convinced me we should come tonight.”
Again with the girlfriend! But this time, it doesn’t shock me so much. Instead, I feel a surge of pride.
Noah reminds me of a snake. His eyes are jet black when he looks at me—appraises me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s definitely looking for something. “June, huh? Well, it’s nice to meet someone who has actual sway in Ryan’s life. We’ll have to talk later.” He winks at me, and then he and his date are directed to a table across the room.
I don’t know how to feel. The vibe is odd in here. Ryan seems oblivious, though. He’s a natural in this setting, and it shows in the confident set of his shoulders. It’s not that I feel insecure, but I certainly don’t feel comfortable here. Maybe it would be better if Ryan and I could actually talk, but we aren’t given a chance. Important person after important person works their way up to our table and monopolizes Ryan’s attention for the whole evening.
We are served the most delicious Columbian cuisine of pineapple empanadas and grilled plantains with braised beef, but Ryan is barely given a chance to take more than one bite of each food. Every journalist wants to know what he thinks of the dishes, and Ryan, wanting to help his friend, gives them all a praiseworthy quote.
Newer chefs shyly inch up to him and ask for his advice, and a few women boldly ask if he’s single. He always says no and directs their attention to me, but I kinda wish he didn’t, because it makes me nervous to walk to the bathroom alone the rest of the evening.
After an hour and a half, I wish I could take Ryan up on his thirty-minute suggestion. I miss him even though I’ve been sitting across from him all night. Actually, no. I haven’t been sitting across from him all night. I’ve been sitting across from Ryan Henderson, the famous chef. I’m coming to realize there’s a big difference.
It’s not that Ryan is offensive in this state. In fact, if I were a random girl sitting at one of these tables, I’d be drooling too. It’s just that he’s more…refined. Serious. Poised. He wears his fame well, and for some reason, that unnerves me. He looks comfortable here under all the scrutiny. Almost like it’s where he belongs.
More than once, I catch myself watching him while he talks to someone important and wondering how he’s going to give all this up.
Is it terrible that I’m relieved he will give it up? That this sort of schmoozing won’t be a regular occurrence for us. Ryan looks beautiful and stoic and severe in this chef mask he wears, but I miss the Ryan with a teasing glint in his eye.
He tells me he wants to go congratulate David before we leave, and while he’s gone, I take my cloth napkin and fold it into a teeny-tiny square. I fold to keep myself from focusing on how adrift I feel in the center of this restaurant, among all the people wondering how I got so lucky to be Ryan’s date tonight.
I’m so focused on trying to turn my napkin into a swan that I almost don’t notice when Ryan’s seat gets taken. I look up into jet-black eyes. “So, June, right?” says the man I met earlier named Noah.
I nod and tuck my napkin into my lap. “Yep. And you’re Noah.”
He smiles and leans forward to rest his elbows on the table, making himself comfortable, and me the exact opposite. “You know, earlier today, when Ryan came to look at the restaurant, I was confused about why he’d turn down the job.” Ah, so that’s who this guy is. “But now, looking at you, I can see it all perfectly.”
His words pinch me. “Oh?” I glance toward the kitchen and wish Ryan would come back out.
Noah gestures toward my face and down my body. “You’re gorgeous. And he’s clearly crazy about you. Those are the only two things in life that can persuade a man like Ryan to give up all his dreams.” Give up all his dreams. I look away from Noah, wishing I could turn away from his words just as easily.
Come back out, Ryan.
“It was all his decision. He said it wasn’t a good fit for him.” My voice sounds quiet.
Noah makes a scoffing, guttural noise from somewhere in his throat and leans back in his seat. “Well, of