Page 135 of The Arrogant One
“I hope you’re enjoying yourselves?” Walker asked.
“Very much so,” Bryn replied.
“I’m so happy you could come,” Colson said. He patted his stomach. “And next time you’re in the mood to bake, I’ll gladly take an order of those cupcakes again.”
I giggled. “I’ll remember that.”
Eden gave me a smile—a sly one that I suspected was her specialty. “The toro nigiri and the hamachi and jalapeño are my favorite. I know you didn’t order either. I’m going to send some over.”
I wasn’t even a little surprised that Eden had looked at our ticket prior to coming to our table. Nothing slipped by her. She was one sharp lady.
“I can’t wait to try them,” I admitted.
The siblings said goodbye to us and left, and Lockhart leaned into my neck, holding my lower back as he whispered, “I won’t be home until late. I’ll text you.”
“You’d better.”
I could feel him smile, the way his scruff brushed my cheek before he put his lips in front of mine and kissed me. He lingered there, not nearly long enough, and pulled back.
“I’ll try to check in again,” he said. “But if I don’t get the chance, make sure to find me before you leave.”
I nodded. “I will.”
“Enjoy your dinner, ladies.”
The second he was gone, Bryn fanned her face. “The two of you are so ridiculously hot, I can’t stand it.” She grinned as she glanced toward her left. “Speaking of hot, I wish Beck was here. Those few minutes at the bar in Musik when I got to meet my pretend boyfriend wasn’t nearly enough.” Her eyes turned to full-on hearts.
“Lockhart said he has an away game.”
“Bummer.” She took a drink. “Girl, I’ve never seen so many good-looking people in one room. Do you have to show a photo of yourself before you make a reservation?”
I laughed. “That’s because half the people in here are famous. It’s the most popular restaurant in LA at the moment.”
Everyone online was talking about Toro. It had filled my social media feed from the moment they opened—and for good reason. This restaurant was absolutely breathtaking. It felt nothing like Charred or Musik. But like those two, it was an experience from the second you stepped inside.
One that hit every one of your senses.
And one that made you remind yourself that you weren’t here for the ambiance, but for the food.
The interior was decorated in all different shades of blue and silver—metallic and matte. Multiple textures had been used—from the floor to the ceiling to the linens and lighting. When combined, you didn’t feel like you were swimming in the middle of an ocean. You felt like you were sunbathing on the sand in Fiji; the sound of the waves lapping the shore was humming in your ear, and the warmth of the sun was wrapping its rays around you.
We’d only had two dishes so far, the tuna tartare—which Bryn ordered wherever she went—and the oysters, flown in from the Damariscotta River in Maine.
Both were positively divine.
“I think our next course is coming,” I said to Bryn as a food runner, headed right for us, halted at our table.
He set two small plates between us. “The toro nigiri and the hamachi and jalapeño, from Miss Eden Weston,” he said. “Enjoy.”
“Oh, I’m going to.” Bryn picked up her porcelain chopsticksfrom a small fish-shaped holder. “Take a picture. Hurry. I’m about to devour this, it looks so good.”
My phone was already on the table, and I positioned it over the two plates, snapping several shots from different angles.
“You’re good. Dig in.” I lifted my chopsticks off the fish holder and picked up the nigiri, moaning the second the fatty tuna hit my tongue.
“Right?” Bryn sang. “Like, couldn’t you eat a hundred more of these?”
“At least.”
