Kate
It’s Saturday night, 8 p.m., and I’m standing outside Spirelli’s, an Italian restaurant just a few blocks from my apartment. I’d heard of it before as this was where Daniel had brought Mac for a date and she had raved about the Tiramisu, describing it as being like a food orgasm waiting to happen, so I’ve been dying to try it out. Princeinwolfsclothing—aka Spencer—suggested we meet here for dinner and I couldn’t come up with a reason not to.
All afternoon I’ve been psyching myself up for this date. It’s only my second blind date as such since joining the dating website, so my nerves hit overdrive as the afternoon dwindled away. Mac tried to get me to relax, and the glass of wine she literally poured down my throat before I left definitely aided her efforts.
She also helped me choose the perfect dinner date outfit. I’m wearing a black pencil skirt with a sleeveless burgundy peplum top and black patent pumps. I’d styled my hair half up, half down, letting a few curls loose to frame my face. I was going for classy, but not over the top. Mac and I pretty much gutted my closet finding the perfect combination. Daniel said there was too much estrogen in the house, so he left us to go workout. To be honest, it was nice to have some one-on-one girl time with my bestie, despite my threatening panic attack.
As I stand on the sidewalk, I can’t help but reflect on my past first dates. They’ve never really been anything to write home about. Nothing stands out as being epic or romantic comedy-esque. Then, of course, I wonder where nightdancer23 would take me for a first date. Would it be to a restaurant like this, or would it be something more fun? More low key? There’s no point thinking about it since he all but brushed me off this afternoon.
I walk into the restaurant and up to the hostess station where a waitress is standing to greet me.
“Welcome, madam. My name is Holly, and I’ll be your hostess this evening. Table for one?”
“Uh, no. I’m here to meet Spencer Carrington,” I say hoarsely, my voice giving away my nerves.
She looks me up and down, then smiles at me. “Right this way,” she says before leading me to a table set for two in a far corner of the cute restaurant.
I look at her with uncertainty written all over my face when I realize that he’s not here yet. I look around the restaurant nervously, still unable to find him. God, I hope I haven’t been stood up!
The waitress puts her hand on my forearm, obviously realizing that I’m worried. “Oh hon, don’t you worry. Mr. Carrington called about fifteen minutes ago and explained that he was running late, but asked that I seat you and pour you a glass of white wine. Is that okay?”
I sigh with relief. “Oh, thank god. Yes, that would be awesome. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. First date?”
“Uh, yeah. Am I that obvious?” I ask, feeling my cheeks heat up with embarrassment.
“Not at all. Mr. Carrington explained it was a first date and why he was calling in advance. He won’t stand you up. He’s a regular customer.”
Holy hell, what if he brings all of his dates here? What if I’m just one of a long line of conquests? Dammit. Is he a regular customer to the restaurant or a regular dater at the restaurant? Shit! I think I need to call Mac. A freak-out of epic proportions is imminent.
I pull out my phone and speed dial Mac.
“Kate, you okay?” she answers, sounding worried.
“Um. So yeah. I talk, you listen?”
“Of course, hit me,” she says excitedly. I swear to God Mac lives for this shit, especially given that it’s usually me on the receiving end of her freak-outs, not the other way around.
“I’ve arrived at the restaurant, and they’ve shown me to our table, but there is no Spencer. Apparently, he called the hostess and explained he was running late and asked that I be served. Is that thoughtful? Or is it crappy that he’s late, and I’m being too soft and gullible again falling for this internet dating shit? Because seriously, I can’t decide whether he’s thoughtful and charming, or simply trying to cover his tardy ass. And then, Holly the hostess tells me that he’s a regular customer here, and that is just ringing mega loud, epic, freaking alarm bells in my head for some reason. God! Why is this twisting me in knots so much?”
She giggles. The bitch. My bestest friend in the whole wide world giggles. “That was a good one, hon. Nothing on my Noah bathroom freak-out in June, but still, I’d give that an eight out of ten.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” I say, a smile slowly creeping up my face. “So now that you’ve laughed at me, have you got any advice?”
“Kate, stop psychoanalyzing everything. He’s probably a nice guy who just likes the food and goes there because they make the best Alfredo in Chicago.”
Yes, okay. She’s right. I’ve got to stop over-thinking this shit.
“I suppose. Just seems strange.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. If not, let me know, and Daniel and I can come get you. Say we’re getting take-out or something. I never need an excuse for that Tiramisu.”
“I’ll be fine. You have a good night. And don’t stress about meeting Daniel’s parents. It’s not good for the mini superhero . . . or heroine.”
“Easy for you to say, missy. You’re not the one who got knocked up by their gorgeous, talented, superhero.” I hear Daniel chuckle in the background.
“Okay, that’s enough. You’ll be fine, and I know they’ll love you. I’m gonna go. I love you, you crazy pregnant woman.”
“Love you too. Bye,” she replies before hanging up.
Shortly after making myself comfortable and pulling out my compact to check my makeup one last time, Holly arrives with my wine.
“Mr. Carrington requested this Chardonnay from the Campania region of Italy be brought to you once you arrived. I hope it is to your satisfaction.”
“Wow, thanks,” I reply, totally out of my element here. How thoughtful is this man? I mean, who thinks to order their date a glass of wine and make sure they’re seated and comfortable when they’re running late?
She places the bottle on the table and leans toward me. “Relax, hon. He’ll be here soon.” I see a strange expression cross over her face before she hides it and gives me her well-practiced smile again.
“Thanks, I think.”
“You’re welcome,” she answers cheerfully before bouncing her way back to the entrance.
