Page 82 of Victorious: Part 2
I give him a weak smile before he exhales, holding onto her. “You know me, babe. Full of surprises.”
Meadow turns to me, waggling her brows. “I’m in love with a famous guy, how cool is that?”
I grin, not really knowing what to say before he groans, shaking his head. “It was one commercial, years ago. Hardly qualifies me as famous, darlin’.”
She spins, leaning on her toes, her arms sliding around his neck. “Let a girl dream. You’re like my very own John fromA Star is Born, and I’m Esther. Except, you’re totally, like in the movies, not music, baby.”
Cedar widens his eyes at her. “Jesus, honey, did you not see how that movie ended?”
Meadow slumps her shoulder. “I mean, yeah, but we won’t have that ending, just the fame.”
She clearly holds memories of her famous past, but can’t quite find the connections. Furrowing my brows, I glance at Cedar while he holds onto her tighter as something she said confuses me. “Wait, you said John and Esther fromA Star is Born? I thought it was Jack and Ally?”
Meadow scowls, letting out a laugh. “Who’s Jack and Ally?”
Cedar grimaces. “The 1976 version,” he states, glancing down at his hippy style clothing, reminding me without saying anything that Meadow still thinks they’re a few years back than they actually are.
Dipping my head, I catch on quickly. “Right, of course… shall we head off to dinner?”
Cedar chuckles in understanding, gesturing the direction, and Phoenix and Meadow take off ahead of us, and Cedar steps up to me. “Don’t worry… it takes some getting used to. But most of the time, she has no clue what’s going on around her. She’s in her own little world. So don’t worry if you fuck up on occasion, okay?”
Letting out a long breath, I relax as he wraps his arm comfortingly around me, and we make our way to dinner. Therestaurant Cedar leads us to is this sleek steakhouse tucked away from the main chaos of The Strip, all dark wood and soft lighting that makes everything feel intimate without being claustrophobic. It’s the kind of place that probably costs more for one meal than I usually spend on food in a week, but Cedar waves off my protests when I try to mention it.
“My treat,” he insists as the hostess leads us to a private booth. Almost like she knew Cedar was coming and wouldn’t want to be in the eyes of the public.
He probably called ahead.
“Consider it payment for letting me ramble at you in the desert.”
“You don’t need to pay us for basic human decency,” I say, sliding into the booth next to Phoenix.
“Maybe not,” Cedar replies, settling in across from us with Meadow practically glowing beside him. “But sometimes it’s nice to have a reason to celebrate running into good people.”
When the waitress arrives, Cedar barely glances at the menu before ordering a bottle of wine for the table. “Something bold,” he tells her with a charming grin. “Like a cabernet that doesn’t take shit from anybody.”
I feel Phoenix stiffen beside me, and I know it’s not because of the wine choice. My heart jumps as the waitress looks between us, her brow twitching just slightly, because clearly Phoenix and I shouldn’t be drinking.
Cedar catches it instantly. “They’re with me,” he says smoothly, voice casual but firm. “It’s all on my tab tonight. Just let them enjoy themselves, yeah?”
The waitress hesitates, just for a second, but Cedar’s smile is effortless, the kind of smile that’s probably gotten him out of parking tickets, into VIP lounges, and straight through more than one private gate. She nods with a polite smile and disappears without a word.
Phoenix lets out a slow exhale. I glance at him, our knees brushing under the table. He smirks.
“That male magnetism, huh?” he mutters under his breath, knowing full well it was his years as a superstar that pulled that off.
“Perks of knowing people who can charm waitstaff into selective amnesia,” I whisper back.
He winks at me, and the conversation flows more easily than I expected once we order. Meadow tells us about their travels. Apparently, they’ve been everywhere from the Northern Lights in Alaska to some meditation retreat in Costa Rica where she learned to‘communicate with the energy of butterflies.’Cedar listens to every word as though it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard, occasionally adding details or gently steering the conversation when she starts to drift too far into territory that might be confusing.
Phoenix, whom I was worried might be uncomfortable with the whole situation, actually seems to relax as the evening goes on. He asks Cedar about their travels, shares some of our road trip highlights, and even smiles when Meadow insists on teaching us the proper way to appreciate the energy of our food before we eat.
“You have to thank the cow for its sacrifice,” she says solemnly, holding her hands over her plate. “And ask the vegetables to nourish your spirit as well as your body.”
“Meadow, baby, not everyone follows our gratitude practices,” Cedar says gently.
“But they should,” she insists. “Food tastes so much better when you eat it with intention and love.”
Phoenix, to his credit, actually places his hands over his plate and mutters something that sounds like “Thanks, cow.” I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at how adorably awkward he looks.
