by Carly Marie
“Dammit. How do people do this every single day?” I asked the bathroom mirror as I tied the tie for the third time. I was more nervous than I’d been on my prom night, and I’d been the first guy in Fairview to take another guy to prom.
One final glance in the mirror and I was done. I hurried out of the room, grabbing a pair of my nicest boots along the way. I was reaching for the keys to my truck when the doorbell rang. We rarely got solicitors this far out, but leave it to an evening that I needed to be somewhere. “I swear to all that is holy, if you’re selling something, I’m not buying. It’s too early to ask me who I’m voting—”
I swung the door open and came face-to-face with Mark, standing there in a long wool coat that hung open and a suit I swore was what wet dreams were made of. His pale pink shirt brought out the light flecks of green in his eyes. “—for,” I finished breathlessly.
He chuckled but I could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Hello to you too.”
My keys dangled from my finger, and I stood awkwardly. “I-I thought I was meeting you at your place.”
Mark flushed an adorable shade of pink. “I thought I’d pick you up instead. I had to drive by here to get there anyway?”
It was a lame excuse because his house was northeast of here, on the way to Nashville. A full five minutes closer than my house. I decided not to point out his lie. He was shifting from foot to foot and seemed nervous enough.
His pupils dilated as he took in my outfit, and I saw his nose flare. “You… wow, you look… wow.”
It was my turn to flush. It had been longer than I could remember since someone had looked at me like they wanted to eat me for dessert. It made me feel good that my appearance managed to fluster the most impeccably dressed man I’d ever met. “You look good too.” That was an understatement. I threw caution to the wind and reached down to adjust myself in my pants. If Mark was checking me out, I could at least let him know what he was doing to my body.
His eyes widened at the gesture, and if the pulse point on his neck, barely visible over his slightly opened collar, was anything to go by, his heart was racing. “Ready?” he asked, his voice an octave lower than normal.
I nodded. “Yeah. Let me grab my coat and wallet.” It took me thirty extra seconds because I felt like I needed to find my dressier coat to look like I was worthy of sharing a table with the man at my front door.
“How’d you get reservations at Marcel’s? I’ve heard it’s almost impossible,” I finally asked halfway to the restaurant. The question had been eating at me, and I had to know.
Mark gave me a lopsided smile. “Marcel is a childhood friend. We’ve stayed in touch over the years.”
My jaw dropped. “What?”
Mark shrugged. “It isn’t like I go around announcing it. But I called him and asked if there was a table available for tonight. He’s a good guy. He was shocked I had someone I wanted to bring.”
“Did you tell him who you’re bringing?” Because I was a curious fuck.
Even in the dim light of the car, I watched as Mark’s face turned red. “Marcel has been my best friend since kindergarten. He was there when my relationship with my first boyfriend went south. He knows I’m bisexual, so yes, I told him I was bringing you. And he was fine with it. Actually, he was excited for me.” I wanted to know more about this ex he had; there was a story there that he wasn’t telling me. But I was honored that Mark had told Marcel about me.
“Thank you for going through the effort to bring me here. I’ve heard amazing things about it, but I’ve never even thought about coming here.”
Mark smiled. “I’m glad to be the one who gets to introduce you to it then.”
I reached over and put my hand on Mark’s. Even though his hand was encased in the softest leather driving gloves I’d ever felt, I still felt warmth radiating from him. I’d hesitated for a moment, wondering if the gesture would be awkward, feel forced, or if it was simply too soon. Mark twisted his hand so it was palm up, and my ungloved fingers slotted perfectly into his. For all I didn’t know about Mark’s past, I was encouraged that he didn’t shy away from holding my hand. Kissing had been a bit much for him, but I could tell he was trying. He’d also taken it upon himself to call his friend and ask for dinner reservations. For a moment, all the shock from our casual date turning into a very formal one had been left halfway between my house and the restaurant. My nerves would come back soon enough, but I’d take the reprieve, however brief.
