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The door to the Tesla opens, and Robert steps out. Our eyes meet, and for a moment I get lost in his blue orbs. They’re more piercing than ever, shining in the moonlight like two brilliant sapphires.
“Sara. There you are.”
“Sorry I’m late—”
“You’re not late. Good to see you.”
I stand there, nervous as can be. My palms sweat, and I clutch my purse like a lifeline. I look over at Katie, who gives me a thumbs-up. I nod slightly. She fires up the Jetta and then backs out, driving down the street. After a minute, the light turns green and she dashes off into the distance.
“Your friend?”
“Yeah. She, uh, wanted to make sure you were legit.”
“She thinks I’m some serial killer or something?” he asks, affronted by my response.
“No, not at all!” I reply, raising my hand. “She’s just kind of like that, you know . . . protective.”
“I see.”
We stand there, the awkward tension building like a festering wound. I run my hand through my hair.
“Sara you look beautiful, really gorgeous tonight.” As I see her blush, I figure I need to get moving before we are both stammering. “Ready to get out of here? I have reservations at the Ruxton for us.”
“The Ruxton? That’s five-star dining!” Sara gasps.
“I wanted to make up for what I did, and I felt like taking you somewhere special.”
“But why?” I ask, flummoxed by his words. Why would a guy who has only met me once take me to one of the nicest places in town?
He shrugs and then walks to the car. “Because I want to.”
Without another word, he grabs my door and I slide in, taking in the expensive leather interior. A big monitor sits there and classical music plays through the interior.
He jumps in, buckles up, and revs up the motor. He turns, nodding slightly.
“Ready to go?”
“Yeah,” I reply, flushing crimson.
As we drive, neither of us says a word. I don’t know where to start, and this all feels almost surreal. When we finally get there, I step out of the car as the valet gives me his hand. Robert follows, nodding to the valet. “This is the place.”
I’ve never been to the Ruxton before, but I’ve driven by here plenty of times. The place is for rich people, with five-course menus. It’s the type of place that you go to maybe for dinner, especially if it’s for something fancy.
Walking up the steps, I admire the large fountain with a giant sculpture of an angel sitting above it.
“That’s so pretty,” and I fear my mouth may be gaping.
“It is,” he replies and smiles at my obvious enjoyment.
We head inside, and once we’re there, a man in a suit and tie greets us.
“Two for Harrington.”
“Right this way.”
He motions for us to follow him upstairs. I hold the banister, taking in the sight. This place is more surprising than I imagined. I’d heard that only the richest of all rich go to this restaurant, and they’re not kidding.
People in Gucci, Versace, Vera Wang, the whole nine yards sit at these tables and converse. The women have similar black dresses, and the men are in Armani suits, with Tom Fords on their feet.
