Sky High (Three Contemporary Novella's) (4 page)

Marianne came by to collect their glasses and the small forest of empty champagne singles on their two trays. “Sorry, we’re getting ready to land, so time to wrap up the party,” she said apologetically.

Funny, for a day that had gone so disastrously wrong, the last few hours had very much felt like a party—an intimate party for two. Cassie reluctantly sat up straight and bent over to put her heels back on. Simon cleared his throat.

“Ah, Cassie...I don’t know about you, but the evening I had scheduled is happening without me in Mexico, and I find myself without plans tonight.”

She sat back up and looked at him. He looked charmingly bashful, not quite making eye contact, as he smoothed down his tie. She held her breath for the rest of his little speech. “Since you’re also unexpectedly free tonight, I thought... Would you like to get some dinner together?”

A delicious rush of giddiness and heat swept through her, that moment when the guy you like unequivocally expresses his own interest. She needed to be straight with herself, though. She just met this guy—this frequent business traveler—on a plane. She knew very well they were both going to fly back to their regularly scheduled lives tomorrow morning. They’d be taking advantage of an unexpected opportunity, not starting something. But why shouldn’t she take advantage of this opportunity? One night stands weren’t exactly her thing, but then again, steady relationships hadn’t exactly been her thing of late, either. Which meant that
things
hadn’t happened in quite a while. A dry spell was putting it mildly.

She was a grown woman. She was smart enough to know what this was, and, more importantly, what it
wasn’t
. It would be like ordering dessert after dinner when she really shouldn’t, or pouring a second glass of wine after a hard day. Simon would be her treat to herself, to be enjoyed tonight and only tonight. She was giving herself permission to indulge in him.

Smiling, already tingling with anticipation, which she hadn’t felt in such a long time, she nodded. “I’d like that.”

Simon met her eyes and smiled in return. His smile was truly gorgeous. There should be laws against men with smiles that persuasive. She’d almost forgotten what this kind of attraction felt like.

“There’s a great little Italian place I like. Sound all right?”

She was already imagining what his kiss would be like and looking forward to the first time he touched her. What they ate for dinner seemed entirely beside the point. But if he wanted to be a gentleman and take her for dinner first, she wasn’t going to say no.

“Sounds perfect.”

She busied herself packing up her things as the plane landed and taxied. In the bustle of passengers retrieving carry-ons from the overhead bins, she missed her old seatmate, 6A, waking up from his epic bout of unconsciousness. In fact, she’d forgotten all about him until she was shuffling down the aisle behind him and his friend from 7A, headed towards the exit.

“I can’t wait to hit the beach, man,” 6A moaned.

“Dude, I’m telling you,” 7A said, sounding exasperated. “We are
not
in Mexico. We turned around and went back to New York.”

“Stop fucking with me, Neil. I need to piss and get another beer before we catch the flight to Acapulco.”

Cassie felt Simon nudge the small of her back. She turned to look at him over her shoulder and he mouthed
“Told you so.”

She began to giggle, then laugh, and finally she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle it. She looked back at Simon just as he broke out in unrestrained laughter, too.

“If we had more time,” he said. “It would be fun to follow him around the airport and see how long it takes him to figure it out.”

“That would be fun, but I’m not sure I’m willing to skip dinner to find out the answer to that question.”

He met her eyes, and the laughter was gone, replaced with something that made her momentarily speechless. “I’m not willing to skip dinner, either. I’m
starving
.”

“Me, too,” she murmured, a little breathless.

Simon unfurled that slow, sexy smile again. “Then let’s get out of this bloody airport.”

#

Their cab deposited them in front of a narrow storefront restaurant in the Meatpacking District, holding no more than fifteen tables. When Simon ushered her in, both of them steering carry-on suitcases, the host, an older man with salt and pepper hair and a white button down with the sleeves rolled up, greeted him by name.

“Simon! Didn’t think we’d see you this week. You said you were headed out again.” He shook Simon’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Ron, it was the most unbelievable flight disruption you can imagine, but the short version is they made us turn around and come home.”

“We?”

“This is Cassie, another stranded flyer. Cassie, this is Ron. He and his wife, Rita, own the place.”

“Nice to meet you, Cassie. Come on in and we’ll get you a table. Here, leave the bags. I’ll get Chris to stash them in back for you.”

“We’d appreciate that. What’s good tonight, Ron?”

“The fish is good. We got some very good sole this morning from our guy at Hunt’s Point. Also, Rita made a pork ragù that’ll make you weep. Over her homemade cavatelli? Nothing better.”

“Ooh that sounds good,” Cassie nearly moaned. “But I’m starving, so everything sounds good.”

“Believe me,” Simon said, as they followed Ron to the back of the restaurant. “It’s all good here.”

Ron settled them at a tiny two seat table in the corner and set menus down. “Take a look at the menu before you decide.”

“Some wine, Cass?”

She started at the way he’d shortened her name, so familiar and unscripted. He was looking at the menu, unaware that he’d even done it. She liked it. Very much. “Wine would be good. Something red. I’m not picky.”

Simon cocked an eyebrow. “No?”

“You learn to deal with anything you find when you travel the way I do.”

“A bottle of the Genetto Nebbiolo, Ron.”

“You got it, Simon.”

“They seem to know you pretty well here,” she observed after Ron left.

Simon shrugged. “I don’t have time to cook but I still like to eat good food. This place has great food, so I come a lot. It’s close to my place.”

“It is?”

“Right around the corner. You sound surprised.”

Convenient
, was her first thought, although she didn’t say it. “Just thought you’d be more of an Upper East Side kind of guy.”

He scowled. “I prefer downtown. More character.”

“Me, too.”

“Where are you then?”

