love French Cuisine. The restaurant manager rushes over beaming, at which point Carlos address’s him in Spanish, with a quick nod he soon scarpers away again; looking up at Carlos and delicately raising my eyebrow, expectantly waiting for an explanation, he simply smiles mischievously back and says “come” pulling gently at my arm he leads us through the room, past the other diners and to a door with a clear sign on it warning ‘Staff only, No Entry’ I’m becoming ever more puzzled as we reach a stair well behind it.
Turning to me, but without saying a word, that grin still spread across his lips, he lets go of me and sweeps his arm out, signalling for me to continue up the stairs. Without his solid frame supporting me, I know I’m going to be wobbly, teetering upstairs in these shoes, so I gratefully grasp onto the hand rail on my right and endeavour to make my ascent look as elegant as possible. As he follows me, one step behind, he positions himself to my left and softly places his right hand on the small of my back.
The feeling is divine, I can safely say I prefer this kind of contact to the arm link; it’s much more seductive, but not so much as to cross over to the realms of sleaziness.
At the top of the stairs there is a fire door, what is he up to? Keeping his hand in place on my lower back he leans past me and pushes on the bar, easing it open with a loud creak. With a delicate push of encouragement from him, I step out onto the roof; the whole area is lit with tiny twinkling candles in glass jars and white fairy lights draped around the walls. In the centre stands a table, dressed in a white table cloth, decorated with petals scattered around the cutlery and an ice bucket housing what looks to be a bottle of champagne on the far side.
There is a panoramic view of the beach from up here, the waves lapping at the shore, under an orange sky as the sun starts its descent.
It is breath taking.
Turning to him, open mouthed I am awestruck and speechless, no one has ever done something so romantic for me, I didn’t think anyone actually did this kind of thing in real life?
“Do you like it?” he asks, seemingly genuinely concerned that I might not.
“Like? I love!” I say enthusiastically. His face lights up and taking me by the hand this time he leads me to the table, pulling out my seat for me. Taking his place across the table, we sit in silence, just gazing into each other’s eyes. In the candle light I can see little gold flecks adorning his green pupils; I’m not sure which is more captivating, his eyes or the view.
He’s wearing a black suit and white cotton shirt, but the collar has been left open as he has not got a tie. His black hair hangs naturally in loose ringlets, getting caught up occasionally by the ocean breeze. He has a broad jaw line and the skin on his face looks smooth and freshly shaven, I think I could stare at him forever.
I’m woken from my daydreaming as he reaches across and retrieves the champagne “Would you like a glass?” he offers.
“Yes please” I gush back at him as he begins to pour, filling the glass to the top, expertly controlling the bubbles.
“I hope you don’t mind but I advised the chef to prepare us something of his choosing. Alfredo is an excellent cook” he informs me.
“No that sounds wonderful, thank you” Thank God for that, I don’t speak French so I was worried that ordering was going to be a disaster and I would end up with snails and frogs legs!
As I take my first sip out of the crystal champagne flute, taking extra care so as not to spill any out over my face as I do so, the creak from the fire door announces the arrival of our starter. A fine Pâté with artichoke hearts and Melba Toast. I’m not a big fan of Pâté, so I am dubious to begin with, but it’s so light and is complimented perfectly by the artichoke, before I know it I’ve polished off the lot.
As I’m licking the crumbs from my fingers I hear Carlos’s boyish giggle “So you enjoyed that?” he asks in response to the glare I give him for laughing at