“Touché.”
We scan the QR code at the table, scrolling through the drink menu.
“Cocktails or wine?” I ask her.
She puckers her lips, shifting them side to side as she assesses the menu. I’ve come to learn it’s what she does when she’s thinking hard, trying to make a decision.
“What cuisine is this place?”
“Greek.”
Her eyes flash up, and she whips her head around, searching the restaurant for…honestly, I have no clue.
“Wait, what? What’s this place called?”
“Moira”
“Moira? Wait, this place just opened. My mother mentioned it.”
Score one for Aleksander.
Not going to lie, I was nervous picking this place. I had a feeling she would scrutinize any Greek restaurant I picked unless it was her favorite but thought I’d take a chance with this one since it was just opened by the granddaughter of the most notorious chef in Sifnos. There were a lot of high expectations surrounding it; I just hope it lives up to the hype.
“Did I tell you I was half Greek?”
“No, but the internet did.”
She laughs at me, and I nudge her knee with my own, “What, are you trying to tell me you didn’t look me up?”
“Not really.” She starts studying the wine menu with renewed interest.
I nudge her knee again. “What does that mean, huh?”
“Nothing. I just, like, watched a stream here and there.”
I’m about to push her further because there’s something under that, but our waitress interrupts. She inquires whether we want still or sparkling water and if we have decided on drinks.
“We should go with a white wine,” Stevie suggests, “the Gavalas.”
“Sounds good to me, I trust your choice.”
She beams at me while the waitress rattles off some of the specials. Stevie’s ears prick up when she mentions some honey ricotta cake, her eyes practically turning into little hearts.
“Oh! We have to get that for dessert, Aleks.”
I can’t help but grin back. I definitely made the right choice picking this restaurant. Stevie has a field day after the waitress leaves, scrolling through the menu, rattling off different dishes and speaking mostly to herself. I’d done my own research on the restaurant, which dishes would be the best, but I’m throwing it all out the window. Watching Stevie live her best foodie life is way more enjoyable.
“Do you want to order for us both?” I ask her.
“Really? You’d be alright with that?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
She shrugs. “Chase never let me order. He picked everything, from the wine to whether we got dessert or not.”
“Well, Chase sounds like an asshole and a dumbass.” He looked like one, too, from the pictures I found online. My internet deep dive might have been a little too deep—but Parker has quite the connections when it comes to information gathering. “Order whatever you want. If you want to taste everything on the menu, order everything on the menu. I don’t care how much it costs. Even if we can’t finish it, we’ll give the leftovers to the boys.”
Her bottom lip pops out, kitten eyes staring up at me through thick lashes.
“You’re the best, you know that?”
“I have a few awards that say so.”
She rolls her eyes, smiling at me.
“I’m serious, Stevie, order whatever you want. It’s your night.”
The waitress returns with our bottle of wine. She shows us the label before pouring a small amount into a wine glass, and I motion for her to pass it to Stevie. She gives it a sniff before taking a sip and nodding her approval. The waitress proceeds to fill our glasses, leaving the bottle in a stainless-steel wine chiller.
Stevie fires off various dishes to the waitress. I have only a vague understanding of what she ordered, but I’m pumped. This is probably the most fun I’ve had at a restaurant since the Lau’s invited me out to yum cha for the first time in high school.
Stevie raises her wine glass. “To an amazing day and unforgettable night.”
I raise mine in suit. “To an amazing day, unforgettable night, and a beautiful woman.”
We clink our glasses and take a sip. The crisp wine brightens my tongue.
Our appetizers come out in record speed, and Stevie wastes no time in plating me various spreads and cheeses to try—including some special Siphnian cheese that she had a feeling I wouldn’t love…and didn’t.
“It’s not to everyone’s liking, don’t worry about it. Here, this is garides saganaki; it’s to die for.” She spoons a mixture of shrimp covered in a tomato sauce and crumbled feta onto my plate, and then passes me a piece of crusty bread. I scoop everything onto the bread and take a bite. It’s delicious. The fresh lemon juice cuts through the salty feta cheese and savory tomatoes. The shrimp are plump and a direct contrast to the crunchy bread. It’s out of this world. I can’t stop myself from going back to the skillet for seconds and thirds.
Our mains come out next, and I eye the clay pot meat dish with interest, the seafood pasta looking somewhat familiar.
“