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Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill had crashed into the city’s foodie scene with all the grace of a cruise ship slamming into a concrete pier.
One moment all had been quiet, an abandoned warehouse and barge on the water in one of the less fashionable neighborhoods and the next thing anyone knew it was covered in lights and nautical knick-knacks and everyone was raving about the food and the drinks and the mysterious chef behind the enterprise: the eponymous Blackbeard himself.
Stede Bonnet, lead food critic for The Anchor for the last decade, had never even heard of him.
“He walked straight through the fire that burned down his last restaurant,” Pete, Lucius’ boyfriend, said when all three of them were evaluating the dinner menu at Le Republique. (Well, Stede was evaluating the menu. Lucius, his PA, always insisted that they needed a third entree, which was really just his way of taking his boyfriend out to fancy restaurants on the paper’s dime.) “But it didn’t singe a single hair on his head. Fire’s afraid of him - it’s why he always gets the perfect sear.”
“I’m not sure that’s quite how fire works-” Stede began, but then Pete was off on another story about how he had actually worked for Blackbeard years ago when he was a bartender, and Stede tuned out long enough to write some notes on the woefully overcooked scallops Le Republique had served as their appetizer.
It wasn’t until a few days later he thought about Blackbeard’s again, and, after reading a few Google reviews from folks absolutely raving about the place, he decided it was time to see for himself.
“Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill,” said an uninspired, unusually high pitched voice at the other end of the line when Stede called to make a reservation.
“Hello! I was hoping to make a reservation for tonight and -”
“We’re booked tonight.” It wasn’t very polite to cut in before someone had finished speaking, but it might be a difficult day, or perhaps the restaurant was slammed with a - Stede checked the time - a 3pm rush. Either way, there wasn’t a hint of annoyance in his voice when he asked -
“What about Saturday then?”
The voice at the other end of the line laughed at him. “What do you think? Asking for a reservation a day before the busiest night of the week, honestly, I’d like to hear what you expected.”
Stede huffed. He was used to employees being a bit more apologetic about their bookings, he was used to a hello, at the very least. Fine. He could play hardball! He could steel his voice and make demands when he had to!
“Look - I don’t usually do this, but I am the food critic for The Anchor, and it’s imperative that I -”
“Oh, a food critic! Well that changes things.”
“Does it?”
“Sure. What was that name again?”
“Stede Bonnet. Food Critic, Stede Bonnet.”
“Right. Well, fuck off, Food Critic Stede Bonnet. Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill is all booked up.”
Stede stared into his phone screen, aghast that such a thing had even happened. How! What! Why? If this was how this Blackbeard chose to operate, Stede hardly even needed to -
His phone began to ring, and Stede jumped like a bomb had gone off.
“H-Hello?” He didn’t recognize the number, and braced himself to hear a recording about how the warranty for the car he didn’t have was about to expire.
“I’ve been instructed to tell you that we have an opening.” It was him! That incredibly rude man from Blackbeards! His tone implied that every single word was being pulled out of him completely against his will. “For Monday. It’s an outdoor table. Rain or shine-” There was a scuffle on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, my mistake. It’s an outdoor table if it shines, an indoor table if it rains.” The man sounded like he would prefer sun so that a large wave might crest over the barge and take Stede with it.
“That would be lovely!” He refused to be intimidated. “What time is the table available?”
“Nine-” Another sound, like a hand hitting something. “Seven. Or seven thirty.”
“Seven it is! Thank you so much.” The line went dead without a reply - that was alright, he had his reservation and he would finally be able to see what the fuss about Blackbeard’s was all about.
“I hope you remembered to book for three!” Lucius called from outside the office.
After placating Lucius with the promise of “next time,” Stede arrived at Blackbeard’s at 6:55 on the dot. It always served to be a few minutes early, and by the look of things when he strolled up to the front door he made the right decision. The barge permanently fixed to the side of the restaurant that stretched out over the water was packed, and from the long line out the door he didn’t imagine the inside would be much better. He bypassed the line, ignoring dirty looks from those who would have to wait who knew how long (and ignoring more than a few comments about his outfit, the shirt was silk, thank you very much and looked excellent on him), and came face to face with a stern, unsmiling man with a neat goatee and an expression that wanted to slice each and every customer’s face off.
This must be the manager.
“Good evening! Reservation for Stede Bonnet, 7pm?”
“It’s 6:57,” the man said, without looking up from the POS.
“I understand that, but -”
“Reservation is for 7. It’s 6:57. Go stand over there -” He threw out his hand in the vague direction of the crowded bar. “Someone will come to get you when your table is ready.”
