by D. D. Marx
“Okay, Christine, here goes nothing. Remember . . . show me a sign.”
I greet her at the back door with a glass of prosecco. As I lean in to give her a kiss, I stop dead in my tracks. Oh my God, that necklace. Christine had the exact same one. It was one of her only treasures. Her friend Dan bought it for her while we were traveling in Ireland. I am astonished.
“Hi . . .is everything okay? You have a startled look on your face,” Olivia says with hesitation.
“Yes, yes, of course. You look smashing. Lovely necklace. Please, please come in.”
“Thank you. I could certainly get used to being greeted with a glass of prosecco wherever I arrive, and the necklace is my most treasured possession, so kind of you to notice,” she responds as she grabs the charm.
I need to pull it together; I’m acting like an awkward school boy. I can’t focus on the necklace anymore. I don’t want the conversation to get too heavy. I’m not ready to talk about Christine. I need to keep this night light and fun.
“I’m pleased to oblige. Let me show you around.”
As we make our way through the space, I can see her drinking it all in.
“This is spectacular. I love the décor, very Roaring Twenties, classy. And the name, Christine’s, I presume, is named after your late wife.”
“Yes,” I say.
“Well, I will say that Garrett certainly hit it out of the park.”
“Indeed.”
“I know you asked me to plan to help out with the meal, but I think it’s only fair to warn you not to have very high expectations. I’m an amateur.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“So I’ve been meaning to ask you—how does a guy with the name Finn end up with the license plate Danny Boy which is Irish, you realize?”
“Aye, my mum always wanted to name her first-born son Danny, but since our last name is McDaniels that was clearly out of the question, so she named me Finn which is her maiden name. She’s always called me Danny, though. She was the only one . . . well, until my wife.”
Olivia changes the subject, sensing it’s too soon to ask me about Christine, so she keeps the mood light.
“You’re aware that you’re the talk of the town? You’re somewhat of a local celebrity around here. Everyone has been trying to figure you out. All my cousin’s friends thought you were gay. I’m sorry about that by the way. But you know, when you’re as good looking as you are, it can get kind of confusing. I was pretty happy to learn you play for my team.”
“Yes, it’s been a crazy couple years. As much as I loved the Delectable experience and, of course, the recognition it gives my name, the goal is always to open your own restaurant. I’ve only been in the states a few years and have never been west of Vegas. I didn’t want too much hype, hustle or bustle. Vegas was too much for me. When the search began, my requirements were warm, sunny, within three to four hours of the beach and a major city, active lifestyle, and a city with a clientele willing to frequent an upper tier restaurant. As soon as I saw this place, I knew this was it.”
“Well done. I commend you for pursuing your dream. Not many people have the guts to go for it. I’m kind of a workaholic.”
“This hasn’t been easy,” I acknowledge.
“So, why are you out here in Palm Springs? Just visiting?”
“Well, I had planned on coming out for Garrett’s big opening but decided to come out a little early because ah, I, ah, quit my job and not just quit; I kind of blew up the island.”
“Really? What happened?”
“To make a long story short, let’s just say I thought I was working at an amazing, cutting edge company only to find out that one of the officers was a complete fraud. He used fake credentials to land his position, proceeded to make hundreds of people’s lives miserable, and I exposed him during an executive meeting. Someday, I’ll share the specifics with you, but since you don’t know me that well, I don’t want you to think I’m some crazy drama queen.”
“To be a fly on that wall,” I wisecrack as I top off her glass with some more bubbly.
“What’s on the menu tonight?” she asks.
“I was thinking surf and turf. Filets and crab legs. How does that sound?”
“Fabulous. Crab legs are my absolute favorite.”
“Great, for sides we’ll have asparagus and a potato puree. I’m putting you in charge of dessert.”
“I make a killer key lime cheesecake. Does that go with surf and turf?”
“It does now.”
“Great, show me where I can find the ingredients and the pan, and I’ll get started.”
