Page 48 of Things We Tell Ourselves

“Are you kidding? This is great.”

She reaches for her red wine. Adam switches the appetizer plate at the center of the table with a metal trivet for the skillet. Wade notices her sniff the red wine in her glass, scrunching her nose a little before taking a sip. She struggles not to frown as she swallows. Dry wine has never been her forte.

“I’m going to agree with Camille on this one,” Wade says, using his fork to stab one of the sirloins, transferring it to his plate, “This is great, but it could be better.”

Adam pauses, napkins from the second shelf of the cart in hand as he eyes Wade warily.

“I’m going to need an old-fashioned,” Wade tells him, “and a top-shelf margarita for my guest.”

“Right away,” Adam answers, his chest deflating as if he was holding his breath.

“If you want to avoid Phillipe, you can go through the wine door to get to the bar,” Wade nudges, giving him a sympathetic nod toward the door behind Camille.

“Good idea.” Adam hurries out the wine room door.

“So, the Chef’s a bit of a control freak, eh?” Camille asks. She takes the other sirloin from the skillet. It’s tender enough that she can cut it with her fork.

“I think it’s part of the job description,” Wade shrugs, taking a bite of his sirloin. His eyes shut as he chews.

Seeing his face, Camille hurries to bite into hers. Medium-well steak is what she’s always ordered at restaurants. It’s what her dad always ordered when she was a kid, any time they went to a steakhouse. This sirloin is very pink on the inside. She swipes the bite through the extra sauce still pooled on top.

She inhales as she brings it to her mouth. The way it melts in her mouth, she knows she’s going to have to tell her father that she’s a fan of what he would call a ‘still breathing’ steak.

Two top-shelf margaritas, a few bites of Chef Phillipe’s take on a deconstructed Caesar salad to ‘cleanse the palate’ as Adam put it before dessert is served, and Camille’s feeling stuffed and a little tipsy.

She stares across the table at Wade, looking away the second he glances at her. “You said you were bringing me to the best restaurant in California, but I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting it to be this good.”

Wade eyes her curiously. “What were you expecting?”

“To be honest, I was fairly certain that you weren’t joking about leaving me stranded when we pulled up in front of a building with a homeless guy hanging out front.”

“You like my security, eh?”

Camille lets out a laugh. “Is that what he is, security dressed like a bum?”

“Ah, it’s not all for show. Benny is what you could call a reformed bum. He came with the building. There was a makeshift camp set up at the rear of the ground floor by the local riff-raff. When renovations started, the construction crew kept having to kick them out every morning. A fight broke out one morning when only a few of the construction guys were here. There were twice as many homeless as my guys. They surrounded my guys, from what I heard, and it was about to get bad when Benny stepped in and talked them down. Two of them weren’t having it and tried to jump him. He took them both down, the cops were called, and Benny had to go to the hospital for stitches in the arm.”

Camille raises her brow at him. “Stitches?”

“Yeah. One of the guys had a knife. When I found out what he did, I paid his hospital bill. I learned that besides having a drinking problem that landed him with no job or a roof over his head, he was an alright guy. He was in the army for four years, ended up here without a pot to piss in. We made a deal. If he could stay sober, I’d pay him to watch over the building. He kept it free of vagrants, and I had the guys building him his own one bedroom and bath in the corner of the garage. I didn’t think he’d last, but that was a year ago, and he’s still here. He’s on the payroll full-time now.”

“That’s great. This place really is full of surprises.”

Adam walks in from the kitchen to collect their plates. Camille pulls on her waistband that feels like it’s stretched to its limit.

“I don’t know if I can eat another bite,” she admits when Adam picks up her plate.

“You better make room,” Adam tells her, picking up her barely touched salad, “dessert is the best part.”

Wade also looks full as he rubs his hand over the front of his polo. Wade stares across the table at her, his face matching her satisfied expression. His head snaps up as Adam picks up his plate. “How long do we have before dessert’s ready?”

“Five minutes, give or take a few.”

Wade pushes his chair back from the table. “Tell Phillipe to give us a few, would you?”

Adam glances between them. “Sure,” he replies, not looking sure at all.

Wade stands excitedly as he walks around the table to Camille. He holds his hand out for her to rise from her seat. “I need to show you something.”

---