PARDON MY FRENCH
ERIC’S FACE hurt.
It hurt in the absolute best way possible. The smile that remained glued on wasn’t going away anytime soon and he was perfectly okay with that. It was especially easy when his girlfriend’s smile was just as radiant and she clung to him like static electricity to your favorite socks.
There was a calm in the air and an overall general happiness that had settled between the two of them. After having beaten the dead horse two or three more times, a pack of cigarettes, and a random nightmare, they’d finally agreed and understood that they were both scared shitless for many of the same reasons and they finally chose to conquer it together as if they were an army at battle instead of battling with each other. Being on the same team made life so much easier.
After they had spent the evening…and then the night…and the entirety of the next day together, he respected Juliet’s wishes and he went home. They’d spent an entire day apart—physically. But it didn’t keep them off the phone with each other, as he had called to ask her out on what he had decided would be their first official date. “Lest you forget,” he reminded her, “the last time we went to dinner together, I had to…creatively coerce you to have a meal with me at all. In writing. As an addendum to a contract.”
“The greatest contract ever written,” she had swooned on the other end. “I think I like oral contracts much better.”
“I stopped listening after ‘oral.’”
She giggled and his heart swelled. That was his favorite, the way she thought he was funny. God, he felt fifteen all over again. When he was fifteen, he went on his first date to the winter formal with a cheerleader that Travis set him up with. A cheerleader. Eric had been beside his skinny, four-eyed self that she even agreed to go. He was so nervous and he kept cracking stupid jokes, but she laughed at every one of them, so it eased the tension a little. The fact that, at the end of the night, he overheard her telling her friends that she only agreed to go with him because she liked his cute brother was irrelevant. He was still elated to be somewhere with a girl who was at least nice to him and he went out of his way and over the top to act like the most perfect gentleman. This date on this night felt very similar to that one, except that in this fairytale, he already had the girl and Travis was the one who had lost out.
Sucker.
Not that there was anything wrong with Beth. She was absolutely beautiful and an incredibly sweet person. And in the grand scheme of things, as fate would have it, the girls were more their types the other way around, if one must be honest. But Eric’s heart belonged to Juliet and he knew it always would, and whether Beth was truly his type or not, there never had been, or ever would be, a woman as perfect for him as Juliet. And he had a feeling that Travis felt the same way about Beth. And, so, everything was as it should be.
So this was how, at six o’clock on a snowy, late December evening, Eric was on Juliet’s doorstep, clutching a bouquet of purple daisies.
His heart fluttered when he saw her. She wore a cream-colored, form-fitting cashmere sweater underneath a high-waisted, black, leather pencil skirt that reached her knees. The outfit accentuated every delectable curve of her body and the crisscrossing of the sweater’s neckline highlighted just enough of her cleavage that it was practically a secret between the two of them.
As he glanced down at her strappy black stilettos, he felt slightly drab in his black Armani—despite the way she smiled as she checked him out.
“You’re so dashing,” she breathed.
Drab? Did he say drab? He meant dashing. Absolutely dashing. So damn dashing and debonair that Juliet couldn’t even speak above a whisper. He was on top of the world.
“Come on,” he smirked, fingering his lapel. “This old thing?”
She continued to smile as she glanced at the flowers. “Are those for me?”
It was adorable how innocent she came across. Surely this wasn’t her first real date, complete with flowers on the doorstep.
Then again, it was very possible. And it was his responsibility that she experienced the most cliché first date he could give her.
“They are,” he replied as he extended them to her.
“They’re so beautiful, thank you.”
Her smile was irresistible as she brought the bouquet to her nose. Stepping forward, he lightly brushed her hair off of her shoulder and swept his lips across her cheek. “Pas aussi belle que vous, ma cherie,” he whispered softly.
Her gasp was barely audible and he smiled when her surprised eyes met his. “You speak French?”
“I’m from New Orleans, remember?”
“You never told me what part of Louisiana.”
“Ah,” he smiled. “Then we have much to discuss at dinner.”
She smirked. “We always have much to discuss.”
“That’s what I love about us,” he winked.
“Give me a moment to put these in water?”
He stood there as she walked into her kitchen, silently going over the evening’s plans. So far, he was killing it and he gave himself a silent cheer. He was going to buy roses to begin with until he found the rainbow-colored daisies and snatched up the purple ones. She found him dashing, so that meant he made the right decision with the suit. As long as he didn’t bore her to tears for the rest of the evening, she might allow him to take her out more often.
He couldn’t believe how nervous he was. He’d been out with Juliet before. He knew how to order her food, he had every last inch of her body memorized, and he’d almost mastered every one of her facial expressions. It meant nothing that they’d known each other all of two months. It was more than enough time to know someone as far as Eric was concerned.
But still. He wanted so badly for this night to be perfect. After all, he did want to keep her now that he finally had her.
The smile returned to his face when she walked back into the room in her coat and gloves. “So. What are we having tonight?”
“French,” he replied simply.
She rolled her eyes and she giggled. “Of course. I should have guessed.”
Upon stepping outside into the evening air, Eric immediately regretted his truck. The fuck was he thinking, not renting a limo or something? He was so humiliated.
To make life even more humiliating, Juliet’s skirt made it impossible for her to step up into the truck. After watching her struggle for a moment, he finally gripped her by the waist and hoisted her up into it. Jesus, he hoped nobody was watching. He didn’t know how much more backwoods that could have been.
He felt the crimson on his face as he hopped into the driver seat. “I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t really think that through.”
She smiled as she adjusted her seatbelt. “If it helps, I didn’t think it through, either, with this skirt.” Then she reached over and removed his hand from the gear shift. “Hey. Why are you so nervous? It’s just me.”
Damn. It was obvious? The last thing he wanted to tell her was that he was insecure about his dating skills. Sure, he could sit on the couch and watch a movie like a boss. But could he pick the right restaurant? The right show? The right day of the week? Did he have what it took to keep her interested enough not to want to test out the maintenance guy like Samantha did?
Fuck. Samantha. Was he really still reeling from that? Had she broken him that badly? You spend two years with a woman and buy a ring, only to find out that you weren’t quite doing it for her all along…kind of makes you second guess yourself and every move you make afterward. All of his past relationships had left him for other men. If he couldn’t keep Juliet around, then it was fucking hopeless.
So he smiled at Juliet, a crooked smile, and he squeezed her hand. “I just want you to have fun tonight.”
Her smile widened. “Really? That’s it? I always have fun with you. Even if you take me to some dive that gives me explosive diarrhea, I’ll still have fun. I mean, you know, until the diarrhea kicks in and then I’ll expect you to sit outside the bathroom door and amuse me while I’m dying because if I’m going down, you’re going down with me. But, yeah, it’ll still be fun.”
And with that, he threw his head back and howled in laughter. Instantly his insecurities melted away and he finally felt completely relaxed. As he shifted the truck into gear, he side-glanced at her. “That sounds like it would be a really shitty date.”
It was Juliet’s turn to crack up as he pulled the truck onto the street. He grinned at the wet pavement as the city lights reflected off of it. Beauty, style, and grace, and can fully appreciate a good poop joke. God, how did he ever manage to find a woman so perfect?
ERIC PAID THE valet as Juliet took in their surroundings.
Problem was, there wasn’t much to take in. Except for Eric in his black on black suit and the way his blonde hair and blue eyes popped in contrast. She was really loving his new cut and she’d been craving his lips since the moment she opened the door. Dashing just didn’t seem like a suitable word for him tonight, though it was the first one that came to mind. Debonair? Devastatingly handsome? So sexy she could cry? Every time she looked at him, she felt exhilarated, like danger and excitement all at the same time and it scared her to death. But she wanted more. She couldn’t get enough.
But aside from the beauty that was Eric, their current surroundings were drab, to say the least. Nothing more than boring brick with no real architecture to speak of. Behind them were a pair of glass doors with no decals and, for a moment, she wondered if anyone would hear her scream—or if the valet was even a valet.
Eric grinned under the lone street lamp and offered her his elbow. “Shall we?”
“Do we want to?” She asked nervously.
He chuckled. “Yes. We want to. Come on, you’ll love it, I promise.”
Reluctantly, she allowed him to lead her through the nameless glass doors. She couldn’t help herself. The truth was, she only wanted to be anywhere he was and if he wanted to lead her into the fiery pits of hell, she would hold his hand with a smile on her face.
As they stopped at the top of an inconspicuous staircase, she thought that last part might actually become a reality—had it not been for the “Parler Facile” sign, spelled out in curly calligraphy above the entryway.
Without a word, she walked with him down the stone staircase and stopped at a small, daringly quaint, arched doorway made entirely of old brick. As Eric opened the door, he let her walk in ahead of her. “Welcome to Parler Facile.”
“What does Parler Faci…?”
Juliet’s voice trailed off. The restaurant they had just entered was absolutely nothing like the building upstairs was. It was unlike any basement she had ever seen. The brick was absolutely all original and beautifully exposed, with no drywall or paint to hide its imperfections. Light bulbs were screwed into wrought iron railings that hung upside down from the ceiling and semi-circular booths were made of what she would bet good money was authentic, antique upholstery in the most gorgeous sage.
She felt like she had taken a step back in time and it took her breath away.
