicken mouthwatering, the wine pairing—a French Chardonnay that tasted of brown butter and peaches and chalk—utter perfection.
Farzan took his time savoring every bite as night fell. Outside, the patio was lit with fairy lights; inside, wall sconces and hanging lamps gave everything a cheery, intimate vibe. If anything, David looked more beautiful in the warm glow, his smile a beacon, his cheeks gilded, the blue of his suit a balm.
“So?” David returned, resting his palm on the table once more, dangerously close to Farzan’s own hand. He got another shock of David’s cologne: vetiver, that’s what it was, and Farzan was suddenly self-conscious. Did he smell like onions and salmon? Had he used enough deodorant? He blinked the worry away. Nothing he could do about it now.
“Amazing,” Farzan said. “The crust, the chicken, the wine, everything was just…”
Farzan’s voice failed him as he met David’s eyes. They were sparkling, somewhere between amused and intrigued. He felt his cheeks burning as he realized he’d been leaning in toward David. He straightened in his seat.
“It was perfection.”
“I’ll tell Chef Brayan. He’s awfully proud of those little pies.”
“Brayan?” Farzan repeated, trying to match David’s pronunciation.
“B-r-a-y-a-n. His family’s from Mexico,” David said. “Best chef I’ve ever worked with.”
“Oh yeah? You’ve been at a lot of places?”
David leaned even more, putting his weight on his right leg, crossing his left to rest the toe on the ground. The move made the fabric of his slacks shift rather enticingly. Farzan tore his eyes away.
“At least a dozen, but this one’s my favorite. By far.”
“I don’t blame you. Everything’s awesome.”
“Good. I’ve got my personal favorite, if you’re ready.”
Farzan’s stomach was saying no, but his mouth wanted more. He didn’t even realize he was licking his lips until he caught David watching him, that eyebrow with the slit quirked up. Farzan wondered what it would feel like to run his finger across it.
David smirked, like he could sense what Farzan was thinking.
Farzan swallowed and nodded. From behind his back, David produced a wide white plate with a hollow in the center, filled with a rich meat.
“Beef short ribs, braised in Amarone della Valpolicella.”
Farzan’s mouth watered.
