Page 16 of Cupcak
“I’m glad you like it, Emmy.”
“Like it? I love it. I didn’t even know something like this existed.”
“There are always hidden treats in this world,” he says as he pulls out a chair for me once we’re inside the gazebo. “You just have to be ready when you find them.” As the double meaning of his words sinks in, he presses a kiss to my bare shoulder before taking the seat to my right. I like that he’s next to me rather than opposite me. It keeps him closer and also makes it so we can both enjoy the view from the same vantage point.
“Can I get you something to drink?” The waiter steps forward and hands us both a menu before sliding a linen napkin over my lap. I’ve seen this kind of thing happen in movies before but I’ve never experienced it myself. I feel like Pretty Woman but without the hooker part. “I could suggest a nice bottle of Chateau le—”
“Sparking water will be fine, thanks,” Drake says before the waiter can finish. “Are you fine with water, or would you like a soda instead?” His eyes move to me and all of a sudden, I’m not feeling so grown-up anymore.
“Oh, um…water is fine. Thanks.” I flash the waiter a smile, who, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eyelid at the fact I’m obviously not twenty-one. It’s not that Iwantedto drink either, it’s just that I would have liked it if that fact wasn’t pointed out at all.
“Very well. I’ll get that for you while I give you a moment to peruse the menu.”
“Thank you,” we both say in unison as he retreats. I squint down at the menu.
“Have I upset you?” Drake’s smooth voice pulls my attention back to him.
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s just…if you wanted to have wine, I wouldn’t have minded. You don’t have to drink water just because I can’t.”
“I would order water whether you were here or not, baby. I don’t drink.”
“Oh.” My eyes drop back to the menu for a moment before I look back up at him. “I didn’t know that about you.”
“I was orphaned because of a drunk driver. So I’ve never partaken,” he says simply, and I quietly nod my understanding, not wanting to push for more information than he’s willing to give.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you.”
He reaches over and places his hand on mine, his thumb moving back and forth over my knuckles. “I’m an open book to you, baby. You can ask me anything you want.”
“OK. Then, how would you feel if I accidentally called you ‘daddy’ one time?” His brows shoot up, and I’m quick to explain. “It’s not that I’m looking for a father figure or into that kink or anything. It’s just that you keep calling me baby and I have this automatic reaction to reply with ‘daddy’ but I keep stopping myself. It’s embarrassing. But I feel like I need to warn you in case it slips out.”
A smile curves his mouth and crinkles the sides of his eyes as he slides his arm around the back of my seat and runs his fingers softly up and down my spine. “Would you prefer it if I stuck to calling you cupcake?”
I press my lips into a smile as I nod emphatically. “I would. I think it holds more meaning too, don’t you?”
He leans in, hooking a finger beneath my chin as he nods. “I do, cupcake,” he says, before pressing his mouth to mine and kissing me sweet and soft. I long for it to be deep and meaningful like the way we kissed—among other things—in his office. But I’ll settle for this since we’re in public and hope for more after dessert tonight. I intend to let him take me back to his place. I know it’s sudden. But this feels right, and I want to be with him.
“Are we ready to order?” The waiter returns with a deep green bottle filled with water, and two slim glasses filled with round ice and a wedge of lemon.
“I’ve barely looked at the menu,” I admit, blushing a little as I lock eyes with Drake. He grins and lifts his.
“Would you like me to order for you?”
“I’d love that,” I say, interested to see how deep his ability to read people goes. If I were ordering for him, I’d pick something like medium-rare steak with some sort of potato and vegetable side. But that’s not a hard guess, because he’s a man, and most men would choose that meal.
Drake smiles as his eyes scan the menu and seem to zero in on what seems like a sure thing. “The lady will have the pork belly, and I’ll get the steak—medium-rare. And for dessert, she’ll have the chocolate lava cake with ice cream, and I’ll take the tiramisu.”
“Wonderful choice, sir,” the waiter says, giving us a nod as he retreats before returning quickly with a basket of warm dinner rolls and a dish of butter.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had pork belly before,” I say once we’re left alone. I take a dinner roll and watch as the steam rises into the air once I break it open, ready to slather butter on top.
“Do you like roast pork with crackling?”
“Oh, yes, very much,” I say, finishing up with the butter and bringing half the bread roll to my mouth. “Is it like that?” I take a bite and the creamy butter and fresh bread just explodes in my mouth, letting me know I’m far hungrier than I gave myself credit for. I’d been quite nervous on my first day, so I hadn’t eaten much more than the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I’d brought for lunch.
“Yes. But better. The crackling is lighter, and the meat is very soft and rich. You’ll see. Once you try it, you’ll crave it for eternity.”
“Sounds delicious. But I have a feeling there’s something I’ll always crave more.”