“East Village. Actually the same tiny railroad apartment I’ve been in since I moved here. I keep thinking I should move but...”

“No time.”

She laughed. “Story of my life.”

Ron appeared with the wine and a plate of antipasti to start, which Cassie attacked with embarrassing gusto.

“Sorry, I was famished.”

“Don’t apologize. A girl needs her strength.”

Her eyes shot to his. They were pale and glinting with humor in the low, flickering light from the candle on their table. But not just humor. There was a hint of hunger there too, and not just for the olives. She licked her lips and his eyes darted to her mouth. The air nearly crackled with their mutual attraction. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt such a powerful spark. Maybe never. Her throat went dry and she took a sip of her wine to soothe it. Simon cleared his throat and did the same, looking as affected as she was.

“What’s that?” She pointed at a small pot of what looked like jam on the antipasti plate, because talking about food seemed safer than possible discussions about what all this rampant sexual attraction might lead to next.

“Ah, it’s this fig jam Rita makes. You have to try it, but here, do it properly.”

He smeared some soft white cheese on a small slice of bread, then added a dollop of the fig jam and finished it with a paper-thin sliver of prosciutto.

He held it up to her. “Open up.”

She hesitated only a moment before leaning forward and taking a bite. She was aware of his eyes on her the whole time, aware of the intimacy of the gesture, eating food from his fingers. Then she was only aware of the flavors on her tongue because they were amazing. A perfect blending of textures and flavors, the creamy coolness of the cheese, the complex and grainy subtle sweetness of the fig jam, the tangy saltiness of the prosciutto. She hadn’t known it was possible to taste with her whole body.

“Oh...” she mumbled when her mouth was clear. “That was delicious.”

He smirked. “Yes it was.”

“You didn’t try it.”

“I enjoyed it anyway. Trust me.”

This man would be the death of her. She was actually blushing, staring at her menu to hide it. “So what’s good?”

“Ron wasn’t exaggerating. It’s all brilliant. The orecchiette is quite good, as is the calamari. Do you like calamari?”

“Mmm, I love it.”

“Then you should get Rita’s. Oh, but wait…there’s her cacciatore. That’s hard to pass by.” Simon scratched his eyebrow with his thumb as he scowled over the menu. His single-minded focus was adorable. She propped her chin on her hand and watched him puzzling out their order.

“It shows,” she finally said.

He looked up in confusion. “What does?”

“How much you love food. You mentioned it earlier, but I can tell. It’s a passion, isn’t it?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “I can’t really call it a passion when I don’t have time to do more than eat.”

“Maybe one day. When you break in that fancy kitchen you told me about.”

He grinned. “Maybe. Actually…” He hesitated and shook his head. “Never mind.”

“No, what were you going to say?”

“It’s… What Rick and Rita have going here is a pretty good thing.”

“You want to run a restaurant?”

“Maybe? Someday? I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking more uncertain than she’d seen him all day.

“You mean you’d leave what you’re doing now?”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m certain to burn out at some point. Something like this wouldn’t be a bad second act. Maybe not even in New York. Someplace quieter, where life is easier.”

She could picture it, Simon with his good looks and charm, greeting customers and suggesting wines. Maybe someplace warm and sunny. Greece or Italy… The man currently sitting across from her in his perfect navy suit looked made for the city, but it was surprisingly easy to imagine him in a setting like that, with sunkissed skin and windblown hair.

“Sounds nice,” she said softly.

“What about you?” he asked. “Is this what you see yourself doing in twenty years?”

She hesitated, because, like Simon, it wasn’t so much a plan as a dream…an idle fantasy she entertained on tough days. She’d never even said it out loud before now. “Sometimes I think about owning a hotel.”

He looked mildly surprised. “Like a Marriott or something?”

She shook her head. “Something small, for tourists, someplace sunny. Not even a hotel, really. An inn. An old-fashioned inn.”

“Sounds pretty modest compared to what you’re doing now.”

She hiked an eyebrow at him. “And so does owning a restaurant.”

He grinned and dipped his chin. “Okay, you have me there. So why do you want to run a little place like that?”

“I don’t know. I guess… See, I work in corporate travel. I send people to destinations to broker deals or attend conferences. When I visit a place myself, the only thing I’m interested in are the meeting facilities and the high-speed internet capabilities. For once, I’d like to be there when people are celebrating birthdays or reuniting with their families or…falling in love.”

“I see,” he said slowly. “You’re a romantic, Cass.”

She snorted. “About as much as you are, I’d bet.”

Simon swirled the wine in his glass, watching it glint in the candlelight.

“I
am
a bit of a romantic,” he said. “Why else would I be harboring a fantasy about opening a restaurant?”

“Your restaurant sounds nice.”

“So does your inn.”

For a split second, her heart whispered that they would sound even better together. Which was a bad, dangerous thing. She had no business spinning fantasies about building a life with a stranger she’d just met on a plane, no matter what kind of chemistry they had.

She cleared her throat and looked down at the menu. “Well, it’s hardly a retirement plan. And I’ll be where I am for quite a while still. I think I’m getting the calamari. What about you?”

He hesitated briefly before looking back at his own menu. “The special, I think.”

This thing was starting to make her lose her bearings. She knew where they were likely headed the second she agreed to have dinner with him, and that was fine. They were two consenting adults with a hefty mutual attraction and an unexpected evening free. Spending it together—even if they decided to spend
all
of it together—was one thing. But every time she turned around, they’d wandered down impossible conversational paths. They’d already shared more about themselves in ten hours than she had with Mitchell in the first month of dating. And that was trouble. After all this time, she thought she was too battle-hardened to fall for a handsome face and a dreamy accent in a single heady afternoon.