"Or we could go somewhere else," Mace said, furrowing his brow. I forced myself to relax and squeezed his bicep.
"That sounds perfect," I assured him. I was going to put Anke out of my mind. There was a perfect evening planned with a perfect man, and I was determined to enjoy it.
The Salt House restaurant was busy when we arrived, but the hostess led us to a private room upstairs. There was a table set for two at a large window overlooking a cozy courtyard.
The waiter poured us a glass of wine each. Mace picked up his glass.
"To you, Josie. Thank you," Mace said solemnly.
"You're so serious!" I joked.
"It is serious," Mace said. "I'm so glad I met you."
"Even though I poured chocolate sauce all over you and set your car on fire?" I asked, swirling the dark liquid around in my glass.
"I thought you said it was an act of God," he said with a smirk.
"It was totally an accident," I corrected.
I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me but couldn't find the words without sounding sappy and clingy. Fortunately I was saved when a charcuterie tray arrived.
It displayed a variety of cheeses—creamy brie, fresh goat cheese. There were little dabs of honeycomb and jams—not plain jams but interesting ones like peach and jalapeño, tomato jam, and fig and orange blossom jam. The meats were savory and salty, a perfect counterpoint to the sweetness of the jam and sharpness of the cheese. There were salamis, cured venison sausage, and duck prosciutto.
"This is so good," I said. "I love a charcuterie tray."
"Salt House is known for it, hence the name," Mace replied as he took a slice of cheese with the little bamboo knife.
"Crap," I said.
"What?"
"I didn't take a picture," I said. "I should up my Instagram game. Chloe's Instagram looks amazing. Mine used to look amazing."
"What happened?" he asked. I stuffed some cheese in my mouth to delay. I couldn't believe I brought that up. I didn't want to give him a hint of my stupid YOLO lifestyle with Anke.
"Eh, you know," I said, waving my hand.
"It's probably better you don't take pictures," Mace said. "I've eaten with Chloe before, and she spends a bit of time framing the perfect shot."
"Wait!" I told him before he picked up another bite of the peppery salami. "I need a picture of that meat. When I'm cold and alone in my tiny house, I want to look back fondly on this moment when I had a whole charcuterie platter all to myself."
"I thought I already sent you a picture of my meat?" Mace said casually, eating a piece of cheese swiped in tomato jam.
"No, you sent me a picture of a bowling ball in your underwear. But if you do happen to send me a picture of your salami, please try and be a little imaginative in your presentation? Actually," I amended as I built a little tower of sharp sheep's milk cheese, peach and jalapeno jam, and a sliver of duck prosciutto on a cracker, "imaginative isn't maybe the exact word I was looking for."
"Good because I was thinking of putting a little hat on it," Mace said.
"One guy sent me a dick pic and put googly eyes on it."
"I hope he's not in this state," Mace said, his voice dangerously low.
"No," I said. "He's Dutch, and he went back home."
Mace was still glowering. I stuffed the cracker tower in my mouth. He watched me chew and swallow.
"Oh no, you're so jealous!" I said. "It would be funny if you didn't have billions of dollars and a pack of wild brothers to send after the Dutch guy."
"My brothers aren't crazy. Well, not all of them," Mace said. "Though maybe I could convince Garrett to go all Liam Neeson on your European charcuterie."
