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“No, Ms.Flores.”
“I’m glad to hear it, because I don’t either.”
“Don’t scratch your neck, Ms.Flores,” he whispers, his lips curving. “You’ll get a rash ...”
Tired of pretending to be formal, and given what we’ve just talked about, I protest. Damn it all!
“Please ... call me Judith, or Jude. Let’s leave the formality for the office. Yes, you’re my boss, and for that reason I need to show you respect, but I’m uncomfortable having dinner with someone who continuously addresses me by my surname.”
He brings his face close to mine. “As long as you call me Eric,” he whispers. “It’s uncomfortable and very impersonal to have dinner with a woman who calls me by my last name.”
I sigh again, accept, and extend my hand.
“Agreed, Eric. Pleased to meet you.”
He takes my hand and, to my surprise, kisses it.
“Same here, Jude,” he adds in a sweet tone.
Just then, the car stops, and Tomás opens the door from the outside. Mr.Zimmerman—I mean, Eric—gets out and offers me his hand.
As soon as we step inside the well-lit and beautiful restaurant, I’m in a much better mood. I’ve always wanted to come here. Besides, I’m famished; I haven’t eaten since noon. I check out the tables and especially the dishes the waiters are serving. Mother of God, everything looks so good! As soon as the maître d’ spots my companion, he brightens and comes over to us.
“Please follow me,” he says after greeting us. Eric takes my hand, and I follow. I notice several women admiring him. That makes me proud to be the one he’s leading by the hand. Crossing the crowded dining room, we arrive at a space separated by gold satin curtains. I can’t help but be surprised. When the waiter opens one of those curtains and asks us to go in, I almost whistle.
The table is lovely in the candlelight. To the side, there’s a very comfy-looking rocking chair; and in the center, there’s a round, well-set table for two. Eric signals for the maître d’ to retire, then chivalrously pulls out one of the chairs for me.
“Do you like it?” he asks me.
“Yes ...”
As soon as I’m seated, he circles the table and sits across from me. “You’ve never had dinner here?”
“I’ve passed by a thousand times, but I’ve never come in. The prices here are too much for a girl like me.”
Eric wrinkles his nose and takes my hand, drawing circles on my wrist.
“Few things will be out of reach for you,” he whispers.
That makes me laugh. “More things than you know.”
“I doubt it, sweetness. I’m sure you’re the one who creates your own limitations.”
The way he looks at me, his deep voice, and how he just called me “sweetness” captivate me. I shiver. He fascinates me more with each passing second.
He presses a button next to the table, and almost instantaneously, a waiter appears, carrying a bottle of wine. But I don’t like wine. I’d kill for a Coke. As soon as the waiter has poured, Eric picks up the wineglass, swirls it, brings it to his nose, and takes a discreet sip.
“Excellent.”
The waiter pours again and serves me too. I scratch myself. An instant later, he disappears, leaving us alone.
“Try the wine, Jude. It’s fantastic.”
I take the glass, trying to enjoy the moment.
“What’s wrong?” he asks me.
“Nothing.”