DEFENSE

by Glenna Sinclair

  “That won’t be necessary,” Dan said.

  “Won’t be necessary?” the concierge repeated drily. “This is one of the most exclusive restaurants in the entire city. Reservations are a requirement. We’re booked for weeks.”

  “I said it won’t be necessary,” Dan reiterated, putting his hand down on top of the book the concierge was writing in.

  It was unbearably rude, and I flushed with embarrassment, cutting my eyes to the side to see if anyone was witnessing this. In the service industry, this was a foul move to pull, to assume that you were more important than anyone else. I wanted to be anywhere but here.

  “Dan Shepard, party of two,” he said coolly, and withdrew his hand. He’d left a hundred-dollar bill on the book.

  “Mr. Shepard,” the concierge said, looking up, his bushy eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “I’m so sorry. Of course. Everything is fine. We…we’ve been so busy tonight. Table for two. Right away.”

  The concierge seated us himself and snapped his fingers. Instantly, a waiter was at his side, offering us menus.

  Dan immediately started rattling off French—I thought—and dates I didn’t quite follow until I realized he was ordering bottles—whole bottles—of wine.

  “Right away, sir, Mr. Shepard,” the waiter said. I could tell the waiter was nervous, rattled by the relative importance of the man sitting next to me. He wasn’t that important. He just had money. I pitied the poor people who worked here, intimidated by what Dan represented.

  “Now, what looks good to you?” Dan asked, looking at the menu. “We’ll ask what the chef’s special is, of course, and I can make several recommendations for you.”

  I was silent until he looked up from perusing the menu.

  “What?” he asked, and I realized he was completely clueless about his missteps.

  “You can’t just come in here without a reservation; it’s rude,” I informed him. “This is a busy, popular place, from the looks of it, and you’ve ruined somebody’s night by taking their table. You have to play by the same rules as everyone else.”

  “It all worked out,” Dan said innocently. “We got a table, the concierge got a little richer, and I’ll tip the waiter handsomely. I always do.”

  “You can’t always just throw money at something to excuse your behavior,” I protested.

  “But what else am I going to use it for?” he asked, and I had to laugh at his ignorance.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you,” Dan said, capturing my hand and kissing it. “We grew up with money, my brother and I, and I guess I never really learned my manners. I was the baby of the family—and spoiled.”

  “I’ll teach you manners for free,” I offered, smiling, “if you can teach me how to behave in your world.”

  “What do you mean, ‘in my world’?” he asked, cocking his head.

  “I don’t know a thing about wine, for one,” I said. “I only like vodka because it gets me drunk so I don’t have to think about…things. I haven’t had leisure time in a long time, so I don’t know what to fill my weekends with. Teach me…how to be normal, how to act normal and do things that normal people do…and I’ll teach you your manners.”

  “Looks like we both have difficult tasks ahead,” Dan said. “Everyone tells me I’m selfish and oblivious—well, that was just my last girlfriend. And you don’t know what you like to do. I enjoy a challenge, but why do you want to be normal? You’re extraordinarily beautiful. Don’t you realize that? If the right doors opened for you, Beauty, you’d be unstoppable.”

  “You mean the doors with money behind them?” I asked, raising my eyebrows to distract from the way Dan had just made me blush. “I hear money makes people rude.”

  “At least I know what we’re going to do on our next dozen dates or so,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Everything.”

  The waiter returned with a bottle of wine, and he and Dan engaged in what seemed to be some kind of complicated ritual of sniffing and swirling and sipping and nodding. My wine glass was soon filled modestly, and the waiter settled the bottle into a tableside bucket of ice.

  “Are you ready to order?” he asked, having regained some of his composure around Dan.

  “Ladies first,” Dan said, holding his hand out to me and smiling.

  Oh, no. Put on the spot. I hadn’t so much as cracked the menu, and when I did, my eyes bugged out at the offerings. Most of the items were in a language I didn’t understand, and the prices were hard to fathom. I picked the first thing I recognized—crab de something or other—and cringed at the price.

