CHAPTER SIX

NATALIE

The carriage comes to a stop and Ambrose pulls back from me. “Excellent, we’re here.”

The door opens and the carriage driver stands to the side as Ambrose climbs out first and then reaches inside for my hand helping me to smoothly disembark.

Looking around, I have no idea where we are. We were only in the carriage for ten minutes tops, yet this looks nothing like my town or, frankly, anywhere that I’ve been before.

A two-story brick restaurant is only steps away and judging by the line of people, this place is popular. Ambrose tucks my hand into the crook of his elbow and leads me past the waiting people, through the door, and up to where a ma?tre d’ stands.

The man spots us and his face lights up. A rapid exchange of what I’m assuming to be French follows between him and Ambrose. I took Spanish in high school, so I’m useless at understanding any of the conversation, though my gaze does bounce back and forth between Ambrose and the ma?tre d’.

Grabbing two large menus, the man leads us to a small table tucked away in a private alcove and hands over the menus with their golden tassels with a flourish.

“I’ve never been here or have even seen this place before,” I whisper to Ambrose.

He smiles and reaches for my hand, his thumb grazing along the skin of my knuckles and sending heat flaring through me. “It’s someplace very special. I needed it to be for you.”

I still think he has his odd quirks, but he’s also utterly charming and, yes, it’s easy to fall under his spell.

Gently, I tug my hand from his and, with a sigh, he lets me go.

Opening up the menu, my eyes flicker over it and yep, it’s all in a foreign language and I can’t read a word of it. “French?”

He glances up from his menu. “Yes. Don’t worry, let me do the ordering. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

With visions of snails in my head, I control my grimace and give a tiny nod.

I don’t have to eat it if I don’t want. It’s not like I’m going to starve by missing a meal, I remind myself.

With Ambrose I need to learn to expect the unexpected. Horse-drawn carriage, fancy French restaurant, and, yes, unbelievably good food.

Duck, wine, French onion soup, tempting cheesy potatoes, way too many pastries, and even Crème br?lée.

And as we eat, Ambrose proves to be an engaging and sweet date as he plies me with amazing food and questions.

“You work with animals?” he asks, smoothly cutting up a sliver of crispy duck. “Do you have pets of your own?”

Patting at my mouth with the white linen napkin, I smile. “Not yet. I’ve always lived in little apartments with crazy high pet fees before. Now that I have a house, I’ll be looking into adopting a cat.”

His silver eyes gleam. “You like cats?”

“Love them. Do you have one?”

He laughs. “But of course. His name is Tom.”

My mouth about falls open and I grab at my wine glass. Finally I can’t stand it any longer. “Really?” I exclaim. “You named your cat, Tom.”

“I didn’t name him that. That’s his name.” He scoops up a droplet of butter and smears it on a piece of crusty bread before holding it out to me.

Accepting it, I smile and take in the man sitting across from me. It’s wild to think we just met this afternoon. There’s something about him that puts me at ease while also exciting me.

He wears a silver ring on his right hand with a dark stone. Thankfully, no wedding band on his left hand. As to his age, I’d put him anywhere from late twenties to possibly even forty. His face doesn’t have lines, and I can’t see a single silver hair in his long mane of black waves. There’s simply a maturity to him. It’s the way he holds himself that makes me believe his twenties are long behind him. An age gap never bothered me, as I’ve dated both older and younger guys before. Still, I can’t resist asking, “How old are you?”

“Four hundred and nine.”

I blink at his answer and then roll my eyes. “Oh yeah, warlock years, right? Seriously though, how old are you?”

Folding his hands, he places them on the creamy tablecloth and leans forward with an earnest expression on his face. “My years are the same as yours. I stopped aging at twenty-five, but I’ve seen four hundred and nine years of life.”

I’m all for some Halloween fun, but Ambrose is really taking this warlock thing a bit far. I suppose he did tell me he’s twenty-five in a roundabout way, making him only a year older than me.

Time to change the subject. Yet before I can, Ambrose takes the lead and begins asking me a series of questions about my likes and dislikes, my family, and a bunch of other things.

Like someone starved for attention, because honestly, I kinda am, I happily get swept up in chatting about myself and before I know it, the meal is complete, and Ambrose is gliding me back into the carriage.

His hand reaches out and cups my cheek, turning my face to his and as his silver gaze trails over me, something catches and holds in my chest. My heart thumps and each beat of it tells me this man is the one. This strange and unique man is the one I’m meant to be with.

Leaning closer, I run my fingers through his long hair, feeling each silky strand cling to my skin, and press my mouth to his.

He tastes of the red wine we drank and of something far sweeter. He tastes of forever.

It's silly. It’s crazy.

It’s all pure madness. But sometimes a bit of madness is just what you need.