“Hey, Remy!” Sure enough, Adler drops into the seat next to me. I don’t have to look to know Owen noticed. “You don’t have a drink. Do you want one? Dante’s paying, and the limoncello’s amazing.”
I’m not a huge fan of Adler’s attention, but he hasn’t actuallydoneanything, and if I’m going to be spending all this time with Owen, I should at leasttryto get along with his teammates.
“Sure,” I say. Not my smartest move. I’m supposed to be managing Owen, not matching the room, but one drink won’t tip the balance. Probably. Maybe with a drink or two in me, I won’t feel so overwhelmed by all the shouting.
Adler immediately turns to flag down a server. “Jean? Hey, Jean! We need a limoncello for the lady!” He points down at the top of my head. “Oh, and a cannoli! You like cannolis? They’re really good here.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever had one.”
“So it’ll be your first time?” Adler interlaces his fingers under his chin and gives me a smile that reminds me of that scene inThe Grinchwhere he gets a wonderful, awful idea. “Too bad. You’ve been missing out. Isn’t that right, Owen?”
Owen scowls into his water glass. “They’re good cannolis,” he agrees, in the most sullen tone possible.
I can’t get a read on the dynamic here. Adler’s flirting with me, but he doesn’t seem to be making much of an effort. If anything, he’s paying as much attention to Owen as he is to me.
The server arrives with my drink and a huge tray of appetizers. Among the baskets of mozzarella sticks, stuffed mushrooms, and loaded focaccia bites is a single pristinecannoli. The server places it in front of me, along with a flute of sparkling limoncello.
I contemplate the dessert. It’s beautiful, but I can tell that between the powdered sugar, the pastry shell, and the filling, there is no good way to eat it without making a mess. I take a sip of my limoncello. The taste is bright and fresh, not at all the too-sweet syrupy flavor I was expecting.
“Oh, my God.” I hold the drink up to the light. “That’s amazing.”
“Right?” Adler beams.
I turn to Owen. “Have you tried this?”
He gives his head a single, firm shake. “I don’t drink.”
There’s that control again. Everything about him points to it.
“Oh.” I feel a little guilty about that. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on him, and yet I’m the only one drinking. I set my glass down. “Sorry, I can just—”
“It’s okay,” Owen says. “I don’t care.” He pulls a face. “I’m not against drinking, I mean.”
“Listen!” Adler leans over me, cupping one hand to his ear. “Owen said an entire sentence! It’s a Christmas miracle.”
Adler’s sudden proximity wedges me into Owen’s side. For a moment, I’m squeezed between them.
“It’s nowhere near Christmas,” Owen observes.
“That’s what makes it so miraculous.” Adler pulls away, leaving me still pressed up against Owen. I inch away, but there isn’t a lot of room. My left thigh is still pressed against Owen’s right. Neither of us shifts. That’s the problem.
Conscious that he can feel my every move, I reach for the cannoli. I throw caution to the wind and take a big bite.
It’sdelicious, even better than the limoncello. The filling resembles sweet cream, but it’s rich and decadent and slightly salty. I let my eyes roll back and emit an appreciative moan. For a second, I forget where I am. Who I’m sitting next to.Everything. There’s a hint of citrus in the mix, which blends beautifully with the savory-sweet balance. I close my eyes and chew.
I may have to revise my opinion of the bar, because this is amazing.
“What did I tell you?” Adler asks.
I exhale through my nose and brush the powdered sugar off of my lips. “I think that might be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
Owen’s leg twitches against mine. Not subtle. Not accidental. Adler snorts, then tries to cover it with a cough.
When I open my eyes, Owen is staring at my mouth, and Adler is grinning at Owen. That awareness hits a second too late, and now I can’t unfeel it. Okay, yes, I hear how it soundsnow, but it’s true. The cannoli is delicious, and I refuse to let their juvenile humor derail my appreciation. I put the rest of the cannoli on my plate, wipe my fingers on a cocktail napkin, and take another sip of my drink. The lemon in the cannoli ties the flavor to the house-made drink.
I savor the rest, watching the chaos unfold around me. Adler has moved on to a conversation with a blond guy, and Owen is listening to the guy on his other side, who, for some reason, is talking about hamsters. I don’t have anything to add, and I’m increasingly uncomfortable about my prolonged contact with Owen. Not because I don’t like it. Because I do. When I agreed to be his PR chaperone, I didn’t take moments like this into account.
The blond guy Adler’s talking to catches my eye. The next time Adler gets up, the blond guy leans over his empty seat.
