The Ghoul Next Door - By Rose Pressey Page 0,49
had our first date,” Callahan said as the maître d’ led us to our table.
The cozy corner in the back of the room was the same table we’d sat at during our first date. Callahan had obviously taken some time to plan this date. The fact that it was beside the kitchen door didn’t seem to matter with the romance factor that went into the thought of reserving the table.
“How incredibly romantic of you.” I winked.
He chuckled. “I try.”
It was strange to be back at the restaurant with Callahan after all that had happened in just a short amount of time—crazy witchcraft, crazy ghosts, and now crazy ex-girlfriends.
Callahan studied my face as he held the chair out for me. “Your eyes look different.”
“What?” That was a strange statement. “What do you mean, different?”
“It’s just that they look a different color. I know they’re hazel, but they look very blue now.”
“Blue?” I looked overhead. Maybe it was the lighting. “Oh, maybe it’s the makeup they put on my eyes for the show today. It’s not what I usually wear.”
He shrugged, not totally convinced. “Maybe.”
A single candle flickered merrily in front of us on the red cloth-wrapped table. The dimly lit room added the perfect amount of romance. My stomach tumbled as I contemplated our romantic evening. Would the strange feeling invading my mind leave now that I was with Callahan? It didn’t seem to be the case.
A subject change was in order.
“So you had him seat us at the same table?” I asked while picking up the menu.
Callahan flashed his dimples. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember.”
Was I that bad in the romance department? I really needed to try harder.
Unlucky for us, the same tall, lanky waiter lurched over to our table. The service left much to be desired but the food made up for it. He thrust the menus at us, while muttering something about being right back.
I held the giant menu up to my face, trying to block Mr. Fine and Candy Cherry out of my sight. They were making faces at me from the table across from us. I’d never seen ghosts so immature.
Callahan looked at me from over the top of his menu with those sexy blue bedroom eyes and I temporarily forgot about the annoying ghosts.
“How about I order the scallops with mango glaze for you? That’s what you had on our first date.”
“Well, I have to tell you, I’m impressed by your memory.” I touched his hand and my body tingled. “You are so sweet.”
He let out a warm laugh. “It’s probably from eating all the sweets.”
“You’ve been looking at the dessert section, haven’t you?” I pointed to the menu.
“Guilty,” he said while setting his menu on the table.
After what seemed like an eternity, the waiter shuffled over to our table and stared at us without saying a word. He was just as creepy now as our first visit.
“What do you want?” he asked in his monotone voice.
“I like this guy,” Candy Cherry said.
She would. Candy Cherry ran her fingers through his hair but he didn’t move an inch. I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t notice her touch.
Callahan didn’t seem to notice our waiter’s rude attitude. His gaze was focused on me the entire time. “My beautiful girlfriend will have the Noix de St. Jacques a la Mangue and I’ll have the same.”
Okay, Callahan knew how to make me melt every time.
“We’ll have a bottle of your best wine,” Callahan said still looking at me.
The waiter didn’t utter a word in response as he snatched the menus from the table and hurried away as if we were part of a quarantined section of the restaurant.
“You look like you don’t feel well. Is everything okay?” Callahan asked with a furrowed brow.
I used my napkin as a fan. “I just got a little hot. I’ll be fine.”
The restaurant was a cool temperature so I knew that I was the only one feeling like a boiled potato. Elvis was across the room checking out the wine, Mr. Fine was staring blankly out the window and Candy Cherry was following around the cranky waiter. At least they were leaving me alone. I was in no mood to deal with any antics.
Callahan and I chatted about the show. I filled him in on the distressed homeowner, the camera following our every move and Matt apparently not knowing how to button his shirt. In spite of the pleasant conversation, a pervasive malaise hung over me.
Outside the restaurant the wind had picked