Page 22 of Babydaddy To Go

I want to own a restaurant. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with owning a food truck. They serve great food and they’re really convenient. It’s just that my dream has always been to open a restaurant, to plan the menu, to decide how the dining room is going to look. I’m not going to give that up just because one teacher was mean to me. I’m definitely not giving it up because I ate delicious food from a truck. I’ve eaten plenty of great food from restaurants, too.

Maybe after I’ve established my restaurant, we can expand into food truck territory. I’ve heard that the vendors form a community of their own. I’d love to be a part of that, once I’m a proud restaurant owner.

The flow of pedestrian traffic keeps me from dwelling on the food vendors for too long. It also makes it difficult to eat my shawarma. I’ve only managed a couple of bites. I don’t want to choke should an overzealous New Yorker knock into my back.

My food is starting to get cold, so I pull off onto another street. The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place why. Shrugging it off, I walk on this less busy road, enjoying my food as I go.

One block turns into two. The storefronts get nicer and nicer in this area. I must be reaching the business part of New York. At the very least, I’m in the ‘fancy’ part of the city. The part where I can walk in the setting sun without worrying about something bad happening to me.

After four blocks, I’m considering putting on my GPS to head home. I’m exhausted from the long day, but I’m not done with my food yet. They always give so much meat when you order shawarma.

I pause in front of a sleek, glass front building and pull out my phone. Before I have a chance to type in my address, I realize why this street sounded so familiar.

I’m standing in front of Nate’s restaurant.

It looks just like its pictures. The storefront is wide, taking up three or four units. The entire front is covered in floor to ceiling windows. Expensive apartments sit on top of the restaurant.

The restaurant is luxurious. The tables are lined with white linen cloths. Each one holds a single white candle in the center, flanked by two long-stem red roses in crystal vases. I can’t make out the walls. Photos I’ve seen show expensive paintings sitting above the best tables in the restaurant.

All of the waiters are tall and graceful as they carry food, wine, and other drinks to their tables. The women wear conservative black dresses while the men wear expensive-looking suits with black ties. It’s the kind of restaurant I long to open. Only the best people can eat there. Reservations for a table can take weeks, sometimes months. As soon as I got my acceptance letter to NYACA, I tried to get a table for one and was told their next opening was in December. It’s their busy season.

I’m not dressed for dinner, but it can’t hurt to walk inside, can it? People do that all the time.

I start towards the door, but I stop myself from going in. No, I need to wait to experience the interior. I’ll go in when I have a reservation and when I’m dressed appropriately for this beautiful restaurant. It deserves more than my jeans and t-shirt. The patrons I can see through the window are in their Sunday best.

Even though I can’t bring myself to walk inside, I can’t force my eyes from the window, either. It’s magical to watch how well everything works inside the restaurant. Most of the places near me run in disorganized chaos. Nate’s restaurant is a well-oiled machine.

Just as I’m preparing to peel myself from the window, a movement near the door catches my eye. Out walks Nate looking incredible in a tailored suit. His hair is slicked back, revealing his perfect eyes.

My heart is racing but my entire body feels numb. It shouldn’t be legal for someone to look that handsome. I struggle to breathe, but it’s nearly impossible.

Nate scans the small crowd gathered in front of his restaurant. His eyes lock on mine and hold my gaze. He smiles slightly like he’s happy to see me. I return the look.

This is the same kind of moment we had last night. Maybe what happened in class today was a fluke. He could have been trying to keep up appearances so that no one knew we’d shared an intimate night together.

I take a step towards him, but he looks behind him. A stunning woman in the most gorgeous red dress I’ve ever seen walks out of the restaurant and locks arms with him. Her long, skinny legs capture the attention of everyone standing around.

Nate smiles at her the way he smiled at me last night. Who is this woman? I thought he didn’t have a girlfriend! Have they been keeping it a secret? If so, what was the deal with last night?

I thought we had something real. It felt real to me. The way he looked at me, the way he kissed me? That had to have been more than my imagination.

Yet here he is, getting into a limo with some model. He doesn’t look my way again even though he knows I’m there. I want to believe he’s embarrassed, but it’s more likely he just doesn’t care.

I’ve lost my appetite, so I throw the remaining shawarma into the nearest trash can and speed walk back to my apartment. I’m glad I stopped at the store on my way home from class and stocked my freezer with ice cream. I take out a tub of mint chocolate chip and settle on the couch to watch a movie.

It’s not enough to take my mind off of Nate, but it’s a good start. At least the ice cream is delicious.

8

Nathaniel

Monday

The paparazzi flashes burn my eyes and make my head swim with an ache that wasn’t there before. The one thing I hate about my job is the attention it brings. All I’ve ever wanted was to own my own restaurant. I didn’t realize I’d end up a celebrity by achieving my dream.

The vapid model I’m stuck with tonight slides into the waiting limo. With a quick wave to the small crowd, I climb in beside her.

My driver knows where we’re going. He pulls the car away from the curb and heads towards the extravagant hotel hosting tonight’s charity event.