Just Deserts

The first date, if you even considered it a date, didn’t go exactly as planned. Which was why we decided to try again. However, one glance in the mirror and uncertainty slowly crept back into my mind and twisted my stomach into knots. 

I worried about everything from the soft waves I added to my hair to the black flats I chose over high heels. Not that it was different from any other day. On a typical day, I worried about things like if I needed to take an umbrella with me or if a hooded jacket sufficed. Hair up or hair down depended strictly on checking the weather app on my phone for the day’s humidity forecast. 

This date was just another Pandora’s box as far as my anxiety was concerned.

“If he still wants to go out with you after being stuck in an elevator with you for three plus hours without the ability to escape, then this date should be a breeze,” my older sister Lydia comforted when I called her earlier in the day for a pep talk. 

It was all about perspective with her.

Still, there were a lot of things I didn’t know. Like, for instance, did I call him Mick or Michael? When we first met, he had introduced himself as Mick, but then told me he also went by Michael at work. I supposed Mick would be appropriate since that was how he introduced himself to me, but what if he changed his mind and wanted me to call him Michael instead? Lydia, who worked at the same office as he did, referred to him as Michael. I made a mental note I needed to ask him.

My mind replayed and worried a thousand concerns all the while I navigated through the city to an Italian restaurant I had never been to before called Cydonia. From what I read and saw online, it seemed like it was a fancy, expensive place, which didn’t help my nerves. 

From the outside, the restaurant looked like any other restaurant in the city with only one exception - no outside seating area. As I walked toward the entrance, I slowed to discreetly look through the big, curtained windows to see what was ahead of me. The only thing I made out through the slightly parted curtains was dim lighting and a bar full of liquor and wine bottles. That settled it. A glass a wine was in my future.

When I got closer to the entrance, I noticed a tall, dark, and of course, handsome man who almost seemed to be standing guard of the door. I slowed my pace even more, taking note that he was wearing all black except for a blood red tie. 

Was this a speakeasy of sorts? Did I need to know a special password? Maybe there was a certain knock or handshake to enter? Or maybe he was security? Why did this place need security? Maybe I should have dug a little deeper on this place. I felt my right ear turning red with frustration, as it always did when I was met with an uncertainty on this level. 

As I finally reached the man, he greeted me with a welcoming smile and opened the glass door for me to enter. I returned his smile as a thank you along with a sigh of relief as I walked through the doorway. 

Once inside, I walked down a dim, narrow corridor which led to a lobby illuminated by a lavish chandelier hanging over a long, dark, marble check in area. The stone stretched out in front of me with two beautiful, young girls behind it, tapping away on the restaurant’s POS system. Both ladies wore outfits similar to the man who stood outside, so I could only surmise the red tie and wrinkle-free, black attire was the restaurant’s required uniform. So much more sophisticated than the black polo shirt and khakis I fashioned for every shift at the diner.

The blonde, sleek-haired girl popped her head up first to greet me. “Hi! Welcome to Cydonia! My name is Mikayla. How may I help you tonight?”

I swallowed hard before answering, “Uh, hi, Mikayla. I’m meeting someone here tonight.”

The girl smiled wider and nodded before looking back down to her computer screen and tapping a couple of times. “Oh, yes. Please follow me to the salon, ma’am.” 

My stomach lurched when I heard her say, ‘salon’ and ‘ma’am’. Salon? What? And how old did this girl think I was? There was no way she was that much younger than me.

I followed closely behind her as she led me through the part of the restaurant I’d seen from pictures posted on the restaurant’s website. Stepping onto tan marble flooring, my attention - which I’m sure was the idea - honed in on another, much more grandiose chandelier than the one in the lobby. Sconces lined the walls to help brighten the areas the chandelier couldn’t reach, showcasing the polished, mahogany walls. 

White table cloths adorned every table, generously spaced out for guest privacy, or maybe it was to make room for the rather large, beige lounge chairs for seats that surrounded each table. I sized them up as we walked by, hoping I didn’t end up fighting with one to sit closer to the table.

Before I could dwell for too long on the main dining room, we entered into a smaller, side room. The salon, I assumed. This room was a little less overwhelming, to my relief, in that the chairs seemed much more manageable. The black curtained windows stood tall from floor to ceiling and only allowed a little bit of light to peek in from the street.  

