At some point during the evening, after Jeffrey had fed me pork tenderloin and chocolate bread pudding with his fingers, I felt for certain that this was all just raps. I mean the romance factor was through the roof. I banished the thought as soon as it came, because truth be told I no longer cared, the whole thing felt so damned good. We were having such a wonderful conversation and I had had a little bit of wine, actually I had stopped counting after the third glass. We didn’t notice the restaurant emptying out, until the maître d’ came over to ask us if we would be much longer. I looked around, no one else was there and the staff was actually clearing tables. Jeffrey immediately settled the check and left a hundred dollar tip.
It had been such an intoxicating night that when we got up to leave, I could barely manage my stilettos, let alone my car. So he did what any gentleman would do. He drove me home. I was not too far gone to notice that he drove a very nicely set up Range Rover. I nestled into the plush leather and started to drift off as we listened to music. Thankfully he had a navigation system and didn’t need any directions from me. Soon we arrived at my house and I vaguely remember him walking me to the house, but as I leaned into him, I remember thinking that his cologne smelt citrusy. He took me to my bedroom, took off my boots and my cardigan and lay me in my bed. After which I drifted back to sleep and dreamt of weddings on the beach.