“Parler Facile is French for speakeasy,” Eric informed her.
Juliet gasped, awestruck.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “This restaurant was transformed from an old speakeasy. A real one. It had been a dusty, dormant mess up until several years ago. I can’t believe you’ve never been here.”
She couldn’t believe how perfect it was.
“Eric Reynolds, you miserable bastard!”
Uhm…suddenly the restaurant became much less romantic.
A portly man in a gray suit and black hair slicked back with grease, reminiscent of the mafia, approached the pair, arms outstretched. “You walk in her on your own? What’s the password?”
“Cannoli!” Eric announced with a surprising hint of a Brooklyn accent that Juliet had never heard before. “It never changes!”
The men exchanged handshakes and the man’s eyes grazed over Juliet. “And who is this?”
“Ah,” Eric grinned. “Rosano, this goddess is Juliet Carson. My…girlfriend. Juliet, this is Maury Rosano, he owns the place.”
“Bellissima,” Rosano greeted her, kissing one of her gloved hands. “Welcome.”
“We’re on a date, Rosano,” Eric reminded him with mock warning.
Rosano scoffed. “I sure hope so. I’m still trying to figure out how a classy dame like this ever agreed to go out with your pansy ass!”
“You and me, both,” Eric replied with a shy smile.
The blush rose to Juliet’s cheeks as she whispered her confusion to him. “I thought you said this place was French?”
“It is.”
“But—but he’s very Italian…”
“Mostly,” Rosano interjected. “My gram on my ma’s side was French. Taught me everything I know. Because of her, French food is my passion. And you won’t find better French cuisine unless you was sittin’ in a bistro in Paris.”
“Oh,” she replied sheepishly. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to offend.”
“None taken,” he waved her off. “Now, come, have a drink while I have the staff kick out one of the tables for you.”
“Actually, I have a reservation,” Eric replied graciously. “Back room…corner booth?”
Rosano’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, that’s you? So it’s one of those dates.”
“Very much so, yes.”
“Well, then. You made a good decision, coming here.” Then Rosano turned his attention back to Juliet. “Juliet. Any friend of Eric’s is a friend of mine. You got yourself a good one here, bellissima, cream of the crop. Never find another one better.”
“Yes,” Juliet agreed with a giggle. “Yes, I do.”
As Rosano led them through the small restaurant, he spoke over his shoulder. “I’ve known this guy since he was a spindly little college kid, working on his old man’s crew. Build my restaurant, they did. Little guy didn’t weigh much of nothing, but he installed every one of these fixtures with his bare hands like a pro. It’s no wonder he runs the place now.”
Juliet side-glanced at her blushing…boyfriend, and she squeezed his hand.
Boyfriend. The term was so foreign to her, it was hard to even imagine. Lord forbid the day she finally had to speak it.
“Here we are,” Rosano announced. “Is everything to your liking, Mr. Reynolds?”
Eric smirked. “It is, thank you.”
“Very well. Please, enjoy your evening.”
“We will, thank you. And it was very nice meeting you,” Juliet smiled.
Rosano smiled with a nod and then he was off.
Juliet looked at the table before them. Roses. Candles. Champagne. She’d never had any of that before, she had to admit. Not like this, anyway. “Oh, Eric,” she breathed. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to,” he smiled, motioning for her to slide into the booth against the wall. “You deserve it.”
She felt the blush rise in her cheeks as she smiled. Eric helped her remove her coat and she admired the deep red of the antique velvet upholstery, a deep contrast to the booths toward the front of the restaurant. The table was a table that could have easily sat four if you put two chairs on the other side, but Eric specifically chose a table where they would be forced to sit side-by-side and Juliet couldn’t have been happier. She didn’t know if it was the newness of the relationship or just Eric in general, but she felt the incessant need to be glued to his side as if he were a security blanket. She felt safe with him. And content.
As he slid into the booth next to her, she longed for him to wrap his arm around her and draw her close. She was growing increasingly intoxicated by the glow of the candlelight and the faint sound of violin music. However, it was suddenly her stomach that provided the bass line and she rubbed her hand across it in response. “I’m famished,” she remarked.
As Eric reached for the champagne bottle, a waiter suddenly appeared. “Good evening, I am Pierre. May I open the bottle for you?”
“Absolutely, I would appreciate that.”
Pierre made popping the cork look like child’s play. “May I also take your order?”
“No, thank you,” Eric replied as he reached for the bottle. “I’ll be sure to let you know when we’re ready.”
“Very well, sir. As you wish.” Pierre and his long apron took a quick bow and disappeared.
Juliet couldn’t fight her mischievous smile. “Is Pierre really a Pierre?”
“Probably. Rosano doesn’t skimp on his staff. The more authentic, the better. Makes sense. Nobody knows French food like the French. Champagne?”
“Please,” she replied, lifting her glass.
After he filled her glass and replaced the bottle in the ice bucket, he picked up his water goblet and raised it. “To us. And to many more corny, romantic dates like this one.”
“It’s not corny,” she argued playfully. “I love it.”
He grinned boyishly. “All right. Then to me, for being a genius.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
She never took her eyes off of him as she sipped on her drink. It was perfectly chilled and dry and the bubbles seemed to dance on her tongue. How did she get here, like this, with him? With this man, who was tender and generous, who was gorgeous beyond all reason, who was loved by everyone everywhere he went, who literally didn’t know any better than to treat people with kindness and respect? In Juliet’s world, men like him died away with her father, of whom so extremely little she could remember. What had she done to deserve Eric?
The only thing she could think of to say in the moment was, “You look so stuffy in that jacket.”
His eyes met hers in confusion. “I thought I was dashing?”
She grinned. “Devastatingly so. But we might be here awhile if the food is as good as you claim. Make yourself comfortable, I won’t mind.”
“Oh, I see what this is,” he said as he unbuttoned his jacket. “This is a ploy to get me to take off my clothes. It’s okay, get whatever little thrills you can get.”
“Oh, you caught me,” she sighed as she helped him out of his sleeves. “But you can’t deny that you feel better.”
“I do,” he agreed. And then he finally--finally—draped his arm across the booth behind her and she allowed herself to snuggle closer. “Oh, yeah. That’s definitely better.” Then he pulled the small bowl toward them that she’d been eying and reached for one of the golden-fried balls. They looked like donut holes. Juliet prayed for it. “I took the liberty of having an appetizer ready for us. These are gougeres,” he said as he handed it to her. “But be careful. I can eat my weight in these, they could be our demise. We have to be nice and share.”
Her eyes widened excitedly. “Ooh, gimme gimme gimme!”
Biting into the soft, flaky pastry was like biting into heaven. The flavor of cheese was subtle but savory on her tongue and her eyelids fluttered a little as she chewed it up. Before nearly savagely shoving the other half of it into her mouth, she remarked, “This is a cheese puff. I know cheese puffs.”
“Best one you ever put in your mouth, isn’t it?”
“Mmhmm,” she nodded as she reached for another.
Eric was right. She couldn’t stop. After roughly four more, she finally found herself in a position to slow down. Her hunger was satiated but she had to discipline her mouth. She wanted to save room for dinner.
“So. A speakeasy,” she said as she looked around. “It’s so perfect.”
“I’ve wanted to bring you here since the first time I set foot in your apartment,” he said as he refilled her champagne flute. “Between all the antiques and your CD collection…I immediately thought of this place. I’ve kept it in my back pocket ever since.”
“So, um…have you brought a lot of dates here?”
A half-smile crossed his lip as he reached for his water glass. “No. I mean, unless you count my mother. She’s the only other woman I’ve brought here.”
“So, um…not even your ex?”
He shook his head. “Not really her thing. You ready to order?”
Already? They’d only just polished off the cheese puffs. But she could tell that he was suddenly uncomfortable and the notion did something to her heart that she didn’t like.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have pried. I’m sure that’s a very sensitive subject for you—“
“It’s not…sensitive. It’s just…I care about you. All this—this is for you. I don’t—I don’t miss her or pine for her or whatever, I’d just really rather not talk about our past mistakes on this date.”
Oh, no. She’d upset him. She’d ruined the night, she’d ruined everything. The lump in her throat was hard to swallow and she sucked in a quiet breath to keep the tears away. Damn it, why did he make her so sensitive? She’d never felt so many damn emotions until he came along. It wasn’t fair. Why was she so stupid?
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to.” Her voice squeaked uncontrollably. Damn it! “I don’t want to order just yet, I just want to sit here and be with you. I appreciate the lengths you’ve gone to tonight, I really do. I love it, I love it all. Please don’t be upset.”
The heat rose in her face. Damn it, no! She was not going to cry. She wasn’t!
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice full of concern. He sat closer to her until their thighs were pressed together. As he swept her hair off of her shoulder, the backs of his fingers brushed against her cheek. “Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not upset. I’m happy that you’re having a nice time. Really.”
Clearing her throat, she tucked her hair behind her ear with embarrassment. “I’m not—I guess I’m not really good at this sort of thing. I feel like—like when we’re at your place or mine, we can completely let loose and be ourselves. Believe it or not, I don’t really know how to…date. I’ve never actually been on a date that I liked.”