We drove in comfortable silence until we reached the city limits, where I could no longer hold my tongue. “Why was there only one boyfriend? Hell, why only two relationships in your life?” Oh Christ, that was an intensely personal question. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. You don’t have to answer that. I’d been thinking about it yesterday after you said you’d only had two relationships. Then it just came into my head and was out before I thought about it.”
Mark shrugged, visibly uncomfortable with the question. “Dwayne and I broke up toward the end of my sophomore year of undergrad. I met Nicole early in my junior year. After she left, there never seemed to be time. Or at least that was what I told myself. Really, there just hadn’t been anyone I was interested in, I guess.”
The answer was more than I deserved, and I appreciated him telling me. We didn’t have time to continue the conversation because we arrived at the restaurant. As we exited the car so the valet could park it for us, I was surprised to find Mark coming to stand closer to me than would be considered friendly.
Inside Marcel’s, the dim lighting created the illusion of being secluded even within a large room. The tables and booths were spaced slightly farther apart than at most restaurants, which only aided in that feeling of privacy. There was no question about it—this restaurant was set up to be romantic. And I was here with Mark, on a first date.
The hostess led us through the restaurant, all the way to the back wall where there was a secluded table. “Marcel is expecting you,” she said with a subtle tilt of the head. She left without placing menus in front of us.
Mark seemed as confused as I was, but we didn’t have a chance to question it before a waiter appeared in front of us. He was professional, probably in his mid-twenties, and greeted us with a warm smile. “Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Liam, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you started with anything to drink?”
We both responded with a request for a glass of red wine, then chuckled and agreed to split a bottle. Liam nodded and disappeared before we could ask for menus.
I leaned forward. “What’s going on? Why do they keep disappearing before we get menus?”
Mark looked around at the other tables with menus. There were two tables where the occupants were actively ordering from their menus, pointing at items while the servers answered questions. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. I guess we’ll try to catch the waiter when he comes back with our wine?”
I let out a giggle. “You know, leave it to me. I come to the nicest restaurant in Nashville and end up not being able to get a menu.”
“Are you telling me to expect service like this when we go out in the future?”
“I went out with Annie and a few of the guys from the shop to a place I’d been to a number of times. I’d always loved it. We get there and the first waitress got us drinks… but spilled them down Annie’s back. Then she disappeared. Like, just didn’t come back. Thirty minutes later, a different waitress comes over, snips about how she guessed she’d take us, even though she was supposed to be off. Then the meal didn’t come for another forty minutes and was delivered by a different waiter. And then, we still got a bill for the entire price. When we were paying, the manager even asked the waitress standing beside him if we were the group she’d spilled drinks on.”
Mark’s mouth hung open. “Oh my god, that’s awful.”
“That isn’t the worst one. Once I got served raw chicken. The server actually argued with me that it was supposed to be rare.”
Mark gagged,
but laughter was dancing in his eyes. “Seriously?”
I nodded emphatically. “As a heart attack. Never went back there. Then there was the time Jenna was young and wanted to go to this fancy little restaurant near here. I’d warned her she needed to behave because it was really nice and adults liked going there for quiet meals. She agreed. We get there, she gets a hot chocolate, and it arrives at the table. The stuff was like molten lava. I don’t know who the hell made it that hot, but it was insane. She took a sip, and she tried so hard not to spit it out or make a scene, and all of a sudden it started coming out of her nose. I was somewhere between mortified and amused, but the old biddies around us thought we were terrible humans.”
Mark had begun laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face. “Oh. My. God. That’s hysterical and unfortunate for Jenna, but what a story.” He’d gained the attention of a few other diners but he’d been quiet enough with his laughter that they’d simply smiled and returned to their conversations.
During our fit of laughter, two glasses and the remaining bottle of wine appeared at our table. The waiter didn’t stay long enough for us to compose ourselves to the point we could ask for menus.
I rolled my eyes when I’d caught my breath and could find words. “Damn, too slow.”
