The wind whips through his sculpted hair, freeing none of it from the gel, but he runs his fingers through it, anyway. Once he’s done, he extends his hand toward me. “You must be Alex. It’s nice to finally meet you. Julia talks about you all the time. I’m Brian.”
I shake his hand and keep eye contact. “Yeah, nice to meet you, too.”
He extends his hand to Trinity next, and she takes it at the same time Jules pulls me into a hug. The second her arms wrap around me, I release a long breath, put instantly at ease by her familiar perfume and comforting warmth.
“Sorry we’re late. It’s my fault.”
“It’s okay,” she says with her cheek pressed against mine. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
Me too, I want to say, but she’s already pulling away.
“Shall we?” Brian asks and motions to the entrance and holds open the door.
“I love your shoes,” Jules tells Trinity on our way inside.
“Thank you. I got them from this cute boutique not far from here. They have amazing clothes and shoes that aren’t horribly priced.”
Jules perks up. “Oh, what’s it called? Maybe I can stop by before heading back to Penn.”
Brian chuckles. “More shopping? Don’t you already have a pair just like that?”
“No, they’re totally different,” Jules insists. He makes a strangled sort of sound and gives her a look that I can’t really decipher, but it makes my hackles go up. “Brian doesn’t like heels,” she goes on to explain.
“That’s not true,” he argues. “I just said it’s weird for me to have to lean up to kiss you.”
“I have no problem leaning up to kiss someone.” I stand on my toes to drop a chaste kiss on Trinity’s lips to prove my point.
“But you’re also not a man,” he points out.
“I’m not?” I ask, the forever smartass. Jules clears her throat, trying to slice through the tension, but I can tell she’s slightly embarrassed. And that pisses me off. Jules loves wearing heels, even when they kill her feet. She shouldn’t have to wear flats just because her boyfriend has a Napolean complex.
Brian chuckles like what he just said wasn’t insulting. “And I know when I’m in the wrong. You’re right. Julia should wear what she wants.” He turns his attention to the hostess patiently waiting. “Reservation for Prescott.”
We follow the hostess to our table, and I try to get Jules’s attention because what the hell was that? But she won’t look at me. I don’t know if it’s because she’s still slightly embarrassed or if she’s mad at me for calling him out.
Probably both.
We’re led to a small square table toward the back, right against the large glass windows. Brian shoves his gloves inside his jacket pocket and takes Jules’s coat. She’s wearing a new blue dress. As if remembering our history with blue dresses, she glances at me, her cheeks turning pink.
He hands their coats to the hostess, and I do the same with mine and Trinity’s. The server appears and takes our drink order. The place is fancy, but it’s not, like, old person fancy. Like, no one is giving us shit for reserving a table and still being too young to order alcohol. Well, all of us except Trinity.
It’s clean-looking, with shades of purple and gold trim. There are fresh flowers in the center of the table and an abundance of natural light, despite it being overcast. All and all, it’s not a place I would’ve picked, but itispretty nice.
Brian gives his suggestions on the menu, interpreting some of the French words, and I try to give Jules a look over the menu that means “Does he not know we both speak French?” But Brian leans in and points a few things out, interpreting softly, and Jules nods along like she’s unable to read it herself. I roll my eyes.
I don’t bother helping Trinity, I already know she’s going to get a salad—she always does right before a big photo shoot—and when she puts her hand on my leg and points to the one she wants, I know it’s because she wants me to order for her.
When the server comes back and asks, with a thick French accent, if we know what we want to eat, Brian looks expectantly at me. “Do you need an interpretation?” To his credit, he appears genuine and not as condescending as I would’ve expected.
“I’m good, thanks.” I order asalade mesclun et croquettes de chèvrefor Trin, and afilet au poivrefor myself. In perfect French.
Brian stares while Jules glares as if she knows I was trying to outdo her boyfriend.
“I took French for six years and studied abroad in France for a year.” I hand our menus to the server, who seems amused. “Just trying not to let the knowledge slip, you know?” I add meekly because of Jules’s unamused expression.
Jules closes her menu and also orders in perfect French, giving me a look that says she doesn’t believe my bullshit for a single second.
Brian orders in English and clears his throat once the server leaves. “So, Trinity, are you from New York?”
