Page 109 of The Wild Card
I let my eyes slowly coast over her beautiful features. “Y’know, you say I’m a hopeless romantic but that little rant of yours sounded pretty hopelessly romantic to me.”
“My hopeless romantic side used to be dead and buried and hidden away. ‘Somebody’went and dug it up.” She narrows her stare accusingly at me and I laugh. Nadia reaches across the table for my hand. “Thinking about my parents’s story is part of the reason why knew I needed to take this shot with you, Harry. I didn’t want to live with the kind of regret they did. I watched them struggle for years, never making any progress in their attempts to move on. I didn’t want that for us.”
“I’m so fucking grateful you agreed to take a chance on us.” I kiss the back of her hand.
Her eyes twinkle at me. “I feel the same way.”
My chest is bursting. I’m damn happy to be here with her. “This is going to be a really romantic evening for us.” I grab her hand across the table, placing a kiss on it.
But then, not ten minutes later, we’re eating our words. Obnoxious yelling and cursing erupts from the kitchen nearby. Nadia’s eyes grow wide and our conversation comes to an abrupt halt as we look around, alarmed.
Other patrons pause, noticing the argument too, though it’s hard to make out what’s actually being said. At least it starts out that way.
Two distinct voices grow louder and louder. I’m about to call over our waiter to make sure everything’s okay in the back, when a pair of men bursts out of the kitchen.
Gasps are heard around all the room as the men start brawling right in the middle of the dining area.
“Oh my god!” Nadia shrieks, jumping in her seat.
Fists are thrown and a table is overturned as one tackles the other to the ground. I’m guessing we have the chef and sous-chef here, judging by the white jackets and the conversation topic.
“Salmon?! You call that salmon?!” One screams. I’m assuming that’s the head chef.
“It was fucking perfect!” The other retorts as another punch flies toward his face.
“It was overcooked, you imbecile!” The chef continues to pummel his second-in-command. “I wouldn’t serve that garbage or your under-temperature aioli sauce to the rats in the alleyway!”
That insult seems to set the sous-chef off, because that’s the moment when things really get scary. The short man flips over and starts absolutely railing on his boss.
When I realize that things are looking a little one-sided, I leap up out of my chair and rush over to the action. Along with a few other male patrons, I set out to break up the fight.
Well, at least, that’s the original plan.
I grab the sous-chef, and some other patrons hold back the chef. I’d like to say that was the end of it, but these agile cooks are tougher than they look. We struggle to subdue them.
Tables are toppled. Glasses are spilled. Candles are knocked over, and screaming ensues when a small fire lights up a table cloth in the corner.
Somewhere in the midst of the messy ordeal, I get distracted and someone clocks me in the face.Are you fucking serious?!
When all is said and done, and police statements are made, Nadia and I tiredly leave the restaurant.
“I think it’s safe to say that without the chef and sous chef, the kitchen will be closed for the rest of the night.” I glance over my shoulder to the scene of the shit show as we stroll down the street to where I parked.
Nadia looks back with a furrowed brow. She clutches onto my arm. “Heck, considering that the men are being hustled into the back of patrol cars, it’s safe to say that our romantic five-star restaurant choice will probably end up closed for a while.”
“Just my luck,” I mutter remorsefully.
Exhausted and annoyed by the sudden turn of events tonight, I stumble down the sidewalk with Nadia by my side. My Dream Girl is fussing over me, and I’m sure I look like an absolute mess. My perfectly-pressed shirt is now untucked and askew. I’ve got some stranger’s blood smeared on my clothes, and I’m holding a bag of frozen peas—courtesy of our frazzled waiter—to my rapidly swelling cheek.
“I can’t believe those idiots ruined our first real date,” I grumble. “All over some over-cooked fish.”
“They didn’t ruin our date. It was perfect,” Nadia says, trying to sound optimistic. “Well, except for this.” She runs her delicate fingers over my injury, soothing me in ways she probably doesn’t realize.
We stand there in the middle of the quiet sidewalk and I put my arm around her. She buries the top of her head against my neck and hugs me. Although things went off the rails tonight, I’m just happy to have her in my arms. She makes me feel better without even trying.
She titters softly when her stomach makes a loud gurgling sound.
I let out a sad laugh. “Still hungry for that salmon?”