He smiled gently as he searched her eyes and continued to brush his fingers through her hair behind her shoulder. “Well, don’t go getting curious. I’m trying to keep you.”
She grinned gratefully. “You’re doing a really good job.”
When his lips met hers, the most delicious of chills ran the length of her body. The kiss didn’t last near long enough and his words snapped her back to reality. “So I assume you’ve heard about the impromptu New Year’s Eve bash.”
She looked at him blankly.
“Beth and Travis?”
“Oh! Yes. Yes, I have.”
For the next few minutes they talked over drinks, their bodies still pressed into each other’s, still sharing the same body heat. Before she realized it, her torso was turned into him and her head lay on his arm, that was still draped behind her, as she listened to him talk. She could listen to him talk for hours. She loved the way he emphasized his words, talked with his hands, the facial expressions he used, and the way he could turn the dullest of stories into something absolutely fascinating. He would be a wonderful father someday. She betted that he would create the best bedtime stories.
If she could give birth to his children, that was.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Pierre’s voice seemingly came out of nowhere. “May I ask how we’re doing?”
Juliet lifted—no, peeled—herself off of Eric and suddenly felt a draft of welcome air. She didn’t realize that she needed it until it happened and decided that maybe they should save the canoodling for after the entrees. And, speaking of entrees, she’d only just noticed that she hadn’t once lain eyes on a menu.
“I think we’re ready to order,” Eric said.
“I haven’t looked at a menu,” Juliet objected.
Eric smirked. “No need. The lady will have the blanquette de veau and I’ll have the cassoulet, please.”
“May I recommend a wine, sir?”
“Absolutely,” Eric grinned.
“As it turns out, a red Bordeaux pairs perfectly with both of those exquisite dishes.”
“Then a red Bordeaux, it is. That’s perfect, Pierre, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Madam. I’ll get that order right in for you.”
As Pierre shuffled away, Juliet smiled after the tall, lanky waiter. Then she smiled playfully at Eric. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Not actively,” he shrugged. “But, I mean, if you were to happen to get a little light headed and, you know, helplessly throw yourself at me or something, I probably wouldn’t complain.”
She laughed and she shook her head as she placed her fingers listlessly around her champagne flute. “And speaking of our order, are you ever going to let me order for myself? I’m perfectly capable, you know. You’d be surprised.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “I don’t do it because I think you’re incapable. I do it because I already know what you’re going to order. I know what you like. Why waste your breath? Have I steered you wrong before?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Plus, I know what’s good here. I mean, it’s all good, but I know what their claim to fame is. I hope you like veal.”
“That’s what you ordered me? Veal?”
“I know that you seem to have some kind of penchant for soups, so I ordered you veal ragout.”
“A stew?”
“Right, yeah, it’s not exactly a soup. But it’s the best in the city, you won’t regret it.”
It was a good thing he was cute. And that he was right about not having steered her wrong, yet, in the culinary department. She wasn’t sure what she expected to eat in a French restaurant because, the truth was, she’d never been to one. But she sure hadn’t expected it to be stew.
“Well, what did you order for yourself?”
“In short? Duck and beans.”
She raised her eyebrows at him.
He smirked and gave a nod in defeat. “It’s a stew.”
Juliet burst out laughing. She didn’t know if it was the champagne that was doing it or if she was just genuinely amused at the fact that he had his truck valet parked for stew.
“Please let this be our place,” she said as her laughter subsided. “Let it just be ours, just—just our place.”
“I thought Hair Of The Dog was our place?”
“It is. It’ll always be special in our hearts. But this place? The place where we valet parked a pick-up, pigged out on cheese puffs and champagne, and ate stew in a basement? This is our place.”
He looked at her for a moment before he burst into a hearty chuckle. “It does sound funny when you really think about it, doesn’t it? And, hey, don’t forget about the fixtures hung by the scrawny kid of the owner of the mom and pop construction company that built it.”
She smiled, resting her chin on her hand. “See? It’s like you built it just for us.” She lifted her champagne flute. “To our place. Our restaurant. To…to…to the restaurant I still can’t pronounce.”
A fit of giggles overtook the pair and Juliet had to dab the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. She always had fun with Eric, it never mattered what they did.
When she calmed down, she realized that she suddenly wasn’t out of questions. “So tell me about how you speak French.”
“Speak French? Me?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, I can’t speak French.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You’ve been speaking it all night.”
“Au contraire, ma cherie,” he corrected. “All I did was order food. I can order food. I know all the cliché lines you hear in movies. I can read it. I just can’t speak it.”
“But that doesn’t—that’s—but your accent is so perfect!”
“Well, I understand the phonetics of the language. It’s easy on paper, I can read you every word of it. But I won’t know a damn thing I’m reading. I could be telling you all about my uncle, the walrus, who performed in a circus on Mars, and I’d never know it.”
Juliet snorted and remarked under her breath. “If you’re referring to your uncle Walter, I’d about believe that story.”
“It is what it is, it’s neither here nor there. But, yes. Growing up in New Orleans had its…advantages, if you want to call it that. I have a very French heritage, a heritage that my grandmother desperately tried to instill in me, but I just couldn’t pick it up. Just couldn’t make it happen. Can eat the hell out of a crepe, though, I’ll tell you that.”
Juliet smiled. “And your brothers?”
Eric rolled his eyes. “Travis is so damn fluent, it’s ridiculous.”
She blinked in surprise. “Does Beth know he speaks French?”
“Probably. I’m sure he uses it as some kinky sex game or something.”
“Well if it makes you feel any better, I don’t know a single word of French. I know very little French, actually. I mean, maybe just the basics, you know. French toast…French manicure…French kissing…”
He studied her face, his eyes stopping on her lips. “You know French kissing?” He murmured seductively.
“Mmhmm,” she nodded.
Leaning over, his nose brushed against hers and he whispered, “Prove it.”
God, that kiss. It was the deepest, most romantically seductive thing she had ever dared do in public. But she didn’t care. They were in the back corner of a vintage basement restaurant where the staff was very careful to give them their privacy and the fact that she had her arm draped around his neck over the dinner table was completely a non-issue. It was such a non-issue, as a matter of fact, that she would have had no problem spending the rest of the evening in that very spot, kissing him in that very way, dinner or no dinner.
Finally able to pull herself away, her face remained close to his as she blinked her heavy-lidded eyes. “Bet they don’t have that on the menu.”
“Better than any dessert selection they could ever come up with.”
Finding themselves lost in conversation once more, it felt like it took no time at all for their entrees to arrive. Eric, as always, had been exactly right in his ordering. The pair was silent for awhile as they ate, Juliet practically unable to stop. At one point he finally asked her how it was and she only managed to mumble an enthusiastic response with a nod and a mouthful of veal. As they satiated their appetites, their spoons began drifting into each other’s bowls and, before the meal was finished, there was no definition between his meal and hers. As they ate, Juliet realized that it happened this way more often than not and she decided that literally sharing her meals with Eric was one of her most favorite activities in the world.
For dessert, Eric had ordered them chocolate eclairs. She’d had eclairs before, that was nothing new, and she’d told him so, but he was quick to shush her. They were the best, most authentic eclairs in Manhattan, he’d told her, and she’d never had anything like them. And he was right. But not because of how delicious they were—they tasted like any other éclair she had eaten. No, it was the best she’d ever had because she ate it right out of his hand. Curled up into his side, with his arm wrapped around her shoulder, cuddling her close, they fed each other eclairs and it was the best dessert she had ever had in her life.
By the time they had finished, Juliet didn’t want to move. Partially because she was too full to move, but mostly because she was the happiest she had ever been, sitting in that booth, curled up with Eric. It was so secluded, so private, so romantic, she never wanted the evening to end.
And it didn’t have to. When he’d walked her to her door at the end of the night, she could have asked him to stay. In fact, she almost did. But when he kissed her so tenderly and brushed his hands over her arms and whispered of how he’d had the best time with her tonight, she couldn’t bear to do it. Because this was how a date was supposed to end. A real, typical first date. Not with sex. But with a sweet, soft, romantic goodnight kiss and a promise to call. And that was exactly what he had given her.
Who cared that the phone call came ten minutes later when he was settled in his apartment and that they talked again for the next hour? This was Eric and Juliet, after all, best friends and lovers, hopelessly unable to stay away from one another.
AS BETH AND Juliet walked into the bistro, Beth smiled. “Guess what I did last night?”
“Pretty sure it would be easier to guess what you’re not doing lately.”
Beth tried to scowl but it spread into a smile. “Sven and Marco invited me and Travis to dinner and I got to play with the new baby!”
“Aww,” Juliet cooed. “Not fair.” Then she pouted. “I can’t believe you’re doubling with other couples.”
Beth arched an eyebrow. “Jules. We’re doubling this morning.”
Juliet looked at her blankly. “Does this count?”
Beth rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Of course it counted. This was a coffee date. An early morning coffee date. There might even be scones involved, who knew? What she did know was that the guys were due to arrive any minute.
“What did you do last night?” Beth asked as the ladies sat on the stools of the small round table.
Quickly, a waitress arrived at the table. “Um…four waters,” Beth ordered. “And…a gingerbread latte and a black coffee. Jules?”
Juliet smiled. “Ooh, that sounds good. Same, please.” As the waitress walked away, Juliet smirked at Beth. “Black coffee for Travis?”
