Page 86 of My So-Called Perfect Life
Gregorio’s is nice.I’ve never been here before. The interior design kind of reminds me of Ryan’s bar.
“Did you notice that Cohen’s and this place have the same design scheme?” I ask as we wait for dessert.
My entrée was delicious. I went with the chicken piccata, and it was almost as good as my mother’s, which is a high standard to live up to. Ryan’s steak looked great too. With the way he polished off his plate, I assume it was.
He glances around the place, taking in the wood, metal, and glass combo. The bar is off to the side with a wooden bar top and metal chairs. There is no mirror behind it like at Cohen’s, but the rustic lights that hang above it give the same metallic feeling as Ryan’s design. The ceiling is a mixture of exposed wood beams and metal rafters. The tables have mason jars filled with string lights and hydrangeas as centerpieces.
“You’re right,” he says as his eyes come back to me. “It does.”
“Are you going to keep the same theme and design for the new location too?”
He nods. “It’s branding, so I want to keep the feel of the inside the same. You know, the whole it-doesn’t-matter-which-Cohen’s-location-you-go-to-because-it-always-feels-like-home type of thing.”
Our waiter arrives with my cheesecake and Ryan’s chocolate cake. Ryan grabs his fork, ready to dig in.
“Wait,” I stop him.
“What?”
“We need to sing ‘Happy Birthday.’”
“I have to sing to myself?”
“No.” I chuckle. “I’ll do the singing.”
He leans back in his chair, eyes on me, and grins. “Please, by all means, serenade me, Dani Girl.”
And I do.
I sing low and sultry, like I’m trying to channel my inner Marilyn Monroe, “Happy birthday, dear Mr. Sexy. Happy birthday to you.”
“Best version I’ve had performed for me.”
My cheeks flush. I know I can’t sing, but it doesn’t matter to him.
“Have you made any decisions with Roxy yet about partnerships?” I ask, switching the subject back to Cohen’s.
He shakes his head as he digs into his cake. “I’m still working out the numbers with my financial advisor. We’re putting together an entire portfolio and projections for the company as a whole.”
The inner organization freak in me lights up. “If you need anything, you know how much I love stuff like that.”
“I’m still waiting on my organized office and stockroom, woman,” he jests. “You keep making all these promises, yet there’s no follow-through.”
My voice drops low as I think about how I’m going to make good on one promise tonight. “Oh, I follow through all right,” I say. “You’re going to find that out tonight.”
His eyes glaze over as if he’s catching the meaning of my words. “Why do I get the impression you aren’t talking about my office or my stockroom?”
I pop a piece of my cheesecake into my mouth and make a show of licking it all off the fork. “Because I’m not.”
“Check, please.”
* * *
“You really aren’t goingto tell me what’s going on?” Ryan asks for the fourth time since leaving dinner.
“Nope.” I pop thePas I reach for my bag in the back of his truck. “Remember . . . patience, Mr. Sexy.”
He growls, “I love it when you call me that.”
