Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
It’s ridiculous in comparison to his place, and we both know it, but he smiles. “It’s lovely. Like its resident.” He cocks an arm. “Shall we?”
Snagging my purse, I take his elbow and lock my door as we leave. “So, what poetry have you read?”
“The masters,” Chance says breezily. “Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Byron, Yeats, Tennyson, Jagger, Dre . . .”
“Wait . . . Jagger . . . Dre?” I ask, and Chance grins at my catch. “Rock and rap music?”
“Songs are poetry put to music,” Chance points out. “The poetry of our times, a way for those who are looking for a voice to find theirs.”
“That’s actually very astute,” I say in agreement. I’m not surprised by Chance’s appreciation of music, but I guess I expected his tastes to run somewhere other than old-school rap. Maybe someone with a John Mayer Body is a Wonderland type of vibe would seem more his speed.
After a short drive, Chance pulls up in front of Macrosine. “Health food? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised given your reputation as a health nut. Thine body is a temple,” I tease.
“Macrobiotic, organic, and the head chef used to have a Michelin star. You’ll love it,” Chance assures me, getting out and handing the keys to the valet. Offering me his arm again, he leads me into the restaurant, where we’re quickly seated at a prime table, the host almost deferential as he hands us our menus and nearly disappears into thin air.
I can’t help it, I laugh. “Wow.”
“What?” Chance asks, then smirks when I wave my hands around like ‘all this’. “Yeah . . . I know.”
He looks around, like he’s never so much as bothered to do so, but I’m scanning the whole restaurant gobsmacked. It’s all white and light wood, with plants here and there. The chair I’m sitting in is linen-covered, the table is set with wood-handled silverware, and the water and wine goblets look handblown with tiny little bubbles in the glass. It’s understated but luxurious, and definitely expensive as fuck. I bet I can’t even afford an appetizer here.
I glance at the menu, and the first item I see is a dandelion salad that costs more than I spend in a week at the grocery store.
Isn’t a dandelion a weed? They’re charging grocery prices for annoying grass people yank from their yards?
A woman appears at the tableside, silently and discreetly filling the water goblets, and before I can say thanks, I swear she bows her chin and skedaddles away.
Toto, I’m not in Kansas anymore!
Turning back to Chance, I find that he’s completely unbothered, having not even noticed her, much less acknowledged her. “Have you literally spent your entire life having people trip over themselves to make sure your every whim is catered to?” I ask disapprovingly. “I mean, I think if you’d said you wanted your ass kissed, someone’d pull out fresh Chapstick for it.”
Admittedly, I have a bit of a chip on my shoulder on this topic. I’ve worked enough coffee shops through the years to have experienced my fair share of people who want to be treated like royalty despite a Halloween costume being the closest to a queen they’ve ever been. Mistreating others or demanding top-tier service because you feel entitled to do so, for absolutely no reason, is a sign of a shit human as far as I’m concerned. I’m past the days of smiling through gritted teeth so I don’t get fired and most certainly won’t be sitting here on a date with someone so arrogant as to think I’ll be impressed by this.
“Thankfully, I haven’t had people dote on me that way, or at least I don’t now, by my choice,” Chance says evenly, not rising to my challenging tone. “But I wanted to take you someplace nice and delicious. This is one of my favorites. And yeah, unfortunately, they probably would do that. It’s ridiculous.” Chance huffs, apparently annoyed with the status quo I assumed he’d appreciate and expect.
“Oh. You don’t like that?” I ask, confused.
He chuckles and looks around but leans in to whisper between the two of us. “Hell no. It’s awkward and uncomfortable. I’ve even used fake names before so they wouldn’t pull the ‘Harrington’ act out for me. But from experience, I know getting caught using a fake name is even worse. They go double pandering, while at the same time trying to poke around to see what it is I must be hiding. So I’m just . . . me. I’d like to say I’m a ‘regular person’, but that’s not really true. Not with the upbringing I had, but I can’t change it. Some people would say it’s disrespectful to try and act otherwise.” He lifts a shoulder, shrugging dismissively as he leans back in his chair and returns his attention to the menu.