“Black coffee for Eric?”
The two friends laughed, amused.
“This twin thing is wild,” Juliet said.
“Last night!” Beth pressed.
“Oh!” Then Juliet smiled coyly. “Eric took me to a French speakeasy last night.”
“Oh. Is that…a new club…?”
“No. It’s an underground French restaurant that used to be an old speakeasy. Restored by Eric’s bare hands.”
“Oh!” Beth taunted her. “Listen to you bragging!”
“Well, I mean, some of it was with his bare hands. Reynolds did the restoration back when the guys were teenagers and Eric was on the crew. It’s owned by this Italian guy, but it’s the best French food you’ll ever put in your mouth. Anyway, it was wonderful. He met me at the door with daisies, had roses waiting for me at our table, ordered our food in the sexiest, perfect French accent, we fed each other eclairs…”
“Wow. You sound like a Hallmark movie.”
“But it was real life,” Juliet repeated dreamily. “Fairy tales and perfect dates do exist.”
“I’ll say,” Beth breathed. “The guys are here.”
Both women stopped talking immediately and turned their attention to the pair of Greek gods that came their way. Watching the Reynolds twins walk next to each other was nothing short of magical. It was something about the way their confident strides were perfectly in sync, about the way they were always laughing or smiling about something, and about the way their blue eyes sparkled like diamonds from afar. They turned heads and stole breath everywhere they went, especially from their own women.
“Where have they been all our lives?” Juliet mused quietly.
“How in the hell the New York social scene hasn’t snatched them up, I have no idea. Maybe it’s a good thing we bagged them before any other whores sunk their claws into them.”
“I swore Eric to celibacy,” Juliet deadpanned. “I’m beginning to regret it.”
“You what?” Beth spat.
But it was too late to continue the conversation. The brothers had arrived at the table. At the same time as the coffee, served by the waitress with the wandering eye. Funny, Beth hadn’t noticed that earlier. Maybe the guys had food in their teeth. Or maybe Travis was making a show of unloading her tray for her and putting in an order of English muffins.
He made up for it with the kiss he planted on Beth’s lips.
Moments later, the four of them sat around the small bistro table, surrounding their coffees. Beth directed a smile in Juliet’s direction. Eric had scooted his stool closer to her and the smile on Juliet’s face gave off enough wattage to power Manhattan. She looked absolutely radiant as she held her mug between her hands and hung on to Eric’s every word. Beth’s heart warmed over. She’d never seen Juliet so happy.
“So check it out,” Travis said, holding his phone over the table so that Beth could see it. “While you guys are doing your girly little spa thing, Eric and I will be hitting the slopes.”
Beth looked at Travis in horror. “Excuse me, you’re what?”
Travis beamed proudly as if he’d just revealed the greatest news in the world. “Yeah. Thought it would be a good time to get a little boarding in. Haven’t been in forever.” Then he shrugged a shoulder and lowered his voice. “And then, you know, end of the day by the fire…with my favorite little snow bunny…”
“No,” she spat incredulously.
He gaped at her, taken aback. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no. No means no. This is girls’ weekend. How in the hell are we supposed to talk about you if you’re there?”
“Wait, what?”
That was Juliet. She and Eric had come out of their little world and back into the present just in time.
“Travis and Eric are coming to the resort,” Beth shot out.
To her horror, a pleased smile crossed Juliet’s face and she asked Eric, “Aww, you are?”
Beth rolled her eyes. Juliet was going to be no help. Great.
“Yeah,” Eric said. Then he shot a look across the table at his brother. “But we promise to stay out of your way. You’re there to relax, we’re there for extreme sports. We may never even cross paths.”
“Well don’t say that,” Juliet pouted, reaching for his hand. “I love when you cross my path.”
Eric gave her a wry smile and Beth shook her head. “’Extreme’ sports? Please. Don’t knock any toddlers over on the bunny slope.”
Travis clasped his hand over his heart and drew back, aghast. “Excuse me? Bunny slope? I’m insulted! Have you met me?”
Beth fought her smirk. Staying mad at Travis was always impossible. “I’m saying that all I’d heard are stories. I’ve seen no proof. No photos, no video…”
“I’d invite you to come cheer for me, but I wouldn’t want you to risk breaking a nail.”
“Oh dear God,” Juliet whispered.
Now it was Beth’s turn to be insulted. “Oh, really? I’ll have you know that my family has been going on annual ski trips since I was five! You hear that? Five. That’s how long I’ve been snowboarding. Where did you learn? On mud slopes in the bayou?”
Travis dramatically feigned shock. “Well, I never--!”
“I’ll make sure your pompoms are in your suitcase,” she sneered.
“Owned,” Eric snickered over his coffee.
“Hey, shut up!” Travis shot at him. Then he leaned in closer to Beth. “Baby, you never told me you could snowboard. Do you know how sexy that is?”
And, just like that, Beth was putty and Travis was forgiven.
After that, talk turned to tomorrow night’s New Year’s Eve party. Much to Beth’s surprise, it was revealed that Travis was going with Eric to get fitted for a tux because he didn’t own one. “The one he wore to the Humane Society benefit was mine and it was fucking train wreck,” Travis laughed.
Beth was shocked. “You’re wearing tuxes? I wasn’t expecting you to go all out—“
Travis shrugged. “I saw your dress. If you’re gonna dress up, I’ll dress up.”
Just when she thought she couldn’t fall any deeper in love…
The slap against the table brought her back to the present.
All eyes fell on the copy of the local tabloid paper that lay in the middle. Beth’s head whipped around to see who had dropped it and Juliet whispered, “Oh my god.”
On the cover was a picture of Eric and Juliet. It was a charming picture, actually, of the two of them canoodling in the corner of a restaurant, with eyes and smiles only for each other. Except that both the publication and the headline cheapened it. “Juliet Carson’s New Main Squeeze. Get the scoop inside!”
Everybody looked at each other. Nobody seemed to want to touch it. Finally, Travis let out a breath and snatched it from the middle of the table. “Let’s just get it over with,” he grumbled.
Opening the paper and settling it down in front of them, Beth looked on with him. Skimming it quickly, she glanced up at Juliet. “They’ve been…worse…”
“The recently elusive Juliet Carson has finally stepped out with her new flavor of the week and this one seems serious! Spotted last night at the ultra-chic Parler Facile, an underground French restaurant, Carson and her new mystery man were reportedly placed in the most secluded part of the restaurant and clung to each other during their entire dinner. An eyewitness reveals that the pair laughed and kissed and fed each other pastries as if they were newlyweds. Naturally we wouldn’t believe such a story about Juliet Carson, but they say that pictures are worth a thousand words!
“So who is this mystery man that has seemingly swept one of New York’s most eligible socialites off of her feet? A little digging reveals him to be Eric Reynolds, twenty-seven-year-old CEO of Reynolds Construction, a well-known local construction firm. It appears that Carson has tired of the Wall Street scene and has decided to sharpen her cougar claws on this hot hunk of blue collar meat. We would ask where New York has been hiding this hottie all this time, but if there’s a hottie to be found, Juliet Carson will certainly dig him up!
“While we would love for this to finally be the one to tame the lady, we all know the inevitable. Poor Eric. But never fear, sweetie. When your week is over, we already have tons of phone numbers pouring in from ladies who are just chomping at the bit to help you get over the heartbreak.”
After Travis completed the narrative, he cursed under his breath and proceeded to literally tear the paper to shreds. “This is absolute bullshit,” he spat. “Blue collar. Cougar claws? Who the fuck are these people anyway?”
Juliet was white as a sheet, her eyes staring a hole into the middle of the table where the paper once was. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hey,” Eric said gently, reaching over and taking her by the hand. “Nobody cares about that shit. Okay? We know the truth. You, me…Beth and Travis. We all know the truth. And that’s all that matters. Right?”
Finally, she turned her head and looked at Eric. “They think you’re a joke,” she replied with quiet fear. “You’re a joke because you’re with me. Because…because I’m not to be taken seriously, don’t you know that?”
“Babe…”
“I don’t want that for you, I didn’t mean for—that’s not—you don’t deserve that.”
“Jules. It’s okay,” he pressed. “I’m not worried about it. I’m not upset, I’m not ashamed, I’m not embarrassed. I’m proud of you. I want you. And that’s nobody’s business but mine. Okay?”
“I’ve done this to myself,” she said. “I know I did. And I’m—I’m sorry that you’re having to—to walk into this relationship and deal with it now—“
“I don’t care,” Eric said firmly. “I seriously just don’t care. Let them talk. Let them say what they want to say. We’re happy…aren’t we?”
“Of course,” she whispered.
“All right, then,” he replied, straightening his spine. “Looks like this little vacation is going to be just what the doctor ordered for all of us.”
Talk immediately went back to the trip that was planned for the following weekend, but Juliet remained quiet. Beth was concerned. She was concerned because Juliet’s silence indicated what Beth ultimately feared: Juliet was having second thoughts about her relationship with Eric and she was going to want to protect him and in her mind…that might result in breaking his heart. Again.
‘Please,’ Beth prayed. ‘Please not again. Please let her be happy for once in her life. Why does that seem to be too much to ask?’