I spend the next few minutes giving her the lay of the land as we both begin our tasks. I set up the special table in the kitchen in preparation for our meal and finish it off with the fresh bouquet of flowers I picked up this afternoon.
“Oh, those are beautiful,” Olivia says. “No table is complete without the smell of fresh flowers.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
As we sit down to enjoy our delicious meal, I open a bottle of cabernet and, like the wine, the conversation continues to flow. Not an awkward pause or a bit of silence. We start at the beginning.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you; your accent is dreamy. I’m sure that’s part of the allure for all the ladies.”
“Aye, right.”
“Tell me about your family.”
“I grew up in a small town.” Suddenly, she starts coughing.
“Are you okay? Here. Drink some water.”
“Yes, yes I’m okay. I’m quite the refined lady. I keep tripping in front of you and now I’m coughing up a lung. I bet you can’t wait to take me to tea. So classy.”
“Nah, stop it. I think it’s endearing. It just adds to yer charm,” I say as she blushes.
“You were saying?” she continues the conversation.
“I grew up in St. Andrew’s, Scotland. It’s a beautiful, small coastal town and is as historic as they come but for me, I couldn’t wait to get out. It made me claustrophobic. I’m an only child. My parents are Alistair and Fiona. They grew up fifteen minutes apart and never met until university. They married at the early age of nineteen while attending St. Andrew’s University and never left. My da became a history professor and my mum continues her dreams of owning her own bakery but for now holds the title of ‘town baker’ and bakes for the entire town for free. It drives my da bonkers, but he knows it makes her happy. They’ve always traveled over summers when my da isn’t teaching, which is where I developed my passion to travel the world. I like to think I have the perfect mix of both. My best friend, Mac. I have probably mentioned him? Maybe?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“He’s my best bloke. He’s the brother I never had. He lived four houses down. Inseparable. Both athletic. We golfed, played tennis, rugby, or as you Americans call it, football. And, of course, got into our fair share of shenanigans. Mac is also the funniest person I know.”
“There is nothing better than funny. I had a friend just like it,” she chimes in.
“Yeah, he lives in Los Angeles now with his wife Jules, who is another close friend. Mac moved over to New York City just as I was entering culinary school. He was chosen to be part of some traveling comedy group and is now in Los Angeles writing his own sitcom.”
“Wait. Mac as in Malcolm Hill?” she says, baffled.
“Yes. You know of him?”
“Um, yeah . . . yeah . . . I . . . uh, took some writing classes at Second City in Chicago and he was a guest instructor for a day so our paths crossed. He seems like a great guy,” she stutters.
“I should ask him if he remembers you; how ironic is that?”
“Oh no, no, he definitely would not remember me. I can guarantee he has no clue who I am. I mean, I only encountered him in passing. I knew who he was because he’s considered a god in the Second City community,” she says, her voice shifting as she squirms a bit
in her chair.
“Can you please excuse me for a second?” she says as she stands.
“Is everything okay? You seem nervous suddenly.”
“What? No, no, oh my God, no. I think it’s sinking in that I’m having dinner with a famous chef who also knows someone famous in the comedy world. I almost don’t feel worthy,” she says, then excuses herself to go to the ladies’ room.
Christine, you need to help me here. You know I don’t have any game. Am I putting her off? The mood suddenly shifted. I’m not sure if it’s something I said? Please, help. I don’t want this to go south. I fill our glasses with more wine while she is away.
“Sorry about that. Too much liquid,” Olivia jokes as she returns.
“Not at all. Yer turn. Tell me about yer family and where ye grew up.”
