decision, captured in the moment before they fully smile. It’s beautiful. A masterpiece to be marveled at and discussed in museums across the world.
“Okay, I’m moving.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
At the exact same moment, we both crack, and unhindered laughter spills through Ryan’s lofty apartment. He lunges at me, and I lunge at him, and we collide somewhere in the middle. I have so many more questions for him. I want to give him the third degree of are you sure? But I don’t, because everything about this moment feels too perfect to disrupt with reality.
My head falls back against the cushion—ahem, brick—again, and Ryan hovers over me, the devilish smile that I never want to forget aimed down at me. His head dips down, and I intertwine my fingers in his hair so we can properly lose ourselves in kisses, guaranteeing that we will be late for the opening.
“Thirty minutes and then we’re out of here,” Ryan promises as we’re racing up the sidewalk to the restaurant. He’s practically dragging me.
Ryan was not too happy to cut off our couch time to come to this opening, but I insisted. If his friend is opening his own restaurant, Ryan should be there.
“Ah, Ryan! Slow down!”
“No. The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can get out.”
I’m laughing so hard that I can’t keep up now. I tear my hand away from him to bend over and adjust my high heel strap back onto my foot. “Go. Save yourself!” I say, waving a tired hand.
He turns back and scoops me up in his arms. “No woman left behind. Hold on, Broaden.”
I bury my head in the collar of Ryan’s dress shirt and laugh for the rest of the walk. He’s being ridiculous and dramatic. I love it. I love him and this happy bubble we are captured inside. I think the bubble is filled with laughing gas, because that’s pretty much all we’ve done since deciding Ryan will move to Charleston.
Once we approach the restaurant entrance, I make Ryan set me down. I eye the warmly lit awning over the dark-tinted glass door and watch a woman in a little red cocktail dress enter on the arm of a handsome gentleman. I send up a silent prayer of thanks that I had the forethought to pack my black cocktail dress. It’s not as fancy as the womens’ dresses I see entering the restaurant tonight, but it’s not too far off either.
I lean in a little closer to Ryan as we walk under the awning and ask, “What exactly am I walking into here?”
He leans toward me, and his breath hits my ear. “A night of boring schmoozing. This is just a soft opening, meant to generate buzz. So, only those high up in the food industry have been invited.”
“High up? So, people like you?”
He smirks. “Yeah. And food bloggers and journalists. Other chefs and probably a few celebrities.”
“What! Like Beyonce?”
Ryan reaches for the door and opens it. “I hope not, because I don’t trust that look on your face. If Beyonce is here, you’re not allowed to do something strange…or get within twenty feet of her.”
I pass by him and look over my shoulder as I do. “Fun-sucker.”
A rush of air blows my hair as I step into Sonrisa, and it takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the low lighting. Ryan steps beside me and anchors me with his hand on my lower back. I feel instantly more at ease. My eyes grow accustomed to the dim light, and suddenly, I see everyone. I wish I didn’t. It’s a room full of Amazons and gorgeous Hollywood types. I’m not even sure what they’re doing here. Clearly, they don’t eat.
No one is seated yet, just sort of mingling around the restaurant. Well, that’s what they were doing before we walked in, I imagine. Now, it seems as if every head in the place is turned to Ryan. All eyes are on him—wide, prying, searching. Am I imagining this?
I look up at him and notice that he’s pulled a mask over his face. An impassive smile rests where the open one previously lived. The set of his shoulders reminds me of how he looked around his staff earlier today, but dressed in a finely tailored suit, the effect is much more intimidating.
The gravity of all that Ryan is hits me at once, and it’s like I’m seeing this moment in slow motion. A few cameras flash, and I blink at the circles burned in