ERIC’S FACE hurt.
It hurt in the absolute best way possible. The smile that remained glued on wasn’t going away anytime soon and he was perfectly okay with that. It was especially easy when his girlfriend’s smile was just as radiant and she clung to him like static electricity to your favorite socks.
There was a calm in the air and an overall general happiness that had settled between the two of them. After having beaten the dead horse two or three more times, a pack of cigarettes, and a random nightmare, they’d finally agreed and understood that they were both scared shitless for many of the same reasons and they finally chose to conquer it together as if they were an army at battle instead of battling with each other. Being on the same team made life so much easier.
After they had spent the evening…and then the night…and the entirety of the next day together, he respected Juliet’s wishes and he went home. They’d spent an entire day apart—physically. But it didn’t keep them off the phone with each other, as he had called to ask her out on what he had decided would be their first official date. “Lest you forget,” he reminded her, “the last time we went to dinner together, I had to…creatively coerce you to have a meal with me at all. In writing. As an addendum to a contract.”
“The greatest contract ever written,” she had swooned on the other end. “I think I like oral contracts much better.”
“I stopped listening after ‘oral.’”
She giggled and his heart swelled. That was his favorite, the way she thought he was funny. God, he felt fifteen all over again. When he was fifteen, he went on his first date to the winter formal with a cheerleader that Travis set him up with. A cheerleader. Eric had been beside his skinny, four-eyed self that she even agreed to go. He was so nervous and he kept cracking stupid jokes, but she laughed at every one of them, so it eased the tension a little. The fact that, at the end of the night, he overheard her telling her friends that she only agreed to go with him because she liked his cute brother was irrelevant. He was still elated to be somewhere with a girl who was at least nice to him and he went out of his way and over the top to act like the most perfect gentleman. This date on this night felt very similar to that one, except that in this fairytale, he already had the girl and Travis was the one who had lost out.
Sucker.
Not that there was anything wrong with Beth. She was absolutely beautiful and an incredibly sweet person. And in the grand scheme of things, as fate would have it, the girls were more their types the other way around, if one must be honest. But Eric’s heart belonged to Juliet and he knew it always would, and whether Beth was truly his type or not, there never had been, or ever would be, a woman as perfect for him as Juliet. And he had a feeling that Travis felt the same way about Beth. And, so, everything was as it should be.
So this was how, at six o’clock on a snowy, late December evening, Eric was on Juliet’s doorstep, clutching a bouquet of purple daisies.
His heart fluttered when he saw her. She wore a cream-colored, form-fitting cashmere sweater underneath a high-waisted, black, leather pencil skirt that reached her knees. The outfit accentuated every delectable curve of her body and the crisscrossing of the sweater’s neckline highlighted just enough of her cleavage that it was practically a secret between the two of them.
As he glanced down at her strappy black stilettos, he felt slightly drab in his black Armani—despite the way she smiled as she checked him out.
“You’re so dashing,” she breathed.
Drab? Did he say drab? He meant dashing. Absolutely dashing. So damn dashing and debonair that Juliet couldn’t even speak above a whisper. He was on top of the world.
“Come on,” he smirked, fingering his lapel. “This old thing?”
She continued to smile as she glanced at the flowers. “Are those for me?”
It was adorable how innocent she came across. Surely this wasn’t her first real date, complete with flowers on the doorstep.
Then again, it was very possible. And it was his responsibility that she experienced the most cliché first date he could give her.
“They are,” he replied as he extended them to her.
“They’re so beautiful, thank you.”
Her smile was irresistible as she brought the bouquet to her nose. Stepping forward, he lightly brushed her hair off of her shoulder and swept his lips across her cheek. “Pas aussi belle que vous, ma cherie,” he whispered softly.
Her gasp was barely audible and he smiled when her surprised eyes met his. “You speak French?”
“I’m from New Orleans, remember?”
“You never told me what part of Louisiana.”
“Ah,” he smiled. “Then we have much to discuss at dinner.”
She smirked. “We always have much to discuss.”
“That’s what I love about us,” he winked.
“Give me a moment to put these in water?”
He stood there as she walked into her kitchen, silently going over the evening’s plans. So far, he was killing it and he gave himself a silent cheer. He was going to buy roses to begin with until he found the rainbow-colored daisies and snatched up the purple ones. She found him dashing, so that meant he made the right decision with the suit. As long as he didn’t bore her to tears for the rest of the evening, she might allow him to take her out more often.
He couldn’t believe how nervous he was. He’d been out with Juliet before. He knew how to order her food, he had every last inch of her body memorized, and he’d almost mastered every one of her facial expressions. It meant nothing that they’d known each other all of two months. It was more than enough time to know someone as far as Eric was concerned.
But still. He wanted so badly for this night to be perfect. After all, he did want to keep her now that he finally had her.
The smile returned to his face when she walked back into the room in her coat and gloves. “So. What are we having tonight?”
“French,” he replied simply.
She rolled her eyes and she giggled. “Of course. I should have guessed.”
Upon stepping outside into the evening air, Eric immediately regretted his truck. The fuck was he thinking, not renting a limo or something? He was so humiliated.
To make life even more humiliating, Juliet’s skirt made it impossible for her to step up into the truck. After watching her struggle for a moment, he finally gripped her by the waist and hoisted her up into it. Jesus, he hoped nobody was watching. He didn’t know how much more backwoods that could have been.
He felt the crimson on his face as he hopped into the driver seat. “I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t really think that through.”
She smiled as she adjusted her seatbelt. “If it helps, I didn’t think it through, either, with this skirt.” Then she reached over and removed his hand from the gear shift. “Hey. Why are you so nervous? It’s just me.”
Damn. It was obvious? The last thing he wanted to tell her was that he was insecure about his dating skills. Sure, he could sit on the couch and watch a movie like a boss. But could he pick the right restaurant? The right show? The right day of the week? Did he have what it took to keep her interested enough not to want to test out the maintenance guy like Samantha did?
Fuck. Samantha. Was he really still reeling from that? Had she broken him that badly? You spend two years with a woman and buy a ring, only to find out that you weren’t quite doing it for her all along…kind of makes you second guess yourself and every move you make afterward. All of his past relationships had left him for other men. If he couldn’t keep Juliet around, then it was fucking hopeless.
So he smiled at Juliet, a crooked smile, and he squeezed her hand. “I just want you to have fun tonight.”
Her smile widened. “Really? That’s it? I always have fun with you. Even if you take me to some dive that gives me explosive diarrhea, I’ll still have fun. I mean, you know, until the diarrhea kicks in and then I’ll expect you to sit outside the bathroom door and amuse me while I’m dying because if I’m going down, you’re going down with me. But, yeah, it’ll still be fun.”
And with that, he threw his head back and howled in laughter. Instantly his insecurities melted away and he finally felt completely relaxed. As he shifted the truck into gear, he side-glanced at her. “That sounds like it would be a really shitty date.”
It was Juliet’s turn to crack up as he pulled the truck onto the street. He grinned at the wet pavement as the city lights reflected off of it. Beauty, style, and grace, and can fully appreciate a good poop joke. God, how did he ever manage to find a woman so perfect?
ERIC PAID THE valet as Juliet took in their surroundings.
Problem was, there wasn’t much to take in. Except for Eric in his black on black suit and the way his blonde hair and blue eyes popped in contrast. She was really loving his new cut and she’d been craving his lips since the moment she opened the door. Dashing just didn’t seem like a suitable word for him tonight, though it was the first one that came to mind. Debonair? Devastatingly handsome? So sexy she could cry? Every time she looked at him, she felt exhilarated, like danger and excitement all at the same time and it scared her to death. But she wanted more. She couldn’t get enough.
But aside from the beauty that was Eric, their current surroundings were drab, to say the least. Nothing more than boring brick with no real architecture to speak of. Behind them were a pair of glass doors with no decals and, for a moment, she wondered if anyone would hear her scream—or if the valet was even a valet.
Eric grinned under the lone street lamp and offered her his elbow. “Shall we?”
“Do we want to?” She asked nervously.
He chuckled. “Yes. We want to. Come on, you’ll love it, I promise.”
Reluctantly, she allowed him to lead her through the nameless glass doors. She couldn’t help herself. The truth was, she only wanted to be anywhere he was and if he wanted to lead her into the fiery pits of hell, she would hold his hand with a smile on her face.
As they stopped at the top of an inconspicuous staircase, she thought that last part might actually become a reality—had it not been for the “Parler Facile” sign, spelled out in curly calligraphy above the entryway.
Without a word, she walked with him down the stone staircase and stopped at a small, daringly quaint, arched doorway made entirely of old brick. As Eric opened the door, he let her walk in ahead of her. “Welcome to Parler Facile.”
“What does Parler Faci…?”
Juliet’s voice trailed off. The restaurant they had just entered was absolutely nothing like the building upstairs was. It was unlike any basement she had ever seen. The brick was absolutely all original and beautifully exposed, with no drywall or paint to hide its imperfections. Light bulbs were screwed into wrought iron railings that hung upside down from the ceiling and semi-circular booths were made of what she would bet good money was authentic, antique upholstery in the most gorgeous sage.
She felt like she had taken a step back in time and it took her breath away.