“He’ll be back at some point. But I am getting hungry.”
My stomach must have heard because it growled lightly. “I’d tell you I’m fine, but that would be a lie.”
Mark dissolved into another fit of giggles that I couldn’t quite understand. When he finally calmed down, he went from jovial to somber. “I just need to get this out in the open because I know we kind of started on rocky ground. I want you to know that I’m serious about seeing where this goes between us. It’s going to take time. I’m a bit worried about what to say to my kids, but I’d be concerned about that even if you were a woman. Dating is big. I was telling you the truth the other day—I don’t want to confuse them.”
I could appreciate that. It had only been in the last few years that I’d been more willing to tell the kids I was going on a date. When they were younger, I’d had entire relationships without ever telling them about it. “I understand that. I don’t want to confuse them either. I have been in that spot numerous times over the years. Your kids should be the most important thing.”
Mark’s eyes softened. “Thank you for being understanding. I came out to my parents and brother before I met Dwayne. I have never been one to hide my feelings, and while I’m not at the point that I’m going to scream it from the rooftops, I’m not going to hide you either.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Though, if you want someone to yell things from the rooftops, you may need to find a different man to be with. I don’t think I’m the right one.”
I shook my head, trying to suppress my laughter. “Oh, no. I do not expect any proclamations to be sung from rooftops. Ever. I’m not in the closet—I’ve been out since high school. I was out way before it was okay to be out. Never saw the reason to hide it. I wouldn’t have been able to fake it with a girl if I had to. Even as a hormonal teenager, my dick only pointed to guys.”
Mark snorted the drink of wine he’d just taken, trying to keep his mouth covered with the cloth napkin. Wine would be impossible to get out of his clothes. Though I wouldn’t have been upset to have to go back home and take them off him. Fuck the movies.
Before I could run the idea of skipping the movie in exchange for sexy times at home by him, a man in a white chef’s coat and hat appeared by our table carrying a plate of what looked like brussels sprouts and another plate with large raviolis drizzled with a red sauce.
“Gentlemen,” the man said as he set the plates down. “Since you are clearly an uncivilized heathen who will not eat mushrooms or my delicious mussels”—he aimed a glare at Mark, and I barked out a laugh, though I didn’t like mushrooms or mussels either—“I have taken the liberty of preparing two special appetizers for you.” He proceeded to describe the dishes in great detail, then took a step back.
Mark shook his head, a faint blush staining his cheeks, but he was smiling nonetheless. “Asshole.” Then he looked over at me. “Jeff, this is Marcel. Marcel, this is Jeff. My…” he paused for a second before deciding the best way to describe me. “My date.”
Marcel turned a wide grin at me, his eyes sparkling. Part of me thought it was simply because he was teasing his friend and it was bringing him joy, but when he spoke, I knew it was far more genuine than that. Marcel was happy for Mark. “When he called me up and asked me for a table, I couldn’t believe my ears at first. Mark, bringing a date here.” He shook his head. “I thought it was impossible.” He gave a mischievous wink to Mark. “Then he started telling me about you, and he sounded so happy, I couldn’t say no. Besides, I had to meet the man that finally got Mark to even think about dating again.”
It was my turn to flush as I looked over at Mark and found him redder than I was at Marcel’s speech. We were like teenagers on a first date while a friend ribbed us. I liked it. I might have liked it a bit more than Mark did, judging by the color his face was turning the more Marcel spoke.
Marcel took pity on him because he finally winked at me playfully. “I’ll leave you two to your date. Dinner will be out shortly.” He turned to me. “Mark gave me some ideas about what you like. I think you will both enjoy your meals.”
After Marcel left and Mark’s coloring returned to normal, he found words. “Sorry about Marcel.”
I waved off the concern. “Marcel was amazing. I kind of like seeing you with someone you know. It’s easy to forget you have roots here. Besides, he seemed nice.”
