Page 95 of The Arrogant One
“Yep.” I sighed. “I have to submit my review of Charred in a couple of days.”
“Are you going back, or are you just going to base your opinion off our dinner the other night?”
“Our dinner.” I paused midair, staring at the small bag of figs in my hand. “I don’t think the photos I took will give anything away. I assume lots of people get the tuna and the burrata as appetizers. It’s not like we got anything out of the ordinary.” I thought about my response and added, “Right?”
“Besides the scallops.”
I placed the figs on top of the blue cheese–stuffed olives. “I won’t show those.”
“Then you’re fine.” She cleared her throat. “What about your review? What are you going to say?”
“It’ll be glowing—I mean, we did have an excellent dinner.”
“We sure did. I loved it.”
I squatted to rearrange some of the things inside the cooler but ended up holding on to the sides of it instead. “Things feel so perfect. Yet, at the same time, like everything is on the verge of a nuclear disaster.”
“Babe”—her voice softened—“a few more weeks, and then this will all somehow, someway, be behind us. I say us because we’re in it together.”
“And I love you for that.”
As I repositioned some of the containers, I saw the shrimp spring rolls I had filmed earlier today that was scheduled to post on my social media next week. I took them out of the cooler and set them back in the fridge.
“But, yes, a few more weeks. After Toro’s opening, I’m telling him. I have to.” Satisfied with the assortment, I zipped up the cooler and glanced around my busy, film-ready kitchen. “And the thought of that should give me some relief.” I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering when I had started thiscareer, which, back then, was nothing more than a hope. I’d filmed on a hot plate, dreaming of the days I’d have a setup like this. “But it doesn’t. Bryn, I’m terrified of coming clean.”
As the breeze hit my face, Lockhart’s hand was there, tucking the wild pieces of my hair behind my ear. But it was pointless. Unless I tied back my strands with the elastic that was on my wrist, the ocean air was going to keep them flying.
I didn’t mind.
That was why I’d brought him to Laguna Beach—for the wind, the waves, and the scenery we couldn’t get at his house or any of the restaurants I could have taken him to in town. And even though there were beaches closer to LA, there was something about this one that I felt was prettier than those.
I snuggled into his chest, the softness of his cotton button-down cozy against me as we sat beside each other, staring at the water, the bases of our champagne flutes buried in the sand. “When I was driving you to Laguna, I bet you thought I was taking you to Horned for dinner … didn’t you?”
He hadn’t asked any questions when I picked him up or during the drive here. He let tonight unfold just the way I’d wanted it to.
As I turned my body to look up at him, he was already gazing down at me, the greenness of his eyes more vibrant in this light.
“I couldn’t imagine why else we were coming this way. The beach was a surprise and a hell of a good one.”
“I wouldn’t bring you to Horned unless you asked me to. It wouldn’t feel right.”
I looked forward again, and he set his lips on top of my head.
“I’m not going to lie—I fucking hated how much you loved that restaurant.”
“I even rubbed it in about the butter cake—ugh, I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault. You didn’t know. And even if you did, you’re allowed to love other restaurants.” He picked up a strawberry from the container beside me. “That one just happens to be a sore spot in my family.”
I assumed that when he had read Dear Foodie’s review of Horned, that had really stung. And now that I was learning a lot more about Walker, I bet he’d lost his shit over it.
So, he hadn’t just heard it from me.
Lockhart had heard it from both versions of me.
Oh God, it was going to be impossibly hard to tell him who I was.
“You should know that your opinion reinforced my decision to buy that restaurant,” he continued.