“Parler Facile is French for speakeasy,” Eric informed her.
Juliet gasped, awestruck.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “This restaurant was transformed from an old speakeasy. A real one. It had been a dusty, dormant mess up until several years ago. I can’t believe you’ve never been here.”
She couldn’t believe how perfect it was.
“Eric Reynolds, you miserable bastard!”
Uhm…suddenly the restaurant became much less romantic.
A portly man in a gray suit and black hair slicked back with grease, reminiscent of the mafia, approached the pair, arms outstretched. “You walk in her on your own? What’s the password?”
“Cannoli!” Eric announced with a surprising hint of a Brooklyn accent that Juliet had never heard before. “It never changes!”
The men exchanged handshakes and the man’s eyes grazed over Juliet. “And who is this?”
“Ah,” Eric grinned. “Rosano, this goddess is Juliet Carson. My…girlfriend. Juliet, this is Maury Rosano, he owns the place.”
“Bellissima,” Rosano greeted her, kissing one of her gloved hands. “Welcome.”
“We’re on a date, Rosano,” Eric reminded him with mock warning.
Rosano scoffed. “I sure hope so. I’m still trying to figure out how a classy dame like this ever agreed to go out with your pansy ass!”
“You and me, both,” Eric replied with a shy smile.
The blush rose to Juliet’s cheeks as she whispered her confusion to him. “I thought you said this place was French?”
“It is.”
“But—but he’s very Italian…”
“Mostly,” Rosano interjected. “My gram on my ma’s side was French. Taught me everything I know. Because of her, French food is my passion. And you won’t find better French cuisine unless you was sittin’ in a bistro in Paris.”
“Oh,” she replied sheepishly. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to offend.”
“None taken,” he waved her off. “Now, come, have a drink while I have the staff kick out one of the tables for you.”
“Actually, I have a reservation,” Eric replied graciously. “Back room…corner booth?”
Rosano’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, that’s you? So it’s one of those dates.”
“Very much so, yes.”
“Well, then. You made a good decision, coming here.” Then Rosano turned his attention back to Juliet. “Juliet. Any friend of Eric’s is a friend of mine. You got yourself a good one here, bellissima, cream of the crop. Never find another one better.”
“Yes,” Juliet agreed with a giggle. “Yes, I do.”
As Rosano led them through the small restaurant, he spoke over his shoulder. “I’ve known this guy since he was a spindly little college kid, working on his old man’s crew. Build my restaurant, they did. Little guy didn’t weigh much of nothing, but he installed every one of these fixtures with his bare hands like a pro. It’s no wonder he runs the place now.”
Juliet side-glanced at her blushing…boyfriend, and she squeezed his hand.
Boyfriend. The term was so foreign to her, it was hard to even imagine. Lord forbid the day she finally had to speak it.
“Here we are,” Rosano announced. “Is everything to your liking, Mr. Reynolds?”
Eric smirked. “It is, thank you.”
“Very well. Please, enjoy your evening.”
“We will, thank you. And it was very nice meeting you,” Juliet smiled.
Rosano smiled with a nod and then he was off.
Juliet looked at the table before them. Roses. Candles. Champagne. She’d never had any of that before, she had to admit. Not like this, anyway. “Oh, Eric,” she breathed. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to,” he smiled, motioning for her to slide into the booth against the wall. “You deserve it.”
She felt the blush rise in her cheeks as she smiled. Eric helped her remove her coat and she admired the deep red of the antique velvet upholstery, a deep contrast to the booths toward the front of the restaurant. The table was a table that could have easily sat four if you put two chairs on the other side, but Eric specifically chose a table where they would be forced to sit side-by-side and Juliet couldn’t have been happier. She didn’t know if it was the newness of the relationship or just Eric in general, but she felt the incessant need to be glued to his side as if he were a security blanket. She felt safe with him. And content.
As he slid into the booth next to her, she longed for him to wrap his arm around her and draw her close. She was growing increasingly intoxicated by the glow of the candlelight and the faint sound of violin music. However, it was suddenly her stomach that provided the bass line and she rubbed her hand across it in response. “I’m famished,” she remarked.
As Eric reached for the champagne bottle, a waiter suddenly appeared. “Good evening, I am Pierre. May I open the bottle for you?”
“Absolutely, I would appreciate that.”
Pierre made popping the cork look like child’s play. “May I also take your order?”
“No, thank you,” Eric replied as he reached for the bottle. “I’ll be sure to let you know when we’re ready.”
“Very well, sir. As you wish.” Pierre and his long apron took a quick bow and disappeared.
Juliet couldn’t fight her mischievous smile. “Is Pierre really a Pierre?”
“Probably. Rosano doesn’t skimp on his staff. The more authentic, the better. Makes sense. Nobody knows French food like the French. Champagne?”
“Please,” she replied, lifting her glass.
After he filled her glass and replaced the bottle in the ice bucket, he picked up his water goblet and raised it. “To us. And to many more corny, romantic dates like this one.”
“It’s not corny,” she argued playfully. “I love it.”
He grinned boyishly. “All right. Then to me, for being a genius.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
She never took her eyes off of him as she sipped on her drink. It was perfectly chilled and dry and the bubbles seemed to dance on her tongue. How did she get here, like this, with him? With this man, who was tender and generous, who was gorgeous beyond all reason, who was loved by everyone everywhere he went, who literally didn’t know any better than to treat people with kindness and respect? In Juliet’s world, men like him died away with her father, of whom so extremely little she could remember. What had she done to deserve Eric?
The only thing she could think of to say in the moment was, “You look so stuffy in that jacket.”
His eyes met hers in confusion. “I thought I was dashing?”
She grinned. “Devastatingly so. But we might be here awhile if the food is as good as you claim. Make yourself comfortable, I won’t mind.”
“Oh, I see what this is,” he said as he unbuttoned his jacket. “This is a ploy to get me to take off my clothes. It’s okay, get whatever little thrills you can get.”
“Oh, you caught me,” she sighed as she helped him out of his sleeves. “But you can’t deny that you feel better.”
“I do,” he agreed. And then he finally--finally—draped his arm across the booth behind her and she allowed herself to snuggle closer. “Oh, yeah. That’s definitely better.” Then he pulled the small bowl toward them that she’d been eying and reached for one of the golden-fried balls. They looked like donut holes. Juliet prayed for it. “I took the liberty of having an appetizer ready for us. These are gougeres,” he said as he handed it to her. “But be careful. I can eat my weight in these, they could be our demise. We have to be nice and share.”
Her eyes widened excitedly. “Ooh, gimme gimme gimme!”
Biting into the soft, flaky pastry was like biting into heaven. The flavor of cheese was subtle but savory on her tongue and her eyelids fluttered a little as she chewed it up. Before nearly savagely shoving the other half of it into her mouth, she remarked, “This is a cheese puff. I know cheese puffs.”
“Best one you ever put in your mouth, isn’t it?”
“Mmhmm,” she nodded as she reached for another.
Eric was right. She couldn’t stop. After roughly four more, she finally found herself in a position to slow down. Her hunger was satiated but she had to discipline her mouth. She wanted to save room for dinner.
“So. A speakeasy,” she said as she looked around. “It’s so perfect.”
“I’ve wanted to bring you here since the first time I set foot in your apartment,” he said as he refilled her champagne flute. “Between all the antiques and your CD collection…I immediately thought of this place. I’ve kept it in my back pocket ever since.”
“So, um…have you brought a lot of dates here?”
A half-smile crossed his lip as he reached for his water glass. “No. I mean, unless you count my mother. She’s the only other woman I’ve brought here.”
“So, um…not even your ex?”
He shook his head. “Not really her thing. You ready to order?”
Already? They’d only just polished off the cheese puffs. But she could tell that he was suddenly uncomfortable and the notion did something to her heart that she didn’t like.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have pried. I’m sure that’s a very sensitive subject for you—“
“It’s not…sensitive. It’s just…I care about you. All this—this is for you. I don’t—I don’t miss her or pine for her or whatever, I’d just really rather not talk about our past mistakes on this date.”
Oh, no. She’d upset him. She’d ruined the night, she’d ruined everything. The lump in her throat was hard to swallow and she sucked in a quiet breath to keep the tears away. Damn it, why did he make her so sensitive? She’d never felt so many damn emotions until he came along. It wasn’t fair. Why was she so stupid?
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to.” Her voice squeaked uncontrollably. Damn it! “I don’t want to order just yet, I just want to sit here and be with you. I appreciate the lengths you’ve gone to tonight, I really do. I love it, I love it all. Please don’t be upset.”
The heat rose in her face. Damn it, no! She was not going to cry. She wasn’t!
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice full of concern. He sat closer to her until their thighs were pressed together. As he swept her hair off of her shoulder, the backs of his fingers brushed against her cheek. “Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not upset. I’m happy that you’re having a nice time. Really.”
Clearing her throat, she tucked her hair behind her ear with embarrassment. “I’m not—I guess I’m not really good at this sort of thing. I feel like—like when we’re at your place or mine, we can completely let loose and be ourselves. Believe it or not, I don’t really know how to…date. I’ve never actually been on a date that I liked.”
He smiled gently as he searched her eyes and continued to brush his fingers through her hair behind her shoulder. “Well, don’t go getting curious. I’m trying to keep you.”