“He’s known me since I was five.” Mark shook his head as though he was shaking off a memory. “He knows too much.” He stared at the kitchen door as he said the last sentence, like just talking about Marcel would make him materialize again.
The laughter that bubbled out of me died in my throat as the first bite of brussels sprouts hit my tongue. They were the most amazing food I’d put in my mouth in I couldn’t remember how long. They were only the tip of the iceberg. Every dish that came out of the kitchen was more amazing than the one before. By the time Liam cleared away the last of our dinner plates, I didn’t know if I’d be able to eat another bite.
When our dessert—singular—was placed between us with two spoons, I managed to find room in my stomach I didn’t know I had. The decadent cake drizzled with fudge, with two perfectly plated dollops of ice cream, made my mouth water and my stomach forget about being full.
It didn’t matter how perfectly the steak had been cooked or how beautifully it had been plated on top of fresh salad greens. It also didn’t matter how amazing the crazy Gouda tater tots had been. When the mountainous chocolate cake and homemade ice cream were delivered to the table, I couldn’t help but drool a little.
“Oh, holy hell,” I breathed out. “Tell me you won’t mind me taking a picture of this?” It was too good to be true.
Mark shook his head, trying hard to stifle a laugh behind a sip of coffee. “Leave it to you to be the most excited about chocolate cake.”
I had my phone out and took two pictures of the cake. I couldn’t resist tormenting the kids a bit. I attached a picture of the cake to our group text.
Look at this cake!
My thumb hadn’t even hit the button to turn the screen off when a text from Jenna came in.
Oh my god, that’s not fair! You owe me cake tomorrow.
Seth’s text arrived immediately after Jenna’s.
Wait, I looked at the menu for Marcel’s earlier, there was no chocolate cake. It was all super fancy crepes and things I couldn’t pronounce. But that looks amazing. Save me some?
I saw bubbles but flipped the screen off and ignored the incoming texts from the kids. I looked up at Mark to find him watching me with a furrowed brow. “Everything okay?”
“My kids are nosy. I sent a picture of the cake to them, and Seth told me he’d looked up the menu for here and Marcel
doesn’t have chocolate cake listed. Not like I’d know since we never saw a menu.”
To my surprise, Mark flushed again. “I told him you really enjoyed the chocolate cake at Rizzi’s last weekend. He may have grumbled about not getting to show off with some fancy desserts.”
“Holy shit, he made a special dessert for us.” I picked up a spoon and cut through the cake, making sure to gather a small amount of ice cream with it.
I’d barely gotten the spoon to my mouth when Mark spoke up. “He made a special dessert for you.”
The words hit me hard. I’d been blown away by having the opportunity to eat at Marcel’s. I’d been shocked to learn that Marcel and Mark were childhood friends. I’d found it sweet that Mark had let Marcel know what I liked and didn’t. Marcel teasing Mark about foods he liked or not had shown me how Mark was with friends and how deeply his friends cared for him.
It wasn’t until Mark reiterated that the dessert had been made for me, because I liked it, that it hit home how much Mark had been paying attention to me. He’d cared enough to make sure that his friend, one of the most famous chefs in central Tennessee, made the dessert I liked most.
I had only a few options. The first was to become emotional about how touched I was that Mark had cared so much and had gone so far out of his way to make the night memorable. The second was to focus my energy on the cake and try not to let my heart get ahead of where our relationship was. I chose the second option and wrapped my lips around the spoon.
When the velvety cake touched my tongue, flavors exploded in my mouth. Rich dark chocolate with hints of espresso danced on my taste buds. The icing was smooth with a note of something nutty. No one flavor overpowered another and the melting ice cream complemented the cake beautifully. Taking that bite was an experience all on its own.
A throaty moan escaped me as my eyes fluttered closed, trying to catalog the moment so I could remember it.
“Oh fuck.” Mark’s whispered moan had me cracking my eyes open to find him staring at me with blown pupils. His hand slipped under the table and a frustrated groan escaped him as he began to wiggle in his seat.
