Page 103 of 2204 Hunter Lane
Rows and rows of white tables were packed with people chattering and laughing underneath lantern lights. The entire room was made of glass – floor to ceiling, transparent glass.
My eyes followed my feet as I marvelled at the ground beneath me, revealing a vat of darkness and a million bright dots, the size of ants.
I quickly averted my gaze to the ceiling which shared the same unending darkness, only it resembled a night sky filled with a constellation of stars, winking down at the tables below.
Hunter flipped the gold card around and nudged me to follow. “We’re at table ten, darlin’. Come on.”
As if my movements weren’t my own, I followed with a cloudy mind overflowing with absolute admiration, unable to get over the sheer beauty of my surroundings.
“Hunter,” I whispered, sliding into the cushioned seat of our table. “Am I allowed to take pictures? Or is that not allowed?”
He laughed, filling our glasses with a water basin that was already present. “I don’t see why not. But why d’you want to?”
I audibly gasped. “Are you serious? Look at where we are! It’s like space, but better.”
“Definitely better.” He chuckled.
A waiter dressed in an all black ensemble approached our table, carrying a bottle of champagne and two flutes.
“Good evening,” he said, pouring a generous amount of bubbly liquid into our glasses. “My name is Pierre and I will be waiting your table tonight. You ordered the three tier experience so the entrée will be as follows…”
I completely zoned out as I gawked at Hunter in disbelief while the server spewed the names of two dishes I’d never heard of. This place was ultra fancy, and that was saying something from someone who grew up in Hudson Yards.
When Hunter caught me staring, he gave me a slow, deliberate wink as I caught the waiter’s last words.
“… and a cerise crème brûlée for desert. Any disputes or shall I alert the kitchen to begin your order?”
“No disputes here.” Hunter responded, holding up two hands. “Alert away.”
Pierre bowed… he literallybowed,then scurried away like a mouse who smelt a cheese platter.
I took a moment of silence for my brain to register the fact I was in some type of affluent simulation and questioned Hunter. “Okay, where did you find this place?”
“Craigs list.” He joked, sipping the fizzy liquid. “Go on, Bambi. Try your five hundred dollar champagne.”
WHAT?I almost fainted on the spot. “No way, Hunter! There is no way this was five hundred dollars.”
“You’re damn right there’s no way. Fuck that. I give it forty dollars at best.”
We both shared a laugh as I eased my shoulders and took a sip of the drink. As far as champagne went, this was actually super pleasant. It was smooth and sweet, but not intolerably sweet which I liked.
“I’d say it’s worth fifty.”
But Hunter didn’t mind my comment as he pulled out the package of starbursts I thought he left at my place. Slowly, he began to unwrap the pink paper and took out a red square, laying it flat on the white tablecloth.
Umm…“What are you doing?”
The corner of his lip turned up as he pushed the starburst towards me. “You know why I got you candy, Bambi?”
I was so confused. So. Freaking. Confused. “Because you’re nice?”That was clearly not it.
“Because you feel guilty eating it.”
Whoa. Okay. Not the answer I was expecting. I remember when Hunter and I became friends after New Year’s, we went on a hike and he asked me why I only ever ordered the low-fat frozen yogurt at Blu’s.
“There’s like a million options, Bambi, and you go for the plainest damn one.” He’d said at the register.
I admitted it was because my mom put me on a super strict diet when I was a teenager and I became obsessed with looking a certain way to fit the image she wished for me. So in turn, I avoided sweets at all costs unless it was a function or someone was offering and I felt bad refusing.Like Payton the night I showed up at the farmhouse.
