Chapter 6
Damien is deliberately closemouthed, but as we take the elevator up to Le Caquelon, the Santa Monica–based fondue restaurant, I know that I’m right, just as I’d been right about the cupcakes. I’d had to wait for the proper moment, but I’d been right.
Hopefully the proper moment for Le Caquelon isn’t tomorrow night.
Still, even if it is, we’ll have had a lovely dinner tonight, not to mention visiting another stop on our own personal memory lane.
That’s what Damien is doing, of course. Each clue leads to something or someplace that has meaning for us. The bakery where we got our wedding cake. This restaurant, where he took me after Blaine finished painting the portrait of me that hangs on the third floor and where we had our pre-wedding party.
I wonder what the next clue will be, and as I think back over the richness of our time together, I can’t help but acknowledge that there is a wealth of possibilities.
“Smiling, Mrs. Stark?”
“I like your game,” I admit.
He doesn’t have time to answer before the elevator doors open, but I see his smile of pleasure as he takes my arm and leads me to the stunning aquarium that serves as a ma?tre d’ station.
The hostess, Monica, beams at us, her multicolored hair complementing the wild colors that fill this space. “Mr. and Mrs. Stark, it’s so wonderful to see you again. I have your booth ready, so if you’ll just follow me.”
“Our booth?” It occurs to me that Damien assumed I would make it this far tonight and has planned ahead. He, however, says nothing.
The booth that Monica leads us to is, in fact, our booth. It’s the very one that Damien brought me to the night that Blaine finished my portrait. And I happen to know that it is very well soundproofed.
These private dining areas are set up like tiny rooms. Each is a booth, with walls at the diners’ backs and a door at one end of the table and a window overlooking the ocean at the other. Access is controlled by a red light/green light system, and when the red light is engaged, privacy is ensured.
The area is not entirely a booth, though. If you slide all the way through, there is a small space between the table and the window that is sufficient for standing. I look at it now, remembering the way it felt to be pressed up against that glass with Damien’s hands upon me.
I shiver slightly, and when Damien’s hand presses lightly against the small of my back, I am certain that he knows exactly what I am thinking.
I tilt my head up to look at him. “Even if I’m wrong and there’s no clue here, it’s worth it just to be back.”
His smile is soft with silent agreement, but I can’t tell from his expression if this really is the right answer to the clue, and I resign myself to taking it in stride and simply going with the flow of the game. If this is where the next clue is hidden, sooner or later that will be obvious.
And if it’s not?
Well, I’ll just have to keep trying.
I slide into the booth, and Damien settles beside me. Monica tells us that the owner, Damien’s childhood friend Alaine Beauchene, isn’t on the premises tonight, but that he has taken the liberty of ordering for us, if that’s okay.
It is, of course, and when our waiter returns with the wine Alaine selected, I take a sip and sigh with pleasure.
The tabletop is also a cook surface, and soon enough it is topped with a pretty copper fondue bowl filled with melted cheese, the delicious scent of which fills the room and makes me realize just how hungry I am.
Damien spears a cube of bread and dips it in the cheese, then blows on it before feeding it to me.
I am at his side, our legs touching, because I do not think that it is possible for me to be so close to Damien and not touch him. I shift a bit though, so that I am facing him more directly, and we touch and talk and eat, with Damien feeding both himself and me.
As we finish the cheese and move on to cubes of steak and pork in a fragrant port sauce, he tells me about the progress on Stark Plaza, a Century City office and retail complex that Stark Real Estate Development is working on. I fill him in on my progress with several apps I have in development, and with the details about a tech conference I’m hoping to attend in the summer.
The talk of trips reminds him that he may need to travel to New York soon to meet with the new production manager at one of his subsidiaries, and he promises that if I take the time to go with him, he’ll take me to at least one Broadway play.
I let him know in no uncertain terms that I will travel anywhere with him, play or no, and then give him the general rundown on my to-do list, most of which can be done on the road with a laptop.
It’s comfortable. It’s normal.
Hell, it’s even married—and I love this cozy familiarity and affection.