  “And for you, sir?”

  “The surf and turf,” Dan said, folding his menu shut. “The filet needs to be rare—very rare. Bleeding. Practically still alive.”

  “Very good, sir,” the waiter said.

  “I thought we were going to get seafood,” I said, eyeing Dan with amusement. “You marketed this restaurant to me as the best seafood in Seattle.”

  “And it is,” he said, handing the waiter our menus. “But its hidden secret is that it has the best steak in Seattle, too. I’m getting the best of both worlds. It’s your own fault you didn’t get the surf and turf.”

  I didn’t order the surf and turf because it was one of those scary options that didn’t have a price beside it. What prices I could see overwhelmed me to begin with. I was a modern woman, but I sincerely hoped Dan’s dinner invitation meant that he was paying, too. I could see our tab traveling upward toward the cost of my monthly rent, especially with the litany of bottles he’d asked for. I’d never heard of anyone buying an entire bottle of wine at a restaurant…let alone three. I was more than sure I’d be able to polish them off, but I would’ve never dreamed I could afford them, not without Roland’s credit card at my disposal. I somehow doubted that he would approve of me snapping up expensive bottles of wines with his funds though.

  “Well, you’ll just have to give me a taste of your filet when it comes,” I suggested, taking a small sip of the wine he’d ordered for me. It was good—crisp and airy with just a hint of carbonation. That part I didn’t like, but I could ignore it.

  “What makes you think I would want to share it?” Dan asked, looking at me from beneath his eyelashes, as he took a sip from his own glass, playful and buoyant. He was in a good mood. Had the fact I had agreed to go on this date with him really pleased him so much?

  “You billed this evening as showing me everything good about Seattle before your brother ruined it for me,” I reminded him. “You’re going to hurt my feelings if you don’t share your steak with me. You don’t want to do that, do you?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said, faking his sincerity. “I want to be your guide to how amazing this city is. And now that I get to be your guide on how amazing life can be, I’m even more thrilled. We’re going to do things you’ve never dreamed about.”

  It was a little patronizing, the way he was talking about it, as if I were some sort of pet project, but I was the one who’d asked him to help make me normal—for better or for worse. However, I was the one who’d been living in a car up until this point. I was definitely more than a little deprived of the finer things in life. So, I needed to hold up my end of the bargain, too.

  “Excuse me,” I said, raising one finger. “Our manners lessons begin with the fact that just because I don’t really know what to do with my free time doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to dream. That’s a bad assumption—a condescension.”

  “Really?” Dan wrinkled his nose, then washed the look away with some wine.

  “Yes, really,” I said. “I’m the manners expert. You have to trust what I say.”

  “Fine, fine,” he said, almost impatiently. “Sorry for condescending. I didn’t mean to, but you don’t understand all the amazing things we can do…that I can show you.”

  “I probably don’t understand,” I acknowledged. “And I’m excited to discover new things with you.”

  “So there are more dates in our
future?” he asked, his face boyish in spite of the beard, his eyes twinkling.

  I heaved a sigh. “Yes. More dates in our future.”

  “You’re making me a happy man, Beauty,” Dan announced, raising his glass to me. “Cheers to a wonderful future.”

  “Cheers,” I said, a little uncertainly. I’d never counted on a wonderful future, not after what had happened to the people I’d loved.

  But it was something of a relief to not think about them—or about what I’d done—for this entire evening…up until this point. Dan was working his magic of distraction. I couldn’t ask for much more than that.

  “Get ready to enjoy your first normal girl experience,” he said, grinning at me so infectiously that I couldn’t help but smile back. “Here comes our food.”

  “Already?” I was puzzled. An order like ours should’ve taken longer. I understood, more or less, the mechanics of what went into those dishes from my time working in restaurants. But there was our waiter, looking pleased with himself, bustling over with an enormous platter of food.

