“Yes. It’s not exactly a place we’d set up an Opate date at, you know.”
Anthony crosses his arms over his chest, but the look in his eyes is anything but agitated. “Who do you think I am, exactly? I’m not like one of your customers.”
I smile down at the menu.
He catches it, of course. “You think I am?”
“Maybe, yes.”
He shakes his head, but there’s a smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. “You once told me you were an excellent judge of character. I’m strongly doubting that.”
“Perhaps I let a few things I’d heard about you influence my thinking,” I admit. “But in my defense, you bought a Cartier watch on auction that you can’t wear. Does it even fit you?”
“No.”
“See? You’ve had a hand in creating your own reputation.”
“You said you’d heard a few things about me.”
“Yes, well, I’m not allowed to talk about what clients tell me after dates.”
His eyebrows lower. “But?”
“But, hypothetically, I might have been informed about certain connections your… well, your family has.”
“My surname,” he says. “Surely you made the connection before either of my dates pointed it out to you?”
I give an apologetic shrug. “I didn’t. I’m sorry?”
Anthony shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling. “My grandfather would be rolling in his grave if he heard that.”
“He would? Oh, I’m sorry.”
But then his gaze returns to mine and it’s bursting with silent laughter. “Honestly, how do you work at a place like Opate and not know this? Not care about it?”
“You know why,” I tell him archly, but I’m smiling. “I’m in it for therightreasons.”
“Ah, yes. True love.”
“Exactly.”
“You know, I thought you were just feeding me a line the first time I met you.”
“And now?”
“Now I know you actually believe it. I don’t know if that makes you honorable or naive.”
I laugh, crossing my legs beneath the table. The movement settles my leg next to his.
Neither of us shifts away.
“Can’t I be both?”
The waiter arrives with our first two beers, one each, and gives us pens for our scorecards. I gaze over the rim of my beer at Anthony. He commits fully, taking a deep drag of his ale and commenting on its flavor. Even adds little x’s to the scorecard.
We drink and talk, and it’s surprisingly pleasant, drowning out the sounds of students singing along to an indie rock song at the table next to us.
One of them ambles past us someway through the third beer, aiming for a stool. He gets on it with a wobble. “I was just dared!” he yells, “by my lovely girlfriend, that I had to tell you all… no, just wait a moment. Just give me a moment!”