The suite, the Michelin-star chef, dinner for seven couples—even the maître d’ and the wait staff—it was his doing, and all for us on this one special date.
The maître d’ returned with a bottle of Champagne and two flutes,which he filled and presented to Caleb and me. “MademoiselleRodriguez,MonsieurEvans, if I may be so bold, I would like to propose the first toast.”
We both took up our glasses and waited for him to continue.
“May we all have the unspeakable good fortune to win a true heart?—”
“Hear, hear,” whispered Caleb.
“—and”—he paused long enough to catch both sets of eyes—“the merit to keep it.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Caleb said.
“So will I,” I whispered, clinking my glass against his. Placing it back on the table, I lifted our joined hands and asked the maître d’ lightly, “Did the other guests have any advice as to how we should eat when we’re tied together?”
“There is a couple here tonight,” he replied, “who have been married twenty-five years?—”
“Oh, wow.”
“—and the wife asked the same question.”
“Oh?”
The maître d’ smiled warmly. “Her husband replied, and I am paraphrasing because he put it in much more colourful language, ‘If that is the worst problem they face as a couple, they will have a blessed life indeed.’”
Caleb squeezed my hand again. “I can think of worse things than being tied to you.”
“Me too,” I said, squeezing back. “Me too.”
35
NYAH
Iwasn’t sure I had room for three more courses when the waiter cleared our fourth. I leaned back slightly in my chair, pleasantly full, warm in that languid way that came from good food, good wine, and Caleb’s hand still tethered to mine.
“The seventh is a cocktail, ma’am,” the waiter said smoothly, “and the dessert is very light. If you would like a break before the next course, though, you might enjoy the cognac bar out on the terrace.”
I followed the direction he indicated, peering past the room behind me, where one of the other couples, already bundled in thick winter coats, lounged on a plush settee beyond the glass. Snow drifted lazily outside, the flakes catching the light.
“Outside?” I asked incredulously. “It’s below freezing.” As if to punctuate the point, I noticed the snowfall had just begun in earnest.
“We can borrow coats,” Caleb said easily, nodding toward a rack by the sliding door. Several of the coats were long enough to cover my legs, which I appreciated more than I wanted to admit.
“Gloves and boots as well, sir,” the waiter added. “It’s a lovely way to enjoy cognac.”
“Let’s do it,” Caleb said without hesitation, squeezing my hand.
I felt a flutter in my chest at how readily he said yes to experiences,to moments, to us. Since the Lovers’ Embrace had been placed around our wrists, we hadn’t let go once. Eating had been surprisingly manageable—his being left-handed meant our dominant hands were free, a small mercy that felt oddly symbolic.
I shrugged lightly. “I’m game if you are.”
We rose awkwardly, laughing as I had to do a ballroom-inspired twirl to keep our joined hands from tangling. Following the waiter to the coat rack, Caleb lifted our bound wrists slightly. “We may need to make a brief exception to get the coats on.”
“Not me,” I said, slipping my free arm into a long coat the waiter held out. I let him drape the other side over my bare shoulder. “I grew up in Manitoba. This is practically balmy.”
Caleb shook his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m crazy?” I laughed, stepping out of my heels and into a pair of fluffy white snow boots. “I’m not the one who paid to have our hands tied together.”