She grinned gratefully. “You’re doing a really good job.”
When his lips met hers, the most delicious of chills ran the length of her body. The kiss didn’t last near long enough and his words snapped her back to reality. “So I assume you’ve heard about the impromptu New Year’s Eve bash.”
She looked at him blankly.
“Beth and Travis?”
“Oh! Yes. Yes, I have.”
For the next few minutes they talked over drinks, their bodies still pressed into each other’s, still sharing the same body heat. Before she realized it, her torso was turned into him and her head lay on his arm, that was still draped behind her, as she listened to him talk. She could listen to him talk for hours. She loved the way he emphasized his words, talked with his hands, the facial expressions he used, and the way he could turn the dullest of stories into something absolutely fascinating. He would be a wonderful father someday. She betted that he would create the best bedtime stories.
If she could give birth to his children, that was.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Pierre’s voice seemingly came out of nowhere. “May I ask how we’re doing?”
Juliet lifted—no, peeled—herself off of Eric and suddenly felt a draft of welcome air. She didn’t realize that she needed it until it happened and decided that maybe they should save the canoodling for after the entrees. And, speaking of entrees, she’d only just noticed that she hadn’t once lain eyes on a menu.
“I think we’re ready to order,” Eric said.
“I haven’t looked at a menu,” Juliet objected.
Eric smirked. “No need. The lady will have the blanquette de veau and I’ll have the cassoulet, please.”
“May I recommend a wine, sir?”
“Absolutely,” Eric grinned.
“As it turns out, a red Bordeaux pairs perfectly with both of those exquisite dishes.”
“Then a red Bordeaux, it is. That’s perfect, Pierre, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Madam. I’ll get that order right in for you.”
As Pierre shuffled away, Juliet smiled after the tall, lanky waiter. Then she smiled playfully at Eric. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Not actively,” he shrugged. “But, I mean, if you were to happen to get a little light headed and, you know, helplessly throw yourself at me or something, I probably wouldn’t complain.”
She laughed and she shook her head as she placed her fingers listlessly around her champagne flute. “And speaking of our order, are you ever going to let me order for myself? I’m perfectly capable, you know. You’d be surprised.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “I don’t do it because I think you’re incapable. I do it because I already know what you’re going to order. I know what you like. Why waste your breath? Have I steered you wrong before?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Plus, I know what’s good here. I mean, it’s all good, but I know what their claim to fame is. I hope you like veal.”
“That’s what you ordered me? Veal?”
“I know that you seem to have some kind of penchant for soups, so I ordered you veal ragout.”
“A stew?”
“Right, yeah, it’s not exactly a soup. But it’s the best in the city, you won’t regret it.”
It was a good thing he was cute. And that he was right about not having steered her wrong, yet, in the culinary department. She wasn’t sure what she expected to eat in a French restaurant because, the truth was, she’d never been to one. But she sure hadn’t expected it to be stew.
“Well, what did you order for yourself?”
“In short? Duck and beans.”
She raised her eyebrows at him.
He smirked and gave a nod in defeat. “It’s a stew.”
Juliet burst out laughing. She didn’t know if it was the champagne that was doing it or if she was just genuinely amused at the fact that he had his truck valet parked for stew.
“Please let this be our place,” she said as her laughter subsided. “Let it just be ours, just—just our place.”
“I thought Hair Of The Dog was our place?”
“It is. It’ll always be special in our hearts. But this place? The place where we valet parked a pick-up, pigged out on cheese puffs and champagne, and ate stew in a basement? This is our place.”
He looked at her for a moment before he burst into a hearty chuckle. “It does sound funny when you really think about it, doesn’t it? And, hey, don’t forget about the fixtures hung by the scrawny kid of the owner of the mom and pop construction company that built it.”
She smiled, resting her chin on her hand. “See? It’s like you built it just for us.” She lifted her champagne flute. “To our place. Our restaurant. To…to…to the restaurant I still can’t pronounce.”
A fit of giggles overtook the pair and Juliet had to dab the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. She always had fun with Eric, it never mattered what they did.
When she calmed down, she realized that she suddenly wasn’t out of questions. “So tell me about how you speak French.”
“Speak French? Me?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, I can’t speak French.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You’ve been speaking it all night.”
“Au contraire, ma cherie,” he corrected. “All I did was order food. I can order food. I know all the cliché lines you hear in movies. I can read it. I just can’t speak it.”
“But that doesn’t—that’s—but your accent is so perfect!”
“Well, I understand the phonetics of the language. It’s easy on paper, I can read you every word of it. But I won’t know a damn thing I’m reading. I could be telling you all about my uncle, the walrus, who performed in a circus on Mars, and I’d never know it.”
Juliet snorted and remarked under her breath. “If you’re referring to your uncle Walter, I’d about believe that story.”
“It is what it is, it’s neither here nor there. But, yes. Growing up in New Orleans had its…advantages, if you want to call it that. I have a very French heritage, a heritage that my grandmother desperately tried to instill in me, but I just couldn’t pick it up. Just couldn’t make it happen. Can eat the hell out of a crepe, though, I’ll tell you that.”
Juliet smiled. “And your brothers?”
Eric rolled his eyes. “Travis is so damn fluent, it’s ridiculous.”
She blinked in surprise. “Does Beth know he speaks French?”
“Probably. I’m sure he uses it as some kinky sex game or something.”
“Well if it makes you feel any better, I don’t know a single word of French. I know very little French, actually. I mean, maybe just the basics, you know. French toast…French manicure…French kissing…”
He studied her face, his eyes stopping on her lips. “You know French kissing?” He murmured seductively.
“Mmhmm,” she nodded.
Leaning over, his nose brushed against hers and he whispered, “Prove it.”
God, that kiss. It was the deepest, most romantically seductive thing she had ever dared do in public. But she didn’t care. They were in the back corner of a vintage basement restaurant where the staff was very careful to give them their privacy and the fact that she had her arm draped around his neck over the dinner table was completely a non-issue. It was such a non-issue, as a matter of fact, that she would have had no problem spending the rest of the evening in that very spot, kissing him in that very way, dinner or no dinner.
Finally able to pull herself away, her face remained close to his as she blinked her heavy-lidded eyes. “Bet they don’t have that on the menu.”
“Better than any dessert selection they could ever come up with.”
Finding themselves lost in conversation once more, it felt like it took no time at all for their entrees to arrive. Eric, as always, had been exactly right in his ordering. The pair was silent for awhile as they ate, Juliet practically unable to stop. At one point he finally asked her how it was and she only managed to mumble an enthusiastic response with a nod and a mouthful of veal. As they satiated their appetites, their spoons began drifting into each other’s bowls and, before the meal was finished, there was no definition between his meal and hers. As they ate, Juliet realized that it happened this way more often than not and she decided that literally sharing her meals with Eric was one of her most favorite activities in the world.
For dessert, Eric had ordered them chocolate eclairs. She’d had eclairs before, that was nothing new, and she’d told him so, but he was quick to shush her. They were the best, most authentic eclairs in Manhattan, he’d told her, and she’d never had anything like them. And he was right. But not because of how delicious they were—they tasted like any other éclair she had eaten. No, it was the best she’d ever had because she ate it right out of his hand. Curled up into his side, with his arm wrapped around her shoulder, cuddling her close, they fed each other eclairs and it was the best dessert she had ever had in her life.
By the time they had finished, Juliet didn’t want to move. Partially because she was too full to move, but mostly because she was the happiest she had ever been, sitting in that booth, curled up with Eric. It was so secluded, so private, so romantic, she never wanted the evening to end.
And it didn’t have to. When he’d walked her to her door at the end of the night, she could have asked him to stay. In fact, she almost did. But when he kissed her so tenderly and brushed his hands over her arms and whispered of how he’d had the best time with her tonight, she couldn’t bear to do it. Because this was how a date was supposed to end. A real, typical first date. Not with sex. But with a sweet, soft, romantic goodnight kiss and a promise to call. And that was exactly what he had given her.
Who cared that the phone call came ten minutes later when he was settled in his apartment and that they talked again for the next hour? This was Eric and Juliet, after all, best friends and lovers, hopelessly unable to stay away from one another.
AS BETH AND Juliet walked into the bistro, Beth smiled. “Guess what I did last night?”
“Pretty sure it would be easier to guess what you’re not doing lately.”
Beth tried to scowl but it spread into a smile. “Sven and Marco invited me and Travis to dinner and I got to play with the new baby!”
“Aww,” Juliet cooed. “Not fair.” Then she pouted. “I can’t believe you’re doubling with other couples.”
Beth arched an eyebrow. “Jules. We’re doubling this morning.”
Juliet looked at her blankly. “Does this count?”
Beth rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Of course it counted. This was a coffee date. An early morning coffee date. There might even be scones involved, who knew? What she did know was that the guys were due to arrive any minute.
“What did you do last night?” Beth asked as the ladies sat on the stools of the small round table.
Quickly, a waitress arrived at the table. “Um…four waters,” Beth ordered. “And…a gingerbread latte and a black coffee. Jules?”
Juliet smiled. “Ooh, that sounds good. Same, please.” As the waitress walked away, Juliet smirked at Beth. “Black coffee for Travis?”
