We looked around together, taking in the romantic ambiance of hushed conversations between lovers beneath the unobtrusive music from the piano.
“Is that what we are?” I asked softly. “A couple?”
Caleb turned on his stool, his knee brushing mine, the contact sending a spark straight up my spine.
“That’s what I want for us,” he said. “Yes.”He gnawed uncertainly at the corner of one lip. “If you’ll have me. I think tonight could be the start of something wonderful.”
Relief washed through me, spilling out in a half-laugh, half-sigh I hadn’t known I was holding in.
“I want that too,” I said honestly. The fear I hadn’t even named—the sense that something precious had almost been stolen from me, that I’d missed the chance for this first date—lifted like a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying.“Thank you for arranging this,” I added, leaning closer. “It’s very romantic.”I beckoned him nearer, and when he complied, I placed a light kiss at the corner of his mouth. Not a first kiss. Not yet. More like an invitation. An appetizer.
Judging by the colour blooming in his cheeks, he was every bit as hungry as I was.
The maître d’ returned just as the barman set down our cocktails and guided us to our table—the best in the room, positioned directly before the windows overlooking the harbour.
“What a view,” I said as he pulled out my chair. “Should I ask how we managed to swing the best table?”
“Mademoiselle,” the maître d’ said as he circled to seat Caleb, “you andMonsieurEvans arePour Deux’smost distinguished couple. Everyone here,”—he gestured discreetly—“is celebrating a relationship milestone.”
He nodded toward a young couple near the door. “One year.” Then another pair by the bar. “Five years.”
My gaze drifted instinctively to Alice and Herb. “I met those two on the way up,” I said, leaning toward Caleb. “Fifty years. Can you imagine?”
“I can,” he said, without looking away from me.
Heat crept up my chest and into my neck. I was the first to look away, finding refuge in the maître d’s calm presence.
“But we’re not celebrating an anniversary,” I said.
“Neither are they,” he replied, indicating another young couple near the piano. “They announced their engagement in this morning’s paper. And you andMonsieurEvans,”—he opened his arms slightly—“you are celebrating the most important milestone of all,n’est-ce pas?”
I turned back to Caleb. “You announced our first date in the paper?”
He grinned. “I was tempted. But I didn’t want to jinx it. Like I said?—”
“You’ve got contacts.”
“Mademoiselle, monsieur,” the maître d’ said, presenting a velvet jewellery box, “with compliments ofPour Deux, your fellow guests have selected a gift.”
He opened it to reveal not diamonds, but a colourful African-style braided rope formed into a figure eight.
“This,” he said, slipping a loop around each of our wrists and clasping our hands together, “we call the Lovers’ Embrace. You must wear it all night. A reminder never to let go.”
Every eye in the room seemed to turn toward us.
“Did you know about this?” I asked Caleb, mortified and touched all at once.
He lifted his free hand. “Innocent.”
“I wish this were our second date,” I murmured, embarrassed by all the attention.
“I don’t,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I know every date with you will be special and memorable, but for the first one, I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“Youdidknow about?—”
“I didn’t,” he said, indicating the band on our wrists. “Not exactly. I just placed a call, told them the kind of evening I wanted, and the kind of lady I would be sharing it with. The rest...” He looked around at the other couples, who had all turned back to focus on their partners. “I want us to have what they have. So if a little bit of their lucky-in-love rubs off on us tonight, it’ll have been worth it.”
As it dawned on me that Caleb hadn’t used his influence to sneak them into an exclusive couples’ experience, he’dcreatedan exclusive experience. From scratch!