I noticed Mick - or Michael - sat at a table for two in the darkest corner of the room. A blue hue highlighted against his face as he furiously tapped away on his phone. The knot in my belly twisted a little tighter with every step closer to him.

“Mr. Anderson, the rest of your party is here,” Mikayla announced. He quickly lifted his head, his face relaxed and flashed those charming baby blues. He skillfully eyed me over as he stood and slipped his phone into his pants pocket. I felt thankful I followed my sister’s little black dress suggestion.

“Thank you, Mikayla,” I directed to the petite professional. She nodded with an appreciative grin and backed away before walking out of the room. I turned back to Mick - I decided over Michael - and smiled.

“H-hi, Bianca” he stammered just before we greeted each other with a friendly hug. The knots in my belly dissolved into fluttery butterflies when his cheek brushed ever so slightly against mine.

“Hi,” I managed to reply as he pulled away. He adjusted his untucked white button-up shirt back into place under his gray sports jacket before he gestured for us to sit.

“Thanks for meeting me here tonight. You look… great.” His eyes betrayed him, letting on he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind at the last minute. It felt strange that I picked up on the small fleck in his eyes that sold him out, but an ease came over me that maybe he was just as nervous. 

“Thanks,” I almost whispered, glancing down at my hands in my lap.

I sat up straight in my seat and circled my eyes around the room, unsure where the menus were hidden. Only a single, white candle set in the center of the otherwise empty table. In my experience, there was always one table in every restaurant that was repeatedly forgotten about, tucked away in an unnoticeable spot, and this one was it. I was sure. 

Before I mustered something more to say to Mick, a tall gentleman dressed completely in black, except for a red tie, appeared at our table carrying a tray with two empty glasses and a glass carafe full of water. 

Crap, I thought to myself when I realized my theory on the ‘forgotten table’ was ruined. 

The server gingerly placed the glasses on the white-clothed table top and poured the water before disappearing for a moment with menus. 

“Hello, and welcome to Cydonia. My name is Jared and I will be your server tonight.” Jared handed me an open menu and then Mick. “The specials tonight…” he began, but I tuned out when I began to notice there were no prices listed on the menu. No prices typically meant expensive. Expensive made those butterflies calm down and my anxiety started to bite at my heels again.

“Thanks,” Mick smiled at me and then directed at the server, “but I think we might just take a minute, if that’s okay?”

“Oh, of course, sir. Please, take your time,” Jared returned Mick’s smile and backed away from us before walking away. 

“So… hi, again.” Mick pulled my oversized menu down to see me better.

“Hi, again,” I mimicked, my cheeks pinked and my heart throbbed rough against my chest. “This is some place,” I said, looking around at the abstract paintings hanging on the concrete-textured gray walls. 

“Yeah, a couple of clients of mine insisted we meet somewhere other than the office to review paperwork, otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have ever known about this place. They have the best tiramisu. Do you like tiramisu?” I crinkled my nose and added a smile to lighten the blow when I shook my head ‘no’. “It’s okay. They have an awesome salted caramel cheesecake - you like cheesecake, at least?”

“Yes, absolutely,” I stifled my laugh at his excitement about food. His eyes glinted back at me with a flicker of the candle just before he looked back down to his menu.

I lifted my menu back toward me and glanced over the short list of items I couldn’t pronounce and knew I couldn’t afford. I worried my bottom lip as I read through the descriptions of some of the entrees and found it was hard to settle on something. As much as I hated to admit to it, I was a picky eater. Lydia liked to remind me how much of a pain it made me, but I couldn’t help it - I just liked what I liked. Or rather, didn’t like what I didn’t like.

“Find anything you’d like?” Mick asked eagerly while he perused the menu before looking up at me for an answer.

“Uh… um… well… not quite yet,” I answered truthfully while I tried hard to concentrate on the menu to find something I could choke down. 

I sighed and set my menu down onto the table to find Mick’s eyes on me. He kept his eyes on mine for a moment before he turned his head slightly while a lopsided grin played on his lips. Eyes wide, I glanced around the make sure there wasn’t something I was missing and sat up straighter, noticing my posture must have slacked while making a decision. Mick made a gesture and soon Jared was at our table again. 

“Sir?” Jared inquired.