“I have one sister, Jane. She’s two years older than me. She gave birth to the two people I love the most in this world, Olivia and Owen. They’re twins and I will warn you now; I will not stop talking about them. My parents, Richard and Patricia, still live in the town where I grew up; both are healthy and spry. My best friend is Red—her nickname. I met Red the first day of high school. Outside of her, there’s Garrett. I keep in touch with several friends from high school and college but not nearly as often as I would like. Life just gets too busy. And don’t laugh but I was athletic. I know I seem far from it based on my recent behavior. I played softball growing up but quit my sophomore year because I didn’t want the boys to think I was a lesbian—not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
I can’t believe how enthralled I am with her. Our connection is instant and intense. I could sit here all night and listen to her talk. Just the ease in which she carries herself. Her confidence. She’s beautiful, smart, funny, and sarcastic, but in a fun and sassy manner. I can already tell I’m in trouble with this one.
“Tell me more. How about a funny story?” I suggest.
“Hmmm, there are so many of them; let me think. Oh, I know. Do you have drive-in movie theaters in Europe?”
“Yes, we have annual film festivals.”
“Our drive-ins are more seasonal, like a movie theater but only open during the summer months. My friends and I created a summer bucket list and a drive-in was always a must do. That summer I had just gotten my driver’s license. . .”
“Wait, when is your birthday?”
“October twenty-first . What about you?”
“December sixteenth. Continue with the story. . . “
She pauses and has a weird look on her face, then she excuses herself to the bathroom again.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, yes, fine. Just the wine catching up.”
As she approaches, I stand up to greet her, “You good?”
“Yes, yes. So where was I?” she says without missing a beat.
“Oh, yeah . . . so, we piled into my parents’ old Ford Taurus. Me, Red, plus several of our guy friends who were notorious troublemakers but entertaining. They were like brothers. Always poking fun but harmless and loving, sometimes annoying. This was one of those annoying moments. We arrive to the drive-in. Envision a giant gravel parking lot in the middle of nowhere. We get settled in our spot. Red and I decide to get some snacks at the snack bar. On our way back, we head in the direction of the car and all I see is this white, powdery smoke. We can’t find the car so we search a couple of rows, thinking we are just in the wrong spot. Several rows back, I spot them. They are doing donuts with the car. The smoke? The tires kicking up all the dust from the gravel. I flag them down and insist we leave since I’m so annoyed. The thirty-minute car ride was dead silent. They knew they pushed me too far, which didn’t happen often. As I was rounding the corner to Red’s house, I hear, ‘Look out, ‘followed by feeling four jarring bumps under the car. Then I heard, ‘Well, at least you didn’t leave any orphans.’ All I saw were eight eyeballs in a flash. I hit an entire family of raccoons. We all looked at each other in complete disbelief, but it broke the tension.”
Wiping away the tears from my eyes, I say, “That is just brilliant. Those poor raccoons. They never saw it coming.”
“Your turn,” she says.
“I’m not sure I can top that one.” I pause. “Mac and I went to an all-boys school. We had heard rumors of these ancient tunnels that ran underneath the school, connecting to the all-girls school across the commons. One day after rugby practice, we found this gate tucked back behind one of the shower stalls. It was covered with all sorts of equipment as to not draw attention to it. We waited for the locker room to clear out, moved the equipment, and behind that gate was the infamous tunnel. Mac found a flash light; we jimmied the lock and went for it. We were in there for what felt like hours, but it was less than twenty minutes. We made it to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the girls’s locker room. We high-fived each other, certain we’d be seeing heaven on the other side of that gate, breasts galore. Instead, what we found? The old, fat cricket coach showering.”
“Ha. Serves you right, creepers. It sounds exactly like the type of thing my guy friends would have done.”
“How about I get dessert?” she announces, leans down, and kisses my lips ever so soft. Like it’s an instinct. I’m not even sure she realizes what she’s done, but I love her sweet gesture. It just makes me want her that much more.
As she walks away, I hear her remark, “I’m so glad you’re tasting this after an entire bottle of wine.”
Even her insecurity is adorable.
She returns with two small portions and another bottle of wine.
“Why don’t you feed me a bite?” I say as she scoops up a small bite and leads it to my mouth.
“This is delicious. I mean it. Delectable.”
“I see what you did there but come on, you’re a trained chef; this is just an old family recipe.”
