“Sorry, I just wanted an up-close whiff of your perfume. It smells,” he inhaled deeply, “delicious.”
“Thanks,” I answered with a smile as I leaned in and smelled his neck, suddenly needing to be near him. “So is yours.” And I wasn’t lying—his cologne smelled of something soapy and crisp, but masculine all the same. When I pulled away from him, we both just stood there awkwardly for a second or two, staring at each other as if waiting for the other to make the first move.
“We should go,” Ryan said hurriedly as he started for the door. “Don’t want to be late.”
“Yes,” I said quickly, bringing up the rear, remembering my room key at the last minute before the door closed behind us. We didn’t say anything on the walk down the hallway, or in the elevator. Even though it was just the two of us on the ride down, neither of us uttered a word. When the elevator doors opened, I had to conceal my smile as I watched two women who were waiting to take our elevator gawk at Ryan as he strode by.
“Have you been to Antoine’s before?” Ryan asked, completely unaware that he was the source of so much female attention. We waited just outside the front entry doors to the Omni hotel while the valet retrieved Ryan’s truck.
“No, I haven’t,” I answered as the valet pulled Ryan’s white Ford F350 up to the curb. After tipping the man, Ryan held the passenger door open for me and I hoisted myself into the raised cab.
“Antoine’s is just down St. Louis Street,” the valet said. He had a look of puzzlement as to why we would drive when we could walk just as easily.
Ryan nodded fervently. “I’m aware of that, but did you see the heels on those shoes she’s wearin’?” He motioned to me with a laugh.
“Ah, good point, sir, enjoy your evening,” the elderly man said with a large smile.
Ryan bid him the same and we started down the street, with me feeling idiotic that we were driving such a short distance. “You know, I am capable of walking a few blocks?”
Ryan immediately shook his head. “Nope, tonight isn’t about what you’re capable of. It’s about what you’re comfortable with.” I smiled at him. Sometimes he was just so damn nice.
The drive to Antoine’s took maybe five minutes. Though I’d seen the restaurant from the street and never ventured inside, I was aware that Antoine’s was really a household name all around New Orleans. At one hundred sixty years old, it was also one of the oldest if not the oldest restaurant around.
Once we parked and made our way into the main dining room, I took in the white table linens covering square tables, which all had four wooden chairs. The dining space was incredibly open, with high ceilings, columns, and French décor. Once Ryan gave his name, the host showed us to our table, which was in the far west corner and decently set apart from the rest of the tables. Whether by accident or design, I didn’t have a clue. Ryan pulled my chair out for me and I sat down, accepting the menu as the waiter handed it to me. When the man took our drink order and retreated into the kitchen, I faced Ryan with a large grin. “So, what sort of food do they serve here?”
“French Creole,” Ryan answered as he took a swig of his ice water and leaned back into his chair, looking slightly ridiculous in the undersized seat.
I glanced down at the menu for a few minutes before deciding I had no clue what to order. I looked up at Ryan again, my eyebrows reaching for the ceiling. “Um, what would you suggest?”
He laughed. “Do you want to try somethin’ new? Or stick with somethin’ tried and true?”
I cocked my head to the side as I considered it. I mean, the right answer was to try something new, especially when I hadn’t really done a great job of sampling all the Louisiana specialties offered in New Orleans. “Why don’t you pick for us? I feel like being surprised.” It wasn’t the total truth, but I figured when in Rome, or in this case, New Orleans…
“Roger that,” Ryan said with a smile as he inspected the menu for another few seconds. Closing it, he studied me, an expression of amusement on his lips.
“What’s that look for?” I asked as the waiter arrived again.
“Do you know what you’d like to order?” the older man asked as he poured us glasses of sparkling Perrier per Ryan’s request. “Or do you need more time?”
Ryan shook his head and leaned forward, as if this ordering stuff were important business. “The lady has left the orderin’ to me.”
The waiter glanced at me and smiled. With an overbite, beady eyes, and long, crooked teeth, he reminded me of a large rodent. “Brave young woman!”
I just shook my head and laughed while Ryan glanced over at me with a smile before facing the waiter again. “We’d like to start with the gumbo.”
“Very good,” the waiter nodded as he scribbled on his pad and faced Ryan again expectantly.
“And the crevettes rémoulade,” Ryan continued in a flawless French accent, which immediately made me think of Drake. I pushed the thoughts of my ghostly housemate to the back of my mind and focused on my corporeal dinner date.
“The what?” I asked with a muffled laugh.
“The dish is a very famous one, consisting of our shrimp in a special rémoulade dressing,” the waiter answered, pronouncing every word as if he had a spoonful of peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth.
I just shrugged, since the waiter’s description didn’t really clear much up for me.
“For our main courses, I would like the filet de truite amandine and the pommes de terre soufflées,” Ryan continued as he narrowed his eyes at me. It seemed he was trying to decide just what dish would suit me most. “For the lovely lady, the poulet sauce Rochambeau.”
“Very good, sir, and are you happy with your Perrier? Or would either of you prefer another beverage this evening? Perhaps something alcoholic?” the waiter continued his efforts to persuade us.
Ryan nodded immediately. “I’d like a double Jameson served neat, please.” Then he faced me. “Peyton, what do you drink?”
I glanced up at the waiter and smiled. “An amaretto sour, please.”
Ryan nodded like he was pleased with my choice. “How very Southern of you.” I didn’t respond but watched the waiter walk away as I wondered what in the world Ryan ordered for our dinner.
“To answer your question,” he said, interrupting my thoughts as I took a sip of my Perrier before focusing on him again.
“What question was that?”
“The one about why I was givin’ you the look I gave you,” he answered while doing it again.
I nodded, blotting the water on my lips with my linen napkin before returning it to my lap. “Ah, yes, why was that?”
Ryan chuckled and shrugged. “Because you took me by surprise and I was surprised by my own surprise,” he finished with another hearty chuckle as he shook his head and leaned back into his chair, appraising me silently.
“I’ve taken you by surprise?” I repeated, frowning because I wasn’t really sure what to make of Ryan. I mean, I figured it was fairly obvious that we were both digging each other—well, that is to say this wasn’t just a friendly date. No, there had to be more going on between us. We had chemistry for sure.
“Yep, you have,” he answered immediately. He continued to gaze at me and I felt like I might lose myself in the low-lit amber of his eyes. “Little did I know the night Hank called me and asked me to check on you durin’ that storm that you would later convince me to repair your house and, now, expel your ghost.”
I smiled and shrugged. “You make it sound like the expulsion of my ghost is going to be a big deal. I mean, what’s a little exorcism, really?”