FEBRUARY 1-5
619 Words
Russell had ordered dinner and the first hors d’oeuvre had arrived, seared bay scallops with a brandy glaze, before he noticed that Melanie was unusually quiet. When had she changed? She’d been a little tentative on his boat, but she’d opened up to Nutcase. Silly pest did have its uses.
When they’d arrived at the restaurant, she gone quiet. He hadn’t planned to make quite such an entrance.
“You okay, Melanie? You want to get somewhere else where they don’t whistle at you?”
She sipped her diet Coke and shrugged. “I get that everywhere.”
“Huh. Guess you would.”
“Though that’s the first time it was by a woman punker.”
“Punker?” Russell hadn’t noticed a punker.
“Sitting at that table, three dykes all together, all so buddy-buddy.”
All he’d noticed was that wine reviewer Angelo was so hyped up on. Now that Melanie mentioned it, there were two other women at the table. He could see them as clearly as a photograph in his mind’s-eye. Not punk and he doubted the dyke remark. They weren’t dressed for each other, they were dressed to be looked at: all three very high-end, very city. Her companions were really attractive, but neither matched the russet-haired reviewer once again in her tight black turtleneck and designer jacket. The woman had a clear sense of what looked good on her.
He brought his attention back to Melanie.
“Well, I guess I’m just not used to it is all.”
“That’s because you’re where you don’t belong. Back in our crowd they know me. They knew you. Beauty isn’t as big a deal there as it is out here in the sticks. Don’t you miss it?”
He dipped another scallop in the mango-pineapple sauce and popped it into his mouth. Other than Angelo’s, this was rapidly becoming one of his favorite places to eat. He didn’t usually face the Friday night crowd; late Wednesday lunches were more his speed. Sometimes there were less than a dozen diners and those were business people. He always brought a good book, but spent most of the time watching the amazing view, the ever-busy Seattle waterfront bustling with ferries and freighters and sailboats, and the shifting light on the permanent snowfields atop the Olympic Mountains. All that was lost now in the winter evening’s darkness.
“No. I’m sorry, Melanie. I really don’t miss the life. I miss you.” Far more than he’d expected. Flying her out for Valentine’s Day was about more than the great s*x they’d have tonight at the Sorrento. It was more than that. But he hadn’t given much thought to what more.
“I don’t miss the city or the studio at all.” That last was a surprise. He stabbed the last scallop while he thought about it. He really didn’t miss it.
The waiter showed up and slid a petite filet mignon in front of Melanie and a platter with a matching filet and a large Australian lobster tail before him. He put his nose down to the plate and inhaled the heady mix of beef and seafood. The almond-flecked butter tickled his nose and the dollop of horseradish nearly made him sneeze it was so fresh.
“And I certainly don’t miss the food.” He cut into the steak. “You’ll see, Melanie. I’ve got Dave and Betsy all lined up to take us out on a daysail tomorrow afternoon. Their boat is in a lot better shape than mine. You’ll like it. Tomorrow night we’ll dine at the top of the Space Needle and have a nightcap at the Alexis, very old world, very traditional. Sunday I’ve got a pilot to fly us around Rainier and St. Helens. They’re amazing from the air. I’m thinking of taking lessons.”
He’d intended to let the itinerary be a surprise as they went, but she looked so down that he’d spilled the beans. She seemed to perk up a bit and take a bite of her steak.
Wait until she saw the city from the rooftop, outdoor hot tub perched outside the penthouse at the Sorrento with its awesome night view of the city.
- Writer
