The soft hum of conversations filled the air as I leaned back in my chair, a satisfied smile playing on my lips. The dinner plate in front of me, once a masterpiece of culinary art, was now empty, save for a few smears of sauce. I gently dabbed the corners of my mouth with the linen napkin, savouring the lingering flavours of the dish: a perfectly cooked Wagyu ribeye steak, seared to perfection and served with a rich, decadent truffle demi-glace.
As I set the napkin back on the table, the waiter approached, his steps graceful and quiet. "Was everything to your liking, ma'am?" He asked, his tone warm and attentive.
"More than just to my liking," I replied, still marvelling at the exquisite flavors. "It was superb. Please send my compliments to the chef. The Wagyu ribeye was extraordinary. The meat was so tender it practically melted in my mouth, and the truffle demi-glace added a beautiful depth of flavour."
The waiter’s eyes lit up, reflecting the pride shared among the staff for their craft. "Thank you, ma'am. Chef Ryan will be delighted to hear your praise. He takes great pride in selecting only the finest Wagyu and ageing it to perfection."
I nodded, recalling the way the steak had been beautifully marbled, each bite a symphony of flavours and textures. "Sometimes compliments or 'chefs kiss' are not enough. This steak makes you want to go to the back of the kitchen and fuck the chef." I immediately froze as the words left my mouth, shocked at how crass the steak made me, or perhaps it had been the three martinis that accompanied it.
"Indeed, ma'am. Chef Ryan will be delighted to hear it," the waiter responded with a smirk, his voice low, as if sharing a secret.
I looked around the restaurant, taking in the elegant décor and the soft lighting casting a warm glow on the polished silverware and sparkling glassware. The entire ambiance of the place seemed to glow with satisfaction.
"Oh my gosh, sorry! Forget I said that," I blushed. "I'll just take the check, please."
The waiter gave a short, sharp nod and strode away quickly.
I followed his exit with my eyes, feeling utterly content to watch as he turned towards the kitchen, no doubt to laugh over my lack of decorum with the staff. I leaned back in my chair, contentment washing over me. I knew I would remember this evening, this meal, long after I left the restaurant. It was one of those rare moments where everything came together in perfect harmony—the food, the atmosphere, the service.
"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm the chef, Ryan. Drew said you had a rather strong reaction to your steak." His voice interrupted my mortified examination of the ceiling. "Any chance you'd like to sample some of our tasting menu? You seem eager to put things in your mouth."
I felt my stomach clench, and I took a deep breath before turning my head to look at him. He looked great in a slightly dirty white chef jacket, with red hair and bright green eyes.
"Um, I'm really quite full after that meal; truly exceptional, thank you," I mumbled.
He chuckled, "You sure? I have a selection of desserts we haven't added to the menu yet that I'd love your opinion on. It's not often we have a patron as attractive as you like my cooking."
I smiled at the deprecating tone in his voice; something about his mild-mannered teasing felt comfortable. "Fine, I really ought to take advantage of your offer. I'm sure your desserts are life-changing."
"I certainly try," he replied. "Perhaps you'd like to wait in the garden? It's really nice out there now that it's quietened down."
I nodded, in desperate need of a smoke. I got up and grabbed my bag, making my way to the back garden. He wasn't kidding that the place had emptied out. The small garden was empty, the fairy lights twinkling over the couches and glass dining tables. I grabbed a seat and rummaged for my smokes, lighting one up and inhaling deeply to calm down. A few moments passed in blissful peace. I had to admit to myself that Ryan was unfairly attractive. I don't know if it was the cooking or the green eyes, but every cell in my body was on edge. My thong felt damp under my summer dress and I squeezed my legs together, telling myself internally to behave. I feared that the ship had sailed into my Bermuda triangle.