Tristan chuckled and inched his hand over to rest on Henry’s knee. “I think I might love you.” It came easier this time, and he grinned at the shape of the syllables in his mouth. “So I’m not taking your money.”
After a couple of seconds, Henry smiled. He slipped the cash back into his pocket. “But aren’t you going to panic your whole way through dinner if you don’t have it?”
“Maybe. Like I said, if you’re not up for me being a worrywart, then you’re not tall enough to ride this ride.”
“Yeah, but the ride is so good.” He kissed the nape of Tristan’s neck, shooting flames out from where his mouth made contact. When he pulled back, he was staring dead into Tristan’s eyes. “If... if we’re talking the big L word here, then can we compromise? If you end up needing the money, I’ll palm it to you under the table or something.”
Tristan sighed, and he nodded at those chocolate eyes. “Deal.” And, much as he hated to admit it, it felt good to know he had a safety net for the evening. “Thank you.”
Henry pressed his lips to Tristan’s.
“Jesus Christ ...” Henry gawked at the view from the terrace, along with the others. He’d thought his hotel room had a picturesque view, but this shit was postcard worthy, the bay of San Francisco lit up by the moon with the Golden Gate gleaming all on its own and some other part of the city glimmering like diamonds in the distance.
Marguerite, the maître d’, stood off to the side of the terrace, which was private. He hadn't expected that. “You can go ahead and take your seats. Antonio will be serving you tonight, so if you need anything, ask for him. He’ll be here momentarily for drink orders, and Renata will come out before the first course to talk with you.”
Henry shook his head in amazement. This was more than a three-star restaurant. This was the kind of service reserved for celebrities, and it was being pushed at them like it was nothing. He glanced to Tristan and raised his eyebrows. Tristan smiled back and took the first seat around the one very large table.
Henry sat next to him. On the edge of his visions, he could see cameras and audio being set up. But they weren’t filming quite yet.
It was a good chance to try to assuage Tristan’s concerns. He started talking with Rita—dressed in a blazing gold brocade cocktail dress—as soon as she sat down. “Before the cameras get rolling, I have to ask... what’s something like this cost?”
“Cost? No idea. It’s a special thing I set up with Renata. I’m sure the network will itemize it out though. There’s probably some tricky deduction they can take for filming here so it won’t cost them a cent.”
Well, there was confirmation on that: the network was for sure footing this bill. Henry’s eyes darted to Tristan, just long enough to see the flash of contentment pass across his face.
“It’s not somethingIcould justify paying for, that’s for certain.” Dexter sat next to Rita, Eli next to him, and Willa between Eli and Tristan, leaving one empty seat.
Henry looked behind him. “What happened to Sylvia?” She’d gotten out of the car with them.
“Sylvia’s fine, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She walked in, for once not dressed in a blazer and khakis. Instead, she wore an impeccably tailored black suit jacket and a razor thin black tie over a white blouse. Black high-waisted pants and black wingtips. She looked austere and put-together. Even more together than usual, which was impressive. She took her seat next to Henry and immediately shifted her coat off and onto the back of the chair. “Ladies room. Also, that jacket gets hot as a mother.”
And there goes the class.Henry grinned at it all the same. At least she wasn’t faking.
Eli turned and gazed out over the ocean. “This is a great view. Really, really great. Or maybe I’m so used to the New York skyline that anything else looks amazing and exotic.”
“I’m with you there,” said Willa before winking at Tristan. “I bet you two both feel the same about Seattle, too, right? I mean, it’s no NYC, but Seattle’s got a hell of a skyline.”
Tristan nodded. “Especially at night. I don’t live in any of the posh neighborhoods, but from my bedroom window, on a clear day, I can see the Space Needle and the EMP. It’s a striking view. But so is this.”
Willa nodded and sighed, then turned to Rita. “Thank you for setting this up. It’s a nice way to destress before I have to give these boys what for.”
“Oh, confident?” Dexter chuckled. “Well, looks like we’re about to be filmed, so get all your cussing out of the way now.”
“Shitting fucking Christ on a dick,” Sylvia rattled off quickly, almost like it was rehearsed. She smiled sheepishly at them. “I didn’t expect to be doing that alone. Sorry. I say it before every filming to, you know, get rid of it. Please stop staring.”
Henry busted out laughing and clapped her on the back. “I think any of EateryTV's shows would be a lot more interesting with Christ on a dick, myself.”
Dexter joined the laughter, and soon all the others did too. But Dexter, of course, was louder than the whole lot of them. “I thinksomeof the hosts would shit themselves, though. So probably not the best idea. Don’t want to give poor Martha Edelstein a heart attack.”
Willa snorted. “Who says I wouldn’t? How much do they pay her for her little... program?”
Dexter chuckled. “No idea. But she’s the biggest thorn in my side in the whole network. Everyone else I can stand, but I’d much rather watch any of you three on a cooking show than her, that’s for sure.”
“Well, you’re going to get to.” Tristan’s voice was barely loud enough to break through the din, but hell, he’dsaidsomething.
Dexter smiled and, without his guffaw and bellow, the terrace was considerably quieter. “Right you are. I’ll get to see all three of you at once on a TV show, so all the better.” He glanced to the cameraman in the far-right corner. “Okay, you can get filming. I think we’re as ready as we’re going to get.”
After a second, the little red lights flicked to life. And almost as soon, Henry forgot about them, so used to being recorded now that the glowing specks faded into the rest of the glimmering lights out there on the horizon.There’s something I never thought would be normal.
