The Usual Table – Love Story

It was just the most wonderful night, I really wish that you could have seen it. God, he was amazing, the atmosphere was perfect, and the food was delectable. Where to even begin?

When we first stepped into the restaurant, the lighting was so dim that he took me by the hand, gently guiding me along. Just between you and me, I think he picked the place just so he could have an excuse to do that. Or at least I thought that until I actually tasted the food, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Once my eyes adjusted, I saw that it was the perfect marriage of “quaint hole in the wall” and “sophisticated date spot.” At every table, there was a couple with their heads close together in conversation, the quiet buzz of whispers and laughter playing alongside the tinkle of silverware.

“The usual table,” my date said, his voice a rich rumble that almost made me shiver. I was hoping he didn’t feel the way my fingers tensed in his, but by the way that he gripped me, strong and reassuring, I knew that he had.

As we followed the waiter that led us expertly on a winding route past what must have been the most gorgeous array of dinners that I’d seen to date, the man at my side bent down just enough to whisper into my ear. “I normally come here alone or on business dinners, don’t worry.”

It was even more arousing to hear that voice delivered directly to my ear, especially with the way that his warm breath fell on my skin and the intensity of his cologne rolling off of him.

“Seems like it would get lonely, watching all those happy couples,” I whispered back, delighting in the way that he blinked languidly at the sound of my hushed voice.

To that, he merely grinned, and then we were at the corner table that was apparently his regular spot. Naturally, he held out the chair for me, leading to a moment where his fingers were temptingly close to my shoulders. Would it have been improper to ask him to settle them there, bend down, and give me an intimate kiss on the cheek?

Perhaps, that is why he didn’t force me to ask. Instead, he simply did it of his own accord and then took the chair across from me, a grin on his lips that was half sheepish, half mischievous.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him, I’m not ashamed to admit that. Those warm eyes were boring into me, making me feel like I was the only thing worth looking at in a world of wonders. His fingers tapped on the table, a steady beat that mirrored my heart and drove my mind to very improper places.

If only I could see myself the way he saw me at that moment. I know I looked incredible in that blue dress, which pulled off the perfect combination of accentuating curves and veiling in shadow. What it didn’t put on full display for him, it hid like the most tempting of secrets. I watched as his eyes roved down, trying valiantly to stay fixed with my own, but perpetually tempted by everything that I was showing below.

Just to drive him even wilder, I leaned forward and folded my hands. I can’t blame the guy for glancing down and swallowing. Even in the romantic lighting, I could see the faint blush rising on his neck.

Then, as if in response to my unspoken desires, he unbuttoned his shirt just one more time. In other circumstances, it would have been going from firmly professional to slightly relaxed, but not here. Here, it went from burning my skin to setting my very soul on fire. I could feel my breathing speed up, which just drew his eyes down once more, but this time, he grinned wickedly.

“It seems like a night that calls for wine,” he said. “And you should know that the steak here is quite marvelous.”

“I saw,” I said with a look back at all the tables we’d passed. On about half of them, happy couples were diving into thick, juicy cuts.

“Oh, I suppose you’re right,” he mused, reaching the short distance across the table and absently stroking the back of my hand, feigning as if it was purely by reflex. “You see, I only had eyes for one woman while we were walking over here.”

“Just one woman? She must be quite lucky,” I couldn’t help but tease.

Fortunately, I was saved from whatever devilish reply he had cocked and ready by the arrival of the waiter.

Five minutes later, we were sipping our first glasses of a pricey Bordeaux, and I could already feel the urge to laugh at every single thing he said. Or at least, at every little thing that wasn’t making me stroke his hand right back. He was a mixture of calluses and softness, a blend that was just as intoxicating as the wine.

Fifteen minutes after that (and two more glasses of wine each later), the steaks arrived. His was medium-rare, a thick ribeye that looked far too big for human consumption. It was positively glistening and flanked by a baked potato that was steaming hot enough to melt the cheddar cheese that topped it.

I would have been intensely envious if my own choice wasn’t just as mouthwatering, if not more so. Filet mignon, cooked medium (which had made my date nod approvingly), so perfectly browned that it honestly took some self-control not to immediately throw myself at it. Besides it, I had opted for roast vegetables, but there was a mutual understanding that I would be gorging myself on his potato as well.

Honestly, at the time, I was quite sure that we would both be put into food comas for the next several days, and that we’d need to call out of work. But when I saw him call it a night only halfway through, I knew that there was something else on his mind. I was only too glad to ask for a to-go box as well.