  “I had them rush the order especially for you and your lady friend, Mr. Shepard,” the waiter confided.

  I glanced around. We were getting ugly looks from people who had been seated for much longer than we were. I raised my eyebrows in what I hoped was an expression that would convey to Dan that this was unacceptable behavior.

  He frowned at me before clearing his throat. “That was really not necessary,” he said, “but no use letting this great food go to waste. Beauty?”

  I figured he had a point. It wasn’t like we could donate our specially-made dishes to the irritable people around us.

  The crab I’d ordered was steamed to perfection, artfully arranged amid seasonal vegetables and rice pilaf. I was about to happily get to cracking with the various mallets and tools the waiter revealed within a folded napkin, but he began doing that for me instead.

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Dan made a sound at me from across the table.

  “Our normal girl lesson begins with letting other people do the dirty work for you,” he said, striving for a serious face before letting a smile spoil it.

  “But the dirty work is fun, sometimes,” I said, watching the waiter bash the legs with the mallet and extract the succulent meat from within. It’d been a while since I’d had crab, but I remembered the strangely satisfying sensation of working for the sweet flesh inside the shell.

  “But not something you have to do for yourself,” Dan said. “Now, here…try this steak. This steak will make everything fall into place. It will give you good dreams for the rest of your life. This is the steak that you will compare to all other steaks from now on. This steak is pure poetry pulled from a living thing for your pleasure. Taste it. You have to.”

  “I can’t not, after that speech,” I said, dazzled about how someone could be so passionate about a hunk of meat. It looked good—I didn’t want to sell it short—but it was hard to believe that anyone could wax poetic about it.

  That all changed once the bite practically melted in my mouth. It was so tender that I virtually didn’t have to chew it, so juicy that I felt my mouth was filled with more liquid than meat. It had only been lightly seasoned so that the high quality of the filet could take center stage, shining through the dusting of salt and pepper. It was a lesson in perfection, and part of me regretted ordering the crab, even as the waiter bowed to me, presenting me with the meat he’d foraged out of the shells.

  “Best steak you ever had?” Dan asked, grinning at me, knowing damn well the answer to that question.

  “Of course it was,” I said after I’d swallowed my bite, somewhat regretfully.

  I thought my meal would pale in comparison, but the crab made me soon forget about the steak I’d savored. The sweet meat was perfection dipped in garlicky butter, especially paired with the veggies and rice. I enjoyed each bite, washing it down with wine from the new bottle the waiter brought out, Dan again engaging in the sniffing and slurping ritual.

  “What is that?” I asked, looking at him nod at the waiter to fill our glasses.

  “What is what?”

  “You sniffed the cork for both of our bottles,” I said. “Then the waiter only poured you a splash, and you sniffed it and sloshed it around before taking a tiny sip. Then, and only then, did we get our glasses filled.”

  “I’m checking the quality of the wine,” he explained. “If it’s no good, I send it back.”

  “But it’s already opened,” I said, aghast. “What do they do then?”

  “That’s their problem,” he said, shrugging. “I’m paying enough money that the wine had better be amazing.”

  “And how can you tell if it’s not?” I asked. I’d downed screw-cap wine I’d bought from a gas station. This wine tasted better, but they were both a means to achieve the same end to me.

  “That’s something we can do on one of our dates,” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “We’ll go to a vineyard. Do a wine tasting. Go to a class. It’s really quite interesting, and you should know how to order wine, and how to know what you like.”

  “Is that something people here do?” I asked. “Just go around, taking classes on how to drink wine? It’s not that hard.”

  He laughed. “It’s more nuanced than that. You’ll see.”

  I ate until I was stuffed and even refused a taste of the lobster that came with Dan’s immaculate filet mignon. However, he insisted on dessert.

  “Our last bottle of wine is a dessert wine, so we need to pair it with something sweet,” he explained.

  “Can’t the wine just be our dessert?” I complained, wishing I’d had the foresight to wear control-top pantyhose or something to hold in my protruding stomach. There was so much crab and wine in there. It was almost too rich.