“Black coffee for Eric?”
The two friends laughed, amused.
“This twin thing is wild,” Juliet said.
“Last night!” Beth pressed.
“Oh!” Then Juliet smiled coyly. “Eric took me to a French speakeasy last night.”
“Oh. Is that…a new club…?”
“No. It’s an underground French restaurant that used to be an old speakeasy. Restored by Eric’s bare hands.”
“Oh!” Beth taunted her. “Listen to you bragging!”
“Well, I mean, some of it was with his bare hands. Reynolds did the restoration back when the guys were teenagers and Eric was on the crew. It’s owned by this Italian guy, but it’s the best French food you’ll ever put in your mouth. Anyway, it was wonderful. He met me at the door with daisies, had roses waiting for me at our table, ordered our food in the sexiest, perfect French accent, we fed each other eclairs…”
“Wow. You sound like a Hallmark movie.”
“But it was real life,” Juliet repeated dreamily. “Fairy tales and perfect dates do exist.”
“I’ll say,” Beth breathed. “The guys are here.”
Both women stopped talking immediately and turned their attention to the pair of Greek gods that came their way. Watching the Reynolds twins walk next to each other was nothing short of magical. It was something about the way their confident strides were perfectly in sync, about the way they were always laughing or smiling about something, and about the way their blue eyes sparkled like diamonds from afar. They turned heads and stole breath everywhere they went, especially from their own women.
“Where have they been all our lives?” Juliet mused quietly.
“How in the hell the New York social scene hasn’t snatched them up, I have no idea. Maybe it’s a good thing we bagged them before any other whores sunk their claws into them.”
“I swore Eric to celibacy,” Juliet deadpanned. “I’m beginning to regret it.”
“You what?” Beth spat.
But it was too late to continue the conversation. The brothers had arrived at the table. At the same time as the coffee, served by the waitress with the wandering eye. Funny, Beth hadn’t noticed that earlier. Maybe the guys had food in their teeth. Or maybe Travis was making a show of unloading her tray for her and putting in an order of English muffins.
He made up for it with the kiss he planted on Beth’s lips.
Moments later, the four of them sat around the small bistro table, surrounding their coffees. Beth directed a smile in Juliet’s direction. Eric had scooted his stool closer to her and the smile on Juliet’s face gave off enough wattage to power Manhattan. She looked absolutely radiant as she held her mug between her hands and hung on to Eric’s every word. Beth’s heart warmed over. She’d never seen Juliet so happy.
“So check it out,” Travis said, holding his phone over the table so that Beth could see it. “While you guys are doing your girly little spa thing, Eric and I will be hitting the slopes.”
Beth looked at Travis in horror. “Excuse me, you’re what?”
Travis beamed proudly as if he’d just revealed the greatest news in the world. “Yeah. Thought it would be a good time to get a little boarding in. Haven’t been in forever.” Then he shrugged a shoulder and lowered his voice. “And then, you know, end of the day by the fire…with my favorite little snow bunny…”
“No,” she spat incredulously.
He gaped at her, taken aback. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no. No means no. This is girls’ weekend. How in the hell are we supposed to talk about you if you’re there?”
“Wait, what?”
That was Juliet. She and Eric had come out of their little world and back into the present just in time.
“Travis and Eric are coming to the resort,” Beth shot out.
To her horror, a pleased smile crossed Juliet’s face and she asked Eric, “Aww, you are?”
Beth rolled her eyes. Juliet was going to be no help. Great.
“Yeah,” Eric said. Then he shot a look across the table at his brother. “But we promise to stay out of your way. You’re there to relax, we’re there for extreme sports. We may never even cross paths.”
“Well don’t say that,” Juliet pouted, reaching for his hand. “I love when you cross my path.”
Eric gave her a wry smile and Beth shook her head. “’Extreme’ sports? Please. Don’t knock any toddlers over on the bunny slope.”
Travis clasped his hand over his heart and drew back, aghast. “Excuse me? Bunny slope? I’m insulted! Have you met me?”
Beth fought her smirk. Staying mad at Travis was always impossible. “I’m saying that all I’d heard are stories. I’ve seen no proof. No photos, no video…”
“I’d invite you to come cheer for me, but I wouldn’t want you to risk breaking a nail.”
“Oh dear God,” Juliet whispered.
Now it was Beth’s turn to be insulted. “Oh, really? I’ll have you know that my family has been going on annual ski trips since I was five! You hear that? Five. That’s how long I’ve been snowboarding. Where did you learn? On mud slopes in the bayou?”
Travis dramatically feigned shock. “Well, I never--!”
“I’ll make sure your pompoms are in your suitcase,” she sneered.
“Owned,” Eric snickered over his coffee.
“Hey, shut up!” Travis shot at him. Then he leaned in closer to Beth. “Baby, you never told me you could snowboard. Do you know how sexy that is?”
And, just like that, Beth was putty and Travis was forgiven.
After that, talk turned to tomorrow night’s New Year’s Eve party. Much to Beth’s surprise, it was revealed that Travis was going with Eric to get fitted for a tux because he didn’t own one. “The one he wore to the Humane Society benefit was mine and it was fucking train wreck,” Travis laughed.
Beth was shocked. “You’re wearing tuxes? I wasn’t expecting you to go all out—“
Travis shrugged. “I saw your dress. If you’re gonna dress up, I’ll dress up.”
Just when she thought she couldn’t fall any deeper in love…
The slap against the table brought her back to the present.
All eyes fell on the copy of the local tabloid paper that lay in the middle. Beth’s head whipped around to see who had dropped it and Juliet whispered, “Oh my god.”
On the cover was a picture of Eric and Juliet. It was a charming picture, actually, of the two of them canoodling in the corner of a restaurant, with eyes and smiles only for each other. Except that both the publication and the headline cheapened it. “Juliet Carson’s New Main Squeeze. Get the scoop inside!”
Everybody looked at each other. Nobody seemed to want to touch it. Finally, Travis let out a breath and snatched it from the middle of the table. “Let’s just get it over with,” he grumbled.
Opening the paper and settling it down in front of them, Beth looked on with him. Skimming it quickly, she glanced up at Juliet. “They’ve been…worse…”
“The recently elusive Juliet Carson has finally stepped out with her new flavor of the week and this one seems serious! Spotted last night at the ultra-chic Parler Facile, an underground French restaurant, Carson and her new mystery man were reportedly placed in the most secluded part of the restaurant and clung to each other during their entire dinner. An eyewitness reveals that the pair laughed and kissed and fed each other pastries as if they were newlyweds. Naturally we wouldn’t believe such a story about Juliet Carson, but they say that pictures are worth a thousand words!
“So who is this mystery man that has seemingly swept one of New York’s most eligible socialites off of her feet? A little digging reveals him to be Eric Reynolds, twenty-seven-year-old CEO of Reynolds Construction, a well-known local construction firm. It appears that Carson has tired of the Wall Street scene and has decided to sharpen her cougar claws on this hot hunk of blue collar meat. We would ask where New York has been hiding this hottie all this time, but if there’s a hottie to be found, Juliet Carson will certainly dig him up!
“While we would love for this to finally be the one to tame the lady, we all know the inevitable. Poor Eric. But never fear, sweetie. When your week is over, we already have tons of phone numbers pouring in from ladies who are just chomping at the bit to help you get over the heartbreak.”
After Travis completed the narrative, he cursed under his breath and proceeded to literally tear the paper to shreds. “This is absolute bullshit,” he spat. “Blue collar. Cougar claws? Who the fuck are these people anyway?”
Juliet was white as a sheet, her eyes staring a hole into the middle of the table where the paper once was. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hey,” Eric said gently, reaching over and taking her by the hand. “Nobody cares about that shit. Okay? We know the truth. You, me…Beth and Travis. We all know the truth. And that’s all that matters. Right?”
Finally, she turned her head and looked at Eric. “They think you’re a joke,” she replied with quiet fear. “You’re a joke because you’re with me. Because…because I’m not to be taken seriously, don’t you know that?”
“Babe…”
“I don’t want that for you, I didn’t mean for—that’s not—you don’t deserve that.”
“Jules. It’s okay,” he pressed. “I’m not worried about it. I’m not upset, I’m not ashamed, I’m not embarrassed. I’m proud of you. I want you. And that’s nobody’s business but mine. Okay?”
“I’ve done this to myself,” she said. “I know I did. And I’m—I’m sorry that you’re having to—to walk into this relationship and deal with it now—“
“I don’t care,” Eric said firmly. “I seriously just don’t care. Let them talk. Let them say what they want to say. We’re happy…aren’t we?”
“Of course,” she whispered.
“All right, then,” he replied, straightening his spine. “Looks like this little vacation is going to be just what the doctor ordered for all of us.”
Talk immediately went back to the trip that was planned for the following weekend, but Juliet remained quiet. Beth was concerned. She was concerned because Juliet’s silence indicated what Beth ultimately feared: Juliet was having second thoughts about her relationship with Eric and she was going to want to protect him and in her mind…that might result in breaking his heart. Again.
‘Please,’ Beth prayed. ‘Please not again. Please let her be happy for once in her life. Why does that seem to be too much to ask?’