“I think we’re ready,” Mick handed his menu to Jared before continuing. “We’ll have one tiramisu and one salted caramel cheesecake. I’ll have an Old Fashion and she will have a…”

I felt like I was in a daze and hadn’t heard him correctly. Did he just order dessert? What about dinner? What about an appetizer? Did he eat backwards? I guess some people ate dessert first, before their actual meal - although, I’d never met anyone. I’d only ever read about characters in books doing something like that. 

Maybe he didn’t think this date was going anywhere. Maybe he decided to skip straight to the end to at least make some part of this date good.

“Wine?” he asked, trying to break me away from my thoughts. 

I blinked and fluttered my eyelashes while I tracked down my words. “Yes, a Chardonnay would be fine, thank you, Jared” I answered, handing my menu to Jared. He nodded with a smile and backed away before walking away. “Dessert?”

Mick leaned back into his seat and wetted his lips before answering. “You don’t like this place.”

My jaw dropped at his matter-of-fact-statement. I blinked my eyes while I tried to figure out how he could tell, but didn’t say a word.

“And you’re trying to figure out how I know that, right?” 

I narrowed my eyes and tried to analyze his sly grin, but I couldn’t get pass his confident stare and ended up breaking down. “Yes, fine. You’re right - but how did you know?”

Mick chuckled before he continued, “I’m a lawyer - it’s kind of beneficial to me to be able to read people.”

“Oh, yeah?” I asked, while I leaned in toward the table, rested my forearms on the tabletop and folded my hands together. “And you were reading me?” I raised a skeptical eyebrow.  

“Well, I mean, kind of. More like what your body is saying.”

Both of my eyebrows darted up this time. “Oh? And what has my body been saying to you?”

Mick licked his lips again before speaking while a blush colored his cheeks. “Well, I don’t think you’re comfortable here, which I get. It’s kind of pretentious.”

“Kind of?” I snickered before biting my bottom lip to stifle it. 

“Okay, it’s very pretentious,” he ceded as he sat up closer to the table. “Tell me.”

“What?” I winced with surprise and took a sip of water.

“In your most honest opinion, what do you think about this place?”

I carefully set the water down and took a moment to think. “Well, it’s kind of funny how it tries to come off as this glamorously romantic place. The high ceilings, pretty chandeliers, and shiny marble floors are all very elegant, but it just comes off so cold. If I’m being honest, my anxiety’s been through the roof from the moment I set foot through the door until I got to the table, just from the atmosphere. It seems like a place Lydia and her husband would check out for one of their anniversaries and then complain to me later about how they couldn’t see to read the menu. Even the servers, as polite as they’ve been, they’re so prim and proper but give off this robotic behavior.“

“That’s just a part of the service, Bianca. It’s this restaurant’s etiquette,” Mick tried to stifle his smile, reaching across the table to unfold my hands into his. “Are you feeling any better now that you’re at the table?”

“Well…” I trailed off, looking from my hands into his dreamy blues. Of course he picked up on that tid bit of information. “I guess sometimes the company helps make the setting better. I think I’ll survive drinks and dessert, at least.”

 “That’s great news because I thought after this place, we’d go somewhere you like to go and get something else to eat. Kind of a smorgasbord of different places and food for the night. If you’re up to it?” A tiny grin quirked at the corner of his lips, his eyebrows knitted upward in hope.

I lowered my head trying to hide my blushing cheeks. “And again, you surprise me,” I flicked my eyes to meet his, like we were the only people who existed in that moment. “I think you’re going one way and then you go another. Who are you?”

Just then, Jared arrived at our table with our drinks. Impeccable timing, I thought to myself as we separated our hands to make room. He carefully set down my wine glass by the long stem, condensation already formed on the glass by the standard pour. Next, he set down Mick’s Old Fashion in a low ball glass with a large spherical ice cube and slice of orange peel for a garnish. Lastly, before he backed away, he placed a blood red napkin on the table for each of us along with dessert forks.

 “Thank you, Jared,” I smiled, turning my attention back to Mick. “So?” 

 “I’m just a guy who likes to keep people on their feet. You, more specifically. I like your reactions. It’s… endearing, if I’m being honest.” He lifted his lowball glass and motioned for me to lift my long-stemmed glass of wine.

 “Cheers,” we both said before clinking our glasses together and taking a sip.