“Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you tonight,” he says.
“You’ve been a little busy,” I shrug. “And you’re talking to me now.”
“Did they tell you about Adrian’s grand opening?”
I nod. “Beau gave me the heads up last week, and then I got more of the details tonight.”
“Great, so—” The bachelor calls for Darren then, happily drunk and about as loud as I’d expect at this point in the night.Darren turns to him, then back to me, his hand wrapped around my elbow. “Do you want to go out for tapas with me?”
The jump from a WeHo photo gallery to a tapas date doesn’t feel like a logical one, but Darren is already backing away with the promise to explain more later. It probably doesn’t matter when my answer would be the same either way, and I relax like it’s the type of invitation I get from friends all the time.
It used to be, before most of them stopped trying, but I’m grateful for another chance. “Yeah, that sounds great. Just text me a time and place.”
I leave then. He sends me the name of the restaurant the next day, and we make our plans. On Saturday, I’m restless enough to rely on weed and motorcycle repairs to keep me busy, and smart enough to make sure one doesn’t overlap with the other.
Tonight, I don’t need either of them. Tonight, I’m driving my car, and I’m on my way to meet Darren.
As usual, my music is loud, and the perfect company to keep when nobody else is around, and I only turn it down when I’m close enough to look for a place to park on the street. When I’ve found something a block away, I step out of the car and stretch between one deep breath and another. The early October night is warmer than usual, and without a Harley as an excuse to wear it, I’ve left my leather jacket at home. My dark green t-shirt fits tightly and suits me just fine, my jeans and boots are a way of life, and all of it makes me feel good. But even with that confidence, seeing Darren fully dressed makes me stumble a little every time it happens, the hundreds of nights I’ve seen him shirtless at Trailhead far outweighing the hours I’ve spent seeing his torso covered.
I smile at him as I approach the restaurant, surprised that he’s early.
But I need to stop being surprised by him entirely.
He pushes off the wall he’s been leaning against, and when I dodge the mischief in his eyes, I find myself close to reaching for the buttons of his linen shirt, simply because they’re new to me.
Most of this is new, and the reminder hits hard, but then I nod toward the front door. “Let’s get inside so you can explain what we’re doing here.”
The restaurant isn’t particularly big, and we’re guided to a small rounded booth against a wall whose cracks and peeling paint add to the ambience more than they detract. That there’s ambience at all is a strange thing to note when we’re a couple of hungry friends prepared to eat our weight in tapas, but I love good food, and I’ll enjoy it no matter how dim the lighting might be, and no matter how softly the music plays. With our menus in hand and the hostess gone with a silent nod, we decide to share a pitcher of sangria and browse the long list of tapas.
“Wait,” Darren says, his hand pushing my menu toward the table. “Obviously we can order anything tonight, but the explanation first—I was tasked with finding a place that can cater Adrian’s gallery opening. And there are a hundred places to choose from, but I figured this might work well. Classier than traditional bar appetizers. Still small enough that nobody has to spend a long time eating at once. I know Adrian’s servingbeer and wine, so these should pair well. What do you think?”
My eyebrow rises and falls when Darren mentions Adrian, but we both know I want to help, so I lift my menu again. “Yeah, there are things here that won’t work—messier options better for a night like this—but plenty that people can pile onto small plates and go. Have you been inside the gallery to see what the space is like?”
Our server stops by long enough for us to ask for the sangria, and then Darren tracks the guy’s ass all the way back to the kitchen. It’s a nice ass, but I’m not sure I’ve ever been as bold about wanting to follow one across a room. I’d make some kind of joke about it, but then Darren’s eyes are back on mine, and I remember I asked him a question.
“No, I haven’t seen it in person, but Beau sent me some pictures. There isn’t much room, so we’ll either need to plan for servers to walk around with trays or set up a few separate stations around the gallery.”
I nod. “Not ideal, but not unexpected either. Is there a budget?”
“We can’t go completely off the rails, but there’s enough money to feed everyone more than bread and cheese.”
I nod again, and both of us make room for the pitcher and glasses the server brings. We haven’t done more than glance at the tapas list, but Darren and I are easy to please, and it’s not difficult for us to pick out some mushrooms, shrimp, chorizo, eggplant, squid, and Manchego before the nice ass is gone again. We tap our glasses together in a wordless toast, and then I sit back to study the restaurant, moderately busy for a Sunday night.
“Have you been here before?” I ask.
“Nah, I just looked it up online and thought it seemed like a decent idea.” Darren stops and tilts his head without bothering to hide his grin. “Why? Did you expect me to have connections here?”
“I expect you to have connections everywhere.”
He laughs, and the dimples I’ve known for years take a long time to fade. “Oh, come on. You’ve been out with me before. I don’t know everyone.”
“No, but you get to know them very quickly,” I point out. “And it’s been months since I watched you charm half of WeHo, so a Spanish chef or two didn’t seem out of the realm of possibilities.”
“Wecharmed half of WeHo. Don’t even fucking pretend you don’t know what you’re like.”
“No, no, no. Please tell me what I’mlike.”
Darren seems to think about it for a minute, stalling with a long sip of sangria until I finally give in and do the same. Even in a small booth, there’s some space between us, but he leans into it now, the glass still in his hand while he looks at me with a challenge in his eyes.