Page 48 of 7 Miles High
“I’m impressed.”
“Thank you. We have negotiators, marketers, creative designers. All our realtors are award winners. It’s a personal coup to work here. Not to brag. It’s just fact.”
I lean in and whisper discreetly, “You’re a special woman. I see it more each day.”
Her smile and pressed lips tell me she likes my observation.
“Let me look over that contract and give it to my assistant. We’ll be out of here shortly.”
“Take your time.”
As she attends to business, I’m aware of the eyes discreetly looking me over. All the offices are glass walled, so I can see them too. The man in the first room lifts his eyes in my direction and then quickly looks away. The well-dressed young woman isn’t so opposed to scanning me head to toe.
It makes me slightly uncomfortable as if I’m being observed by a group of aliens from a distant planet. Maybe they’re considering an anal probe to see if they can learn something valuable about my species.
Not sure what to do next, so I take a seat in the rich leather club chair against the wall. Now I can be the observer. Everyone resumes their tasks at hand.
Natalie approaches. “Okay. We can go to lunch now. I don’t have to be back today.”
That’s great news to me. I’m planning on spending a few hours or four in bed later this afternoon. Walking out the door into the bright sunlight I take her hand and lift it to my lips. A gentle kiss.
“I liked seeing where you work. Now I’ll be able to picture where you are during the day.”
Once inside the car we take a moment for a discreet kiss. I’d never do more in front of her business in case an employee or client was peering out the window. It sucks to be a grownup sometimes.
“The restaurant is just a couple of blocks down on the right. It’s called The Queen’s Plate.”
She starts the car and pulls away into the steady flow of traffic.
“The traffic here is getting as bad as downtown Los Angeles.”
“I know. But your view is so much better. At least we have the mighty Pacific to gaze at while we travel bumper to bumper.”
We move slowly toward our destination which I can see ahead. One Queen Palm stands guard in front. Oh. That’s why. It’s a small narrow building with a roof patio. The heads of diners are visible under a large red canopy. Looks cool.
As we approach a man gets in his car and pulls out of his parking space in front of the restaurant.
“Alright! Pole position!” Natalie says with a smile.
“You seem to have the luck of the Irish as far as parking goes.”
“It’s my superpower,” she says chuckling.
We get out and I load the meter. Taking her hand we walk through the open door and up to the hostess.
“Good afternoon. Two for lunch?”
“Yes,” I say. “Is there room on the patio?”
“Let me see.”
As she looks over the seating chart I put an arm around Natalie’s waist. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yes. Perfect. I was hoping you’d be able to see the view. It’s spectacular.”
“Right this way,” the hostess says, walking ahead of us.
We climb a narrow stairway that has photos of old Santa Barbara on the walls.