“Somewhere along the line, someone knew what they were doing.”
“Thanks. That would be my grandma on my mom’s side. She was a wonderful baker. She used to make eighteen different types of cookies each Christmas season. I remember Jane and I would form a line and we’d pack up big shoeboxes, with all the different varieties, to deliver to all the neighbors. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I cannot eat another bite. I’m stuffed but dinner was delicious and the company is not too shabby either.”
It’s getting late, but I don’t want this night to end. This is the most fun I’ve had in years. We finish cleaning up and I turn off all the lights up front. As I walk back into the kitchen, I see her standing there, looking at her phone. I can barely contain myself, she looks so beautiful: the casual way her hair is draped down across her face and her ass looks so perfect in those jeans. I tip-toe up behind her, put my hands down on either side of the counter in front of her, and start to nuzzle her neck, then her ear. I press my body against hers. God, she smells good. She can feel how much I’m aching for her touch. She responds with a gentle moan as her body surrenders itself to me. I move my hands around to the front of her waist and whisper in her ear, “You’ve been driving me insane with this see-through blouse all night.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Still standing behind her, I place her hands behind my neck and she rests her head on my shoulder, giving me full access to her. I slowly move my hands up her torso and cup each of her breasts through the fabric of her bra and she lets out a small gasp. I begin to unbutton her blouse and can feel her breath begin to increase in pace. I gently move my hands across her bare stomach and she shudders at my touch. I make my way back up to her bra and start circling her nipples through the lacy fabric and can feel how badly she wants me. I whisper in her ear, “Turn around,” and take her face in my hands. Looking into her eyes, she’s mesmerizing. I can’t explain. I caress her cheeks with my thumbs before I lean in to kiss her. Our hands begin moving, exploring, craving each other. It’s almost more than I can take but I break away.
“What’s wrong?” she as
ks.
“Nothing is wrong; this couldn’t feel more right.”
“Then why are you stopping?”
“Because I want the first time I make love to ye to be amazing. And as tempting as it is in this moment to take you right on my prepping station, I think we should wait.”
“Can’t we pretend this is our second time and next time can be our first?”
“God, yer sexy.” I lean down for one last taste.
“No, I think ye should go. There is plenty of time to have hot sex all over this kitchen,” I say.
As we reluctantly tear ourselves apart, she excuses herself to the bathroom one last time. She comes back with a shocking look on her face.
“What is it?” I say.
“Ummm, did you want to tell me I look like an oompa loompa?”
“A what?”
“An oompa loompa . . . the little orange guys from the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” Still looking confused, she explains, “My spray tan has clearly kicked in.”
“Oh, that. No, ye look ravishing . . . orange or not. While ye were gone, I ordered ye an Uber; I don’t want ye driving home. Ye can have Garrett drive ye over in the morning to pick it up. I’ll grab one, too. We’ve had too much wine. I don’t want us driving.” I walk her outside and we stand by her car while we end with another hot make out session.
“Would the hood of my car be a memorable location?” she says. It’s everything I can do to let her go, and with that, I put her in the Uber and bid her a good night.
Chapter Seventeen
(Olivia)
I close the door to the Uber and as we pull away, I immediately speak to Dan. How could you? How could you do this to me? Send me straight into the eye of the storm? Meet the ONE person that has a connection with the stupidest decision in my life? My one-night stand? And not only a connection but they are best friends, like brothers, like us. This is unforgivable. Finn will never forgive Mac or ever want to be with me if he finds out. And hello, you not only arranged, plotted or planned . . . or whatever it is you’re doing up there, but I’m pretty sure I am already falling in love with him. WHY? Why are you doing this to me? Is this some practical joke from the other side? Well, I DO NOT think it’s funny. What am I going to do? This is a disaster. You and I are officially in a fight. I mean it. Silent treatment level. You’re on notice, mister. I cry as I burst into the house, screaming “GARREEETTTTT.”