Stede shuffled over to a bar that was swarmed with people who must have been there since happy hour, judging by their glazed looks and raised voices. He was jostled aside by two rough looking men racing each other to order drinks. The bartenders, all dressed like they belonged in a biker bar rather than in a nautical themed restaurant, were efficiently dashing to and fro, serving drinks, taking orders, making small talk. Stede opened his notebook and made a note with the ugly little pencil he only used when absolutely necessary - odd choice of uniforms but well trained staff and settled in to wait. It was already 6:59. Surely the table couldn’t be that much longer.
At 7:05, when no one came to get him, Stede began to think that something might be wrong. At 7:20, he went right back up to the man at the front, and inquired very kindly if his table was perhaps ready by now.
“The table for Stede Bonnet?” a voice asked from behind him. The manager finally looked up just as Stede turned around to see one of the waiters standing there, an eyebrow raised in the manager’s direction. He was rather a handsome fellow, Stede thought, even if his large beard and long hair couldn’t possibly be up to sanitation code. (Not without a net, at the very least.)
“Table’s not ready -” the manager began, but the waiter just shook his head.
“Sure it is, Izzy. Just prepared it myself. Come on then.” The waiter marched into the sea of diners and tables without waiting for Stede’s reply, and with a briefly triumphant glance at the manager - Izzy - Stede followed the man to a table nestled in possibly the only quiet corner of the restaurant.
“Thank you for the rescue,” Stede said when the waiter pulled the chair out for him. “I thought your manager might be attempting to persuade me to leave.”
“Izzy just likes to fuck with critics.” The waiter pushed in his chair when Stede sat down.
“Ah. Well, thank you regardless, Mr…?” Stede’s voice trailed off as he put his hand out. None of the staff wore nametags (it would have ruined their aesthetic, Stede was certain) and the waiter looked startled for a moment before taking Stede’s hand and shaking it.
“Call me Ed,” said Ed.
“Then you must call me Stede,” said Stede. “Is there a menu?” Ed shook his head.
“No, no, chef has it all well in hand, don’t worry about that. Any allergies?” Stede shook his head and Ed nodded. “Great. That’s good. I’ll - uh - I’ll get one of the boys to come by with your first round, margarita’s all right, yeah? Fang makes a mean daiquiri if you’d rather.” Ed pointed to Fang, the larger of the two large gentlemen behind the bar, who was daintily pouring absinthe over the back of a spoon.
“Either would be wonderful,” Stede replied.
“Alright then. And you know, if you don’t see me around, just ask someone else if you need anything. Busy night, you get it.” With that, Ed vanished into the crowd, and Stede took out his notebook and the nice pen, his custom fountain pen with the gold tip, to write - excellent first impression once you get past the manager, handsome attentive waitstaff, personalized experience.
More notes were added when the drinks came. (Ed had apparently chosen to interpret his “either” as “and.” Both a margarita and a strawberry daiquiri were dropped unceremoniously onto his table by another strapping gentlemen, both made with mid-shelf liquor and fresh fruit, a huge step up from the swill he had to scarf down at Spanish Jackie’s the week before.)
Within twenty minutes Ed brought him the first course: a sampling of raw oysters, shrimp served in a rough looking wooden bowl, and three tiny crabcakes fried to a perfect golden brown - fresh oysters, well seasoned shrimp and perfectly cooked crabcakes, presentation leaves much to be desired.
Stede felt the initial tension of his interaction with Izzy melt away as the tequila from the margarita clung close to him and the sweet strawberry and vanilla rum of the daiquiri followed after. He was - he was surprised, for certain. He had expected perhaps a fancier Red Lobster, an overly hyped Applebee’s knockoff (with particularly strong drinks the way people had been carrying on). Blackbeard’s was rough around the edges, to be certain, but there was something else there, a sophistication in the food and drink that he hadn’t expected. He wanted to ask Ed about the vibe of the restaurant, what it was like to work here, how long he’d been working, if he was single - oh, how did that thought get in there? But in between delivering his food and explaining the dish, the man was nowhere to be found! It was a very busy evening, especially for a Monday, but the staff seemed more than fit to deal with the onslaught. Water glass is never more than half empty before someone comes round to refill it went into the notebook. Perhaps Ed had other duties not on the floor, perhaps -
“-ever pull this shit again!” someone was shouting, and Stede, not because he was a gossip but because he was very curious leaned out a bit from the little alcove to see what all the ruckus was.
