Mary whistled, close to Owen's face and combing his hair back. "I can never decide if I like it combed or messy," she said. A tiny bump in the road caused the comb to overextend. Mary clicked her tongue and side-eyed the driver.
"Where are we going?" Owen asked.
"A date," Mary replied, tending to his hair again. It had gotten heavy the past month.
"I get that but where?"
"A surprise."
The taxi came to a halt in front of the upscale restaurant. Owen glanced at Mary, who flashed him a mischievous grin before stepping out of the vehicle. With a shrug and a chuckle, Owen followed suit, paying the driver before joining Mary on the sidewalk. The restaurant, named "La Belle Époque," was situated on a quaint cobblestone street. Creamy beige walls accented by accents of deep burgundy and gold.
A diverse array of patrons entering and exiting the restaurant. Some were dressed in elegant evening attire, with men wearing tailored suits and women adorned in sleek dresses and statement jewelry. Others opted for a more casual yet stylish look, sporting chic separates and fashionable accessories.
Owen himself was dressed in semi-formal attire, donning a crisp button-down blue shirt paired with tailored black trousers and polished dress shoes. Mary wore a black halter maxi dress with high heels and dark rouge lips.
"Fancy choice," he remarked, offering Mary his arm as they approached the entrance.
"Only the best for you," Mary replied with a wink, linking her arm with his. "Shall we?"
"Aren't you broke?"
"Depends on your definition of broke. I took out a small sum before leaving," Mary said.
'So not my kind of broke. That's comforting.'
The door was opened by a servant. They went to the front receptionist. Owen expected to wait for a table. "Under Mary Guirola. I called yesterday."
The receptionist lady's finger went down the list. She nodded.
"Yes, we have you for the couples table." The receptionist smiled as she glanced at Owen. Mary smiled innocently and tilted her head over to his shoulder. "Follow me."
The receptionist led them through the elegant dining area, adorned with crystal chandeliers and plush velvet drapes. Soft candlelight flickered on the tables. The whole vibe was different from, say, a picnic or a gas station.
They were guided to a secluded corner table, a single rose in a bottle. The flower appeared as though it was stopped by time. Mary settled in her seat first, eager. "Fetch us some water."
The receptionist was faintly taken aback by the order. "Of course. The waiter will see you in five minutes."
"We're not idiots. Come back in two."
"Yes, of course."
Owen read over the menu, impressed by the selection of fine wines and specialty cocktails. "I've heard of this place," Owen said. "A super high-end alcohol restaurant."
"Doesn't serve much other than fancy drinks," Mary said. "You're the one who mentioned it."
"I vaguely remember that."
"Well, remember it. I vividly recall it being one of the reasons you came here." Mary leaned in close, her voice low and playful. "So what'll it be, Owen? Champagne or something stronger? Isabella and Ophelia aren't here. Live a little."
Owen frowned. She had to bring up Ophelia. Now he felt guilty.
"Ophelia isn't a severely traumatised bitch baby," Mary said. "She can handle a sniff or two of alcohol."
"You know it's not that simple. I'm—"
"Supposed to be different? You're only human, Owen." A smile grew on her as the waiter arrived. "Get us your strongest brandy. Cognac, preferably, and don't make it cheap. We'd like two bottles, one glass."
The waitress nodded and jotted down their order. Once the waitress was gone, Mary put her elbows on the table and locked her hands together, chin sitting over.
"We should first have dinner," Owen said.
"Why?"
"Because you're supposed to drink cognac after after dinner."
"So?"
Mary said with such a dismissive tone that he felt like he couldn't reject.
"You don't have to drink if you don't want to," Mary clarified. "But I am encouraging it. Let loose. You were injured and it still hurts. I know every time I poked your chest, you winced. You've been working day-in, day-out at a construction company that gives no shits about you. You spent ALL your savings money for your hospital bills. All that time spent cage fighting, all that effort and time and money, and it's gone. Aren't you frustrated? Angry?"
He was. Of course he was. But there were some lines he couldn't cross. Drinking when Ophelia didn't like it, drinking when times got tough, it was a recipe for disaster. And yet...
"Here you are."
The server arrived. Owen was silent.
Mary's eyes darkened. The goblet and bottles were set down between them. "Ooh, look at that. Five stars."
She popped the bottle open and poured the liquid into the goblet. Smiling, she picked it up and rolled it around. Slowly, her lips came close and took a sip. "Ah. Wonderful. Four years in a cask, just for us to drink it on this day. God really is kind to us."
Owen closed his eyes. "Mary…"
"Babe," she corrected.
Her points, the refined fruit scent, and the exhaustion from years of lonely streaming, fighting, and working. All of it came crashing down on him.
"I know you're tempting me…but you're right." Owen opened his eyes and held out a hand. Mary's expression brightened like the devil and she eagerly gave the goblet over.
'Just once,' he thought. 'Just tonight.'
Owen inhaled, staring at his dull reflection, and drank. Gulp, gulp, gulp, until the alcohol nearly trickled. He lapped the gloss away with his tongue. He never broke eye contact and Mary loved that. Her rouge lips drew up into a wicked smirk and she picked up the bottle to refill the goblet. She slipped her hand around it, softly stealing the glass, then drinking.
Half of it still remained. Slowly, softly, she guided the glass over to him, letting him touch but not letting him drink for himself.
Owen allowed it.