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“I’ll say,” he agrees.
“But I don’t want to be the woman you fall for just because you had a near-death experience and you feel like you need to move forward with your life or something.”
He doesn’t reply at first, and I’m thinking I hit the nail on the head, when?—
“I’m not asking to marry you, Maddie. I’m asking to take you to dinner.”
And I can’t help myself. I burst into laughter.
Because it’s all so ridiculous.
He’s right. It’s just dinner.
“Yes, Dave, I would love to have dinner with you.” I shake my head. “I suppose I should apologize. Sometimes I get into my own head.”
He exhales sharply through his nose. “Tell me about it. I’ve been all up in my own stuff since the plane thing. Looking at the art today helped a little.”
“How?”
He scratches the side of his head. “Art is bigger than life, I think. Those pieces were crafted so long ago, but they still live today. The people who created them are long gone, but their works still move people. I felt vulnerable in their presence, but in a good way, if that makes sense. As if vulnerability gives us a chance for triumph.”
I drop my jaw and look at him in awe.
“Fuck,” he says. “You don’t get it.”
I close my mouth. “No. I do get it, and it’s a beautiful thing. That’s the whole reason behind art, isn’t it? To consider what it means to be human. Vulnerability is a key characteristic of all humanity, and I believe we’re all striving for triumph.”
He smiles then, reaches toward me but doesn’t touch me. “Thanks. You do understand. And I do want to take you to a nice dinner. I’ve told you before, I didn’t come here looking to hook up with someone. But I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad we’ve gotten together. Our sex is great, so let’s see if there’s something else.”
I nod. “I’d like that.”
“So no more giving me shit, all right?”
“Okay.”
“So… You going to invite me in?”
I smile. “As much as I know we’d both love that, no, I’m not. I really need to relax for a couple of hours before dinner. I don’t think any of us got enough sleep last night.”
“You’re right about that.” He leans forward and brushes his lips across mine. “I’ll pick you up at six o’clock.”
“Sounds good.” I watch him walk into his room and then close the door behind me, clicking my deadbolt into place.
Dave actually booked a limo. A limo in Paris. The driver takes us to a restaurant called L’Ambroisie located on the Île Saint-Louis, in the heart of historic Paris. Parking is apparently limited, so the driver leaves us and will pick us up later.
The restaurant is housed in a beautifully restored sixteenth-century townhouse. The interior is adorned with rich decor that includes opulent chandeliers, elaborate woodwork, and plush upholstery. I’ve never been in anything so elegant, and I can’t help walking through the entrance with my mouth agape.
The inside of L’Ambroisie is surprisingly intimate with a limited number of tables. The lighting is soft and subdued. The decor is muted, with shades of cream, gold, and soft pastels dominating. It screams elegance, sophistication, and affluence.
Part of me feels like I shouldn’t be here. I wasn’t sure what to wear, and rather than ask Dave, I chose black leggings, an oversized white blouse cinched at the waist with a silver belt, and simple black pumps. While my outfit works, most women are dressed in cocktail attire and some of the men are actually wearing tuxedos.
I sigh.
I don’t have any cocktail attire anyway, so what the hell?
Dave is wearing black pants, a dark gray jacket, and a simple blue tie. It’s so easy for men to dress for anything.
I glide through a haze as Dave speaks to the maître d’ who leads us to a table set with beautiful cream-colored china, crystal glasses, and crisp black linens. The maître d’ pulls out my chair for me.
