When the taxi pulls up in front of the restaurant, I'm taken off guard by the eerily quiet atmosphere that greets me. One If by Hand Two If By Sea is one of the most romantic restaurants in New York City. Barrow street, the road it lives on, is usually buzzing with foodies, couples, and enthusiastic patrons who’ve waited months to secure a reservation. However, tonight, the traffic is nonexistent.
As I look out the window trying to make sense of this unusual desertion, the cab driver clears his throat trying to get my attention. I apologize for the distraction before pushing a fifty-dollar bill through the bulletproof partition never taking my eyes off the door of the restaurant.
The reservations here are so coveted because the eatery lives inside a historic landmark carriage house built in 1767, seats up to only 100 patrons at a time, and is only open four hours, Monday through Friday and five hours on the weekends... so why isn't anyone here?
When the driver hands me my change, I nervously pull the belt of my trench coat tighter. I step out onto the sidewalk, slam the door shut and just stand on the curb staring at the restaurant. Without warning, the tires of the taxi screech down the Manhattan avenue, startling me. I whip my head around just in time to see the floodlights disappearing down 17th place. I curse a little under my breath, turning around towards the eatery, wondering if I can still run after the cab, ditching this dinner altogether because I can't accept what Hugh has done.
While standing on the street contemplating an escape route, a young couple walks up to the big wooden doors of the restaurant, trying to get in. The gentleman tries twisting the gold-plated knobs to open the gate, but it doesn’t budge. There is a look of confusion on their faces until they read the sign posted on the glass of the door. I tilt my head in curiosity and begin sauntering toward them just as the man pulls out his cellphone to make a call.
The woman with him is pacing in an imaginary square on the sidewalk until she sees me approaching. She stops moving and shakes her head at me, waving one of her hands.
“If you are coming for dinner, you are out of luck. The restaurant is closed for a private event for a Raven Cunningham,” she announces in irritation as her companion finishes up his call and walks next to her.
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes... That appears to be the case,” the man interrupts. “But at least it's not a total lost. The person who rented out the place left a number for us to confirm our existing booking. If the hostess has us on the list, we will receive $1,000 for our inconvenience, and the owner has promised to open early tomorrow for an exclusive brunch for everyone whose reservation was interrupted.”
The woman looks at him with beaming eyes as she sighs in relief. “Wow... that is super generous. This more than makes up for any disturbance this sudden cancellation has caused.”
“It is very thoughtful,” I concede, trying to think of something else to say but nothing else comes out. The magnitude of this gesture is not lost on me, and my cheeks flare up in a deep blush, exposing me.
The woman's eyes light up in recognition as she grabs a hold of my palm before squeezing it. “You must be special to him if he's willing to do all this for you, God luck tonight Ms. Cunningham...” She winks, before releasing me.
I watch them walk away together as I inhale a wind of air, not believing this romantic thing that Hugh has done. My body shivers with emotion as all the warmth that I’m now feeling contradicts the anger that brought me here. Butterflies dance in my stomach as I turn, drifting to the door to read the letter attached:
To all the patrons who have dinner reservations tonight, please accept this heartfelt apology. The restaurant will be closed tonight for a private party for an exceptional woman... Raven Cunningham. If you call the number below and confirm your reservation, I will compensate you 1000 dollars so you can enjoy countless dinners on me. The chef has invited all of you back to tomorrow afternoon at 3:15pm for an exclusive brunch at no charge to you. Thank you again for your understanding.
(753) 932-1278
P.S.... and Baby Girl... Come around the back, I am awaiting your arrival.
HD
My cheeks heat and I squeeze my legs together because every time he calls me baby girl, the throbbing pulse between my legs beats in response. Those two small words makes me feel like I'm his, and I hate it. It causes me to yearn for happier times, taking me back to when I trusted him... when I wanted him...
“Get a grip, Cunningham,” I whisper to myself as I walk toward the back entrance. “He's the enemy.”
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