Page 49 of Eat Slay Love

Black-tinted windows that concealed whatever awaited inside.

Alright. This might be the dopest restaurant I’ve ever been to.

The other couples were already being led to their private cars by their waiters, disappearing into their own pocket-sized realms of whatever lavish experience was waiting beyond those doors.

And our waitress—the Black woman who had been effortlessly smooth all evening—stood by the last car, smiling knowingly as she gestured us forward.

My pulse pounded with excitement.

This was the kind of experience that rewired a person’s brain chemistry.

I turned to Fabien, barely able to contain my glee, and whispered, “It’s not my job, but I think this alone would confirm thesecondstar.”

Fabien exhaled a quiet laugh, and his thumb traced along my skin. “I absolutely agree.”

Then, with a gentle tug, he led me inside.

And oh. . .the inside of the subway car looked nothing like a subway car.

Instead of rows of cramped seats and metal poles, there was a single, intimate table, positioned near the center, two plush chairs set impossibly close together.

Soft candlelight flickered from sconces along the walls, casting everything in a warm, golden haze.

The air smelled of something decadent, a lingering mix of aged wine and fresh herbs.

And to my shock, a man stood at the head of the car, draped in shadow and mystery.

His long, black leather coat fit snugly over his form, cinched at the waist.

But it was the mask that stole my breath—the long, beaked visage, smooth and expressionless, covering his entire face in an ominous display of old-world intrigue.

A full plague doctor ensemble.

Damn.

Why were masked men so hot?

Maybe it was the anonymity, the way the face—normally a person’s most telling feature—was stripped away, leaving only the mystique, the power, the presence. Maybe it was the sheer drama of it, the way a mask forced us to focus on the body, the gestures.

Either way, I had to absolutely acknowledge that a man in a plague doctor mask was unnervingly attractive.

Still.

I was damn glad I wasn’t doing this part of the experience alone. Because while the luxury, the elegance, the plague doctor, the theater of it all had been dazzling up until now, stepping into a subway car with a faceless man waiting in the shadows?

Yeah. That might have been freaky as hell if I didn’t have Fabien beside me.

Anyway, we both sank into our new plush seats.

Fabien arched a brow at the plague doctor. “Well. This is unexpected.”

The plague doctor gave a deep, theatrical bow, then gracefully lifted the silver dome from the cart before him.

Beneath it was an array of cheeses—delicately cut, perfectly arranged, each one a masterpiece in its own right.

He plated them in silence like some kind of alchemist conjuring gold from the mundane.

Then, without a word, he rolled the cart away, leaving me and Fabien in the hushed stillness of our own private world.

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