To his great dismay, Ed was up front, facing an Izzy who looked like he was about to wrap his hands around the waiter's throat. Stede couldn’t hear them over the din of the restaurant, which had resumed its usual volume the moment it was clear a true fight wasn’t going down, but he did see Ed lean into the manager and say something, and whatever that something was was enough for Izzy to throw up his hands and return to glowering at what was surely the most beleaguered POS system in the city.
“I hope I haven’t caused any trouble,” Stede said, when Ed came back with his entree.
“What? Oh - Izzy. Nah, don’t worry about him, he likes to think he owns the place.”
“Still,” Stede persisted. “If your boss - if Blackbeard has anything to say about it I’ll be happy to defend you.” Ed paused for only a moment before he set the plate down before Stede.
“You would, wouldn’t you.” It was not a question. “I’ll - uh - I’ll let you know if that’ll be necessary. Blackbeard doesn’t usually take Izzy’s tantrums that seriously.”
“Ah,” said Stede.
“Yup.” Ed blanched. “Oh - fuck - yeah, your dish. This is the house specialty tonight - tenderized grilled rattlesnake in a light white wine sauce.”
“Snake?!” Stede was certain his voice had reached an entirely new octave.
“Yeah,” Ed stepped back at the change in pitch. “That okay?”
“Oh - no it’s - just what a lovely surprise!” Snake! Stede wasn’t sure if he had ever eaten snake! What was the proper fork - ah, but there was only one fork and one knife on the table, that simplified things a bit. Ed just laughed, but not the same way Izzy had laughed at him over the phone. Ed’s laugh was a low chuckle, accompanied by a smile and a shake of his head.
“You’re something else, Stede Bonnet. Enjoy.”
Stede did. He enjoyed the dish so much that as he mopped up the last of the white wine sauce with a bit of bread he promised himself he would meet the chef before the night was over.
Dinner had been accompanied by an excellent glass of what Stede was certain was a sauvignon blanc, and he waited for Ed’s return with a warm sort of glow about him. The floor wasn’t any less crowded at eight thirty than it had been at seven, and by the looks of the crowd outside it seemed the restaurant would have to start turning people away if they wanted to close by one. On a Monday! Of all days! Surprising entree executed perfectly. Ordinary plating overridden by superb preparation flowed from his pen as he watched the sun go down over the water outside.
“How was everything?” Ed asked when he reappeared almost forty minutes later. “Everything alright? Wine - food -” he flipped his hand, perhaps to indicate the general vibe, and Stede nodded again and again and spewed nothing but praise that he was certain sounded very trite when he thought about it later.
“I only ask - is Blackbeard available? I’d like to thank him in person.”
“You want to meet Blackbeard?” Ed asked, as if Stede hadn’t been perfectly clear.
“Yes. He is here tonight, is he not?”
“‘Course he is. But, look, you understand -”
“Oh no, I don’t mind waiting! Or I can come back, if that would be preferable, or…” He hoped Ed would provide some kind of answer or explanation, but the man just kept looking at Stede like he had never seen anything like him before.
“No - sorry, uh - no can do,” Ed shook his head.
“Are you certain?”
“Yeah, he’s uh - he’s going to be busy all night. Trust me.”
“Oh dear.” Stede has always been a man totally unable to hide his emotions, and he knew his face was doing some sad pathetic thing at the news.
“Look, tell you what, how about you come back in a few days,” Ed said. “I’ll pass along your compliments and who knows, maybe he can make an appearance.”
“Why that would be lovely, Ed, thank you!” Stede shook his hand again. He hadn’t been able to register it the first time, or maybe it was the not insignificant amount of alcohol he had consumed over the last hour and a half, but Ed’s hand felt pleasantly warm and rough and calloused, the hands of a working man, and Stede snatched his own hand back before that train of thought could spin out any further. “I’ll -” He cleared his throat. Why was his voice so high again? “I’ll take the cheque now.”
“Huh?” Ed seemed to be snapping out of some fugue of his own. “Ha - no, you don’t have a cheque.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s on the house. Uh - Blackbeard’s orders. To make up for how rude Izzy was to you on the phone and, you know, before.”
Stede narrowed his eyes. “I won’t be swayed by a free meal, you know. Lots of places have tried before.”
Ed rolled his eyes, but his smile was nothing but fond.
“Yes, I’m certain you’re a paragon of moral justice. Write whatever you want. It’s fine.”