I pull out my phone, checking for a message from Mr. Carrington, and coming up empty. I look up to see Spencer walking toward me, and he honestly takes my breath away. God, he’s even more stunning in real life. That profile photo did not do him justice. His dark brown hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it, but he pulls it off. His ice-blue eyes are more potent than on his profile. They’re the type of eyes one could get lost in, and ones that I’m already totally addicted to. And his body . . . let me tell you, if he’s a frequent dater, then I now know why. He’s wearing dark grey slacks with a light blue shirt, both clearly tailored just for his body. Broad shoulders and strong arms that would feel great wrapped around you. They’re the type of arms that would make any woman feel safe and protected. In short, he’s totally dreamy. In fact, with hair and eyes like that, he’s almost like the McDreamy of Chicago.
On the Zander scale of hotness, where Zander is a ten, this guy is a firm nine. Instantly, my night starts to look up.
Standing up to greet him, I’m shocked when he hands me a bouquet of red roses.
“Oh, they’re beautiful, Spencer. Thank you.”
I put my hand out to shake his and gasp when he pulls my hand up to his lips and places a gentle kiss on my knuckles. “Please forgive my tardiness. I got stuck on a late conference call. I’m so glad you waited for me.”
“With flowers and an apology like that, you’re forgiven,” I say with a smile.
“I hope so. Otherwise, I’d have to spend the rest of the evening making it up to you. What a shame that would be.” He gives me a gorgeous grin before pulling out my chair so I can take a seat again and rounding the table to sit down opposite me.
“Have they taken your order yet?”
“No, I thought I’d wait for you.”
“Well, I can’t have you going hungry now, can I? You never know what you might need your energy for later,” he replies with a wink just as Brandi appears at our table again.
“Mr. Carrington,” she says deadpan.
“Holly,” he muses, not taking his eyes off me. I have to admit, this man oozes charm. Since he arrived, he hasn’t stopped looking at me, but not raking his eyes over my body like he only has one thing on his mind either. I’m talking about looking in my eyes; it’s unsettling and amazing all at once.
“I’ve just ordered another glass of wine for you from the bar. Would you like to order your meals?” she asks him, not looking at me. Now that Spencer has arrived, she seems to have returned to her professional self. Her tone when she speaks to him is not the warm, friendly voice she greeted me with. It’s cold, deadpan, and full of some unknown emotion I can’t quite pinpoint.
Picking up the menu, he looks over it before nodding at her. “That would be great,” he replies, looking over at me. “Kate, have you had a chance to look at the menu while I so rudely kept you waiting?”
“No, but I’ve heard you come here often, so why don’t you surprise me?” I say suggestively. That glass of wine must have gone to my head already. I’m such a lush.
“Oh, now the gauntlet has been laid. Prepare to be amazed, my sweet Kate.” Wow. It seems like the food seduction class is now in session, and by god, has Spencer just gone to the head of the class. My mind quickly floats between images of him hand-feeding me selections from a delicious antipasto platter, to mouth-watering Tiramisu being licked off my lips.
Spencer clears his throat, immediately snapping me out of my thoughts. The grin on his face is all-knowing, almost like he had a direct link to my thoughts.
“You look beautiful tonight, Kate. I’m so sorry I was late. I would have loved seeing you arrive looking as ravishing as you do tonight.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say, looking down at the table meekly. I’m not used to this kind of praise. I know I haven’t been beaten with the ugly stick or anything, but to be called beautiful and ravishing does something special to a girl’s ego.
He leans over the table, placing a finger underneath my chin ever so gently to lift my gaze back to him. “Hey, it’s not a line, you know. You are the most beautiful woman here.”
“Well, you’re not looking too bad yourself, Spencer,” I reply with a sly smile.
“Glad you approve,” he murmurs as another waiter delivers his glass of white wine to our table.
He lifts his glass to me, which I emulate. “To meeting new people. Especially breathtaking women like yourself,” he toasts with a swoon-worthy smile that screams all prince and no wolf. It’s very endearing.
“To meeting new people,” I repeat before clinking my glass with his and taking a demure sip from my glass, closing my eyes as the flavors swirl around my mouth. I will say one thing, the guy knows his wine.
We talk about our jobs, and I find out he is an entrepreneur. When I try pressing him further, he pushes the conversation back on me. He asks about my job, my family, my home life. It is like he wants to know everything about me. What it doesn’t explain is the dismissive looks he gives to both Holly and the waiter serving us if they even try to talk to us. It’s like Spencer is one way with me, and a completely different person with everyone else.
When Mac’s twenty minute text comes through, I excuse myself to the restroom and text her back, letting her know he has arrived and that everything is fine.
But then it happens. The surreal moment when his phone starts ringing and he holds his finger up to his mouth, asking me to be quiet as he answers the phone call.
FROM HIS WIFE.
Yes. Princeinwolfsclothing, aka Spencer Carrington, is, in fact, married.
MARRIED.
Tell me you saw that coming because that is not the outcome I was expecting.
I am so pissed off, then angry at myself for being so impulsive. What was I thinking, accepting a date without chatting with the guy for at least more than a few short messages?
The minute he answers that call and says ‘honey’ down the phone, I look to his left hand ring finger to see the clear-as-day tan line from a missing wedding ring. When he ends the call and puts his phone on the table, he looks over at me warily, like he is waiting to gauge my reaction.
“You’re married?” I ask incredulously.
“Will my answer make a difference?”
I stand up from the table, spin around on my pretty black heels, and walk straight out of there, without wasting another word on the man. Holly gives me a sympathetic look as I walk past her, but I’m too furious to care at that point. Not only has the entire evening been a sham, but I’m leaving without trying any of the damn tiramisu.
What does a girl have to do to get a good freaking dessert these days?