  “Absolutely not,” Dan said, shaking his head firmly. “We’ll be wanting the chocolate cheesecake. Chocolate is excellent with red wine. There’s wine lesson number two for you.”

  “You’ve been acting like a perfect gentleman for quite a while,” I said, feeling a little buzzed as the waiter brought out a smaller bottle of wine than the previous two—thankfully. “I’m starting to fear that our lessons exchange is going to be a little one sided.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Dan said. “I’m sure I’ll mess it up before too much longer.”

  I laughed, but then my eyes widened at the chocolate cheesecake. It looked positively decadent, sinful, forbidden, amazing. I was sure I could shove some things around in my stomach to make room for it. There had to be a little space left.

  “We probably could’ve shared one piece between the two of us,” I said, worried.

  “Just taste it,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be happy we’re not sharing. It’s too good to share. Now. Take a bite of the cheesecake, and then a sip of the wine. Enjoy how the flavors interact with one another.”

  Christ. I was never eating another prepackaged brownie for as long as I lived, nor was I going to assume that gas station wine was as good as any other. My world had changed just through good food. It was astounding.

  I surprised myself by polishing off my piece of cheesecake without any help whatsoever from Dan, and we savored the sweet wine until it was gone.

  “I don’t know how anything can top this,” I said, resting my elbows on the table and staring at Dan, even though I knew it was gauche. I was beyond sated. I was very nearly exhausted by the intense flavors I’d experienced tonight. “You’re the one who’s going to have his work cut out for him. What can ever be as good as this?”

  “You’d be surprised,” he said, grinning. “Now. What’s next, Beauty? Tell me. I’ll take you anywhere. We can do anything—whatever you want.”

  My head was swimming a little bit from all the strong wine. I couldn’t even fathom putting anything else in my stomach. Even the thought of walking back to the car was daunting.

  “I think…I think I want to go home,” I admitted.

  Dan’s face darken
ed a little. “Are you not having a good time with me?”

  “That’s not it,” I said quickly. “I’m having a really good time with you. It’s just…this dinner was so much. I think this dinner could cover my rent for the month. I think…I’m honestly a little overwhelmed.”

  “Overwhelmed?” He was confused now, that strange darkness having passed.

  Maybe it was the wine that loosened my tongue, but maybe it just needed to be said.

  “I don’t really understand why you’re doing this for me,” I said, all the words coming out in a rush, “why you’re spending this kind of money on me, why you want to continue to spend money on me, why you want to show me everything to do in Seattle. I’m…I’m nothing. I’m a nobody. You could have…and probably have had…anyone you want. I’m clearly not on your level. Is it…I don’t know. Do I amuse you?”

  “Of course you amuse me,” Dan said, confused.

  “Okay, rude,” I said, covering my face in embarrassment.

  “How is that…okay, sorry,” he said. “I’m trying to say you make me laugh, Beauty. Not that I think you’re pathetic. You’re something new to me. Something I’m puzzled by. You’re fresh. You’re real. Yes, I’ve been with some pretty exquisite specimens…”

  “Rude,” I pointed out, peeking out at him from between my fingers. “Women are people. Not specimens.”

  “Sorry,” he said, the syllables clipped. “Have you looked in the mirror, Beauty? Does your name mean nothing to you? You’re incredible. You’re gorgeous. You are a catch; I don’t care who he is. You are a catch.”

  “But that’s only on the outside,” I said, letting my hands fall to the table. “You have no idea what I am on the inside.”

  “That’s what I’m angling to find out,” he said. “I want to know who you are on the inside. You flummox me and excite me because of it. Is that wrong? Is it wrong for me to be attracted to you because you’re so different from anyone else I’ve ever been with?”

  I flushed and gaped. Dan was obviously attracted to me; he’d just dropped hundreds of dollars on a single meal to be with me. Yet, to hear him admit it and to hear him say it out loud was something else entirely.