“Well, alright.” Stede smiled at him and rose from the table, slipping a generous tip discreetly underneath his dinner napkin. He considered shaking Ed’s hand again, but that would be a bit too much for a first meeting, and - besides, waiters were supposed to be kind to their customers. Ed’s goodwill towards him didn’t mean anything but that he was in a service industry job that relied on tips.
“Er, goodnight, then,” he said with an awkward bow of his head. Ed returned the gesture and made it look smooth and cool.
“Look - if you want to come back don’t bother calling just - you can just come by. I’ll make sure there’s a table ready for you.”
“Oh.” Was this how Blackbeard’s treated all their food critics? “Well, that’s - that’s very kind of you.”
Ed shrugged. “I have a lot of pull around here.”
Stede wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he merely thanked him again and said goodbye a few more times (and even crashing into a five-top of fellow diners in the process wasn’t enough to dampen his sudden high spirits).
He bid Izzy an extravagant good evening on his way out the door, and was not bothered in the least by the sneer he received in return.
Lucius wanted all the details the next day, and as recompense for leaving him out of the reservation, Stede did not remark on the fact that Lucius had brought his boyfriend to work again. (Not that Stede ever did remark on it. There was always a convenient excuse or two to fall back on.)
“So you didn’t actually meet him,” Pete asked, for the third time that morning.
“No, Pete. Again, I did not actually meet him.”
“Did you look him up at least?”
“You know my policy. I don’t look up anything once I’ve begun my review. No instagram, no googling, nothing. I won’t be influenced by outside sources.”
“You know Blackbeard once manned an entire restaurant on a Saturday night on a pair of roller skates and a line made up entirely of trained rats?”
Lucius, who had been fiddling about on his phone for the last twenty minutes, suddenly looked at Pete as if he’d never seen him.
“I’m - Pete, that’s just the plot of Ratatouille.”
“Well, where do you think they got it from?”
Stede listened to their banter in the background as he struggled to work on his article. He hadn’t gotten much further than “A Night at Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill.” The title. That was it. Every time he thought of typing something else he thought of dark brown eyes, a magnificent beard (that truly was far too long for the industry), a pair of rough hands that would feel quite nice were they to -
“Boss,” called Lucius, in a tone which implied it was not the first nor the third time he had said it.
“Sorry - yes - I agree!” Stede said, having absolutely no idea what he was saying.
“Oof, yeah,” he said to Pete. “You’re right. He is thinking about someone.”
“I told you. No one sits blushing with their mouth open for no reason.”
“So,” Lucius said. “Who is it? I bet it’s that waiter.” Stede said nothing, but he didn’t have to for Lucius to cry out in triumphant confirmation. “I knew it, I knew you’d never be so vague about a man’s outfit! Tell us everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell!” Stede cried. This was silly. This was nothing, and speaking it out loud into the universe would prove it. “Don’t you have work you should be doing?”
“Yeah?” replied Lucius, as though it were obvious he had work he wasn’t doing.
“Well - just - just get out of my office,” Stede declared.
“Ohhh, he’s got it bad,” Pete said, as the two of them made their slow way towards the door.
“I’ll say. No way we’re letting him go alone the next time he feels like -” the glass door clicked shut, and cut off the rest of their conversation.
It was simple. He would never go to Blackbeard’s again, this would all blow over, and his crush would dissolve like a dash of sugar in a cup of tea.
Three days later, Stede found himself standing in front of Blackbeard’s again, this time with Lucius in tow.
“Where’s Pete?” Stede asked, when they were in the Uber and it was too late to change his mind.
“He and I agreed it might be best if I went alone on this particular mission,” Lucius explained, not looking up from his phone. “And - uh, the whole staff is dressed like leather daddies, you said?”
“I said they dressed as if they had walked out of a biker bar.” Lucius made a sound of assent, and didn’t say another word until they reached the place.
“Fuck off,” Izzy said, the moment he saw Stede Bonnet approaching.
“And a good evening to you too!” said Stede.
“Charmed,” added Lucius, to which Izzy grimaced.
“Christ, there’s two of them,” he groaned.
“Table for two please!”
“Do you not see the line out the door?”
“Well, yes, but the last time I was here, Ed told me -”
“Ed?” Izzy’s head snapped to attention. “Ed. What did Ed tell you then?”
“He told me that -”
“Actually, don’t answer that.” Izzy seemed to have changed his mind, and was making a beeline for the kitchen doors at the back of the dining room. Stede smiled at Lucius, who gave him a dubious glance and said he was going off to the bar to get a drink and did not ask Stede if he would like anything. Stede felt he deserved that. If this ended with the two of them being thrown out of the restaurant into the street, it wouldn’t be the first time.
After what sounded like a brief shouting match which culminated in a metal bowl clattering off a table and making about seventy five circuits before finally coming to a stop, the doors opened again, to reveal Ed and an unsmiling Izzy behind him. Lucius reappeared the moment Ed reached them, sipping on a piña colada
“Stede!” Ed greeted him with a grin and a firm handshake. “Good to see you back!” His eyes fell on Lucius beside him. “And - uh, who’s your friend - boyfriend - husband?”
“Oh - no, no no no no this is my - this is Lucius, he’s just a coworker.
“Oh my god,” Lucius said into his pina colada. Stede shot him a sharp look that he ignored completely.
“I’ll show you to your table, if you like.”
“Actually,” Lucius began, I think I’m just going to stay up here at the bar. You kids have fun!” He instantly turned to Izzy.
“Can you believe this shit?”
“No.”
“I'm Lucius, by the way.”
“I didn't ask.”
“Didn't you hear? I'm giving it away for free.”
The rest of their conversation was lost on Stede, who was again being led to that small little table in the back corner with the lovely view of the water.
“Didn’t think I’d see you back so soon,” Ed said, bringing him a menu. “Hope you’re not trying to wheedle another free meal out of it.”
“No!” The very idea! “But I wanted -” He paused, swallowed. “I wanted to give the menu a fair shake as well. Before I finish up the article. And Lucius wanted to see the place, and, well.” Ed chuckled. At what, Stede couldn’t possibly day.
“Sure, absolutely. I’ll get you a menu then, yeah? And I’ll send someone round for your drink order.”
The evening went very much the same as last time. Ed was hardly an available server, but he was a very good one when he did appear. He was extremely knowledgeable about the food origin (“Nah, we try and do farm to table - or, like, sea to table, as much as we can - did you see the origin notes for all our fish in the menu?”), preparation (“The - uh, our head chef prefers to just do a quick cast iron sear on the scallops, gives a much better texture than anything else, in his opinion”), and variety (“We’ve got plans to do two menu changes each season, but who knows, it’s still early days at this point.”)
Lucius never joined him, and the shriek of laughter Stede heard every once in a while from the direction of the bar implied that he would not. That was alright. It gave Stede another opportunity to enjoy his meal without any distractions and jot a few more ideas down in his notebook (which were becoming less and less about food by the minute).
At the end of the evening Stede pushed his clean plate away, paid the check and left another extravagant tip, and thanked Ed again for his kindness and conversation.
“You’re always welcome,” Ed said, as he totally unnecessarily walked Stede to the door. “Whenever - you know, whenever you feel like dropping by. If you need to get more data for your article, that is.” Stede turned to face him, and my, but they were rather close, weren’t they?
“I - yes,” Stede managed. “That would be - it would be quite nice.” Ed raised his hand, then let it drop to his side again.
“Alright then. I guess I’ll see you.”
“I guess you will.”
It wasn’t until he was well away from the waterfront that he realized he left Lucius, but judging by the man’s instagram stories, it was better to leave him to it.
And so it was that Stede returned the next night, and two days after that, and three times the following week. He sampled almost the entire menu, wound his way through all the signature cocktails, endured the condescending looks that were beginning to border on pain from the manager. Blackbeard himself never emerged from the kitchen, but Stede found himself caring less and less about meeting him, not when he had Ed to talk to, that is.
Whenever Ed could get a minute away from whatever else he was responsible for, he was happy to talk to Stede about food, wine, places he’d gone and the things he’d seen. Like the restaurant itself, Stede was very pleased to find a sophisticated, sympathetic man underneath all the black leather and beard (not that he was complaining about either, mind). But he couldn’t keep it up forever, and though it took a dozen rewrites and more time spent with Lucius staring at him as he struck through sentences with red pen than he thought he could possibly endure, the time came to finally publish the review.
Stede thought it was - well, it was as fair as he could manage to make it when all he could think about was a pair of kind, dark eyes and rough hands. Lucius told him it was “acceptable” on his way out the door for a date (not with Pete, who was going out with another boyfriend of his named Frenchie, but with - Stede shook his head - with the fucking manager at Blackbeard’s, of all people. How Lucius had managed that one was a miracle all on its own).
The Monday following the review Stede received a phone call.
“Saw the review,” said a voice on the other end of the line when Stede answered. It was a voice he had come to know quite well, a voice that filled him with a very silly and very bright little ember of joy.
“Did you? What did you think?”
“Yep,” Ed replied. “I was - uh, thinking I could tell you over dinner? Tonight? Here, obviously, I can’t really… Anyway.”
Stede blinked a few times, wondering why his chest hurt so much, and then remembered he needed to breathe.
“Look,” said Ed, “Just - nevermind, it was stupid -”
“No!” Stede cried. “I mean yes! I mean -” He took another deep breath. “No, it’s not stupid, yes I would like to? What time? Should I be there?” Why? Was everything? Coming out? Like a question??
Ed told him 8 and very quickly rang off, and Stede went home early.
He was going to have to open his auxiliary closet for this evening.
When Stede arrived at 8pm, the outdoor barge was completely empty. “Closed for a private event,” read the sign, although there seemed to be no private event happening. It had been strung with new lights alongside the old - little red hearts that were centered around a table set for two (with each station having multiple forks!) in the center of the little ship. Music drifted over the wind from a small speaker tucked onto the barge’s bar.
“There you are,” Ed said, emerging from the front doors. “C’mon.”
Improbably, he led them over to the barge. Was - was all of this for them? Stede’s heart did sort of stutter in his chest as Ed pulled his chair out for him.
“I read your review,” Ed said, sitting down and fiddling with the empty glass of wine at his place. “It was nice. Really nice.”
“Thank you,” said Stede. He could make small talk, he could be rational about this totally irrational situation. Maybe it wasn’t dinner? Not like Stede thought Ed had meant. Maybe it was just a - a thank you, that was it, for giving the place such a good review! “I tried to be as objective as I could, but -” He shrugged. “It seems I’ve lost a bit of my objectivity.”
“You said “‘Blackbeard’s cuisine is as delicious as his chef is mysterious. In multiple evenings in attendance at the restaurant, I never even caught a glimpse of the man behind the operation.’”
“That’s a direct quote.” Had Ed memorized the entire article?
“Yeah, about that.” Ed scratched the back of his head. “You know I’m Blackbeard, right?”
Stede smiled politely, and tilted his head to the side in confusion.
“I’m not kidding,” Ed emphasized.
“Of course.” Stede was familiar with this sort of thing. This was all a joke, and soon Ed would get to the punchline. But Ed was no longer smiling, his brows were drawing together and he hit the table with the flat of his hand as he rose up from his seat.
“Are you serious?” Ed cried. “All this time I thought you were just fucking with me but - did you seriously not know it was me?”
“I -”
“I’m all over the internet!” Ed showed him his phone screen, which, yeah, showed a list of google results that began with a photo Ed standing next to the restaurant, smiling and pointing at the word “Blackbeard’s” on the menu. “How did you miss this? Didn’t you look up the restaurant?”
“I have a strict policy of not letting other media influence my evaluation!”
“Oh my fucking god,” Ed - Blackbeard shook his head. “Okay - well, let’s make something extremely fucking clear.” He pointed at the lights, the music, the table set for two.
“This is a date,” Ed explained. “Like, a dinner date. A date for the two of us, uh - you know, if you want.” Stede was glad Ed was being so through about all of this, because he was having difficulty hearing over the blood rushing in his ears. All this - closing half the restaurant, the decor, the table set so lovely, it was all for him?
“-called your office, and I was told if I didn’t get on with it Lucius was going to ‘fuck Izzy right out from under me,’ wasn’t sure what he meant by that but it sounded like he was trying to be threatening so I just went with it and look if this isn’t - if I’m way off base with this, somehow, just let me know and I’ll -” Stede didn’t know how Ed thought he was anything less than overjoyed, what with the way he could feel his face stretched into a smile.
“It’s perfect,” he said, taking Ed’s wandering hand in both of his own.
“Good, that’s - that’s good.”
“You should probably sit down.”
“Yeah - I’ll -” Ed sat, still looking at Stede like he was the most wondrous thing on the face of the earth.
“We’ll have a nice dinner,” Stede continued.
“Yes, for sure, I have the menu all planned out -”
“And we can go back to mine, after?” Ed’s eyes widened.
“Yeah. Maybe.” Ed began to toy with the silverware, knocking all the forks out of their careful alignment. “That could be good.”
Maybe, indeed. Maybe Stede would enjoy the undoubtedly superb meal they were about to experience. Perhaps he would delight in his dining companion, in his conversation, his questions, his looks and his smiles.
And if, as the moon rose and they leaned over the barge’s railing watching its reflection on the water, their eyes happened to meet, and their lips after, well, that would be the ideal way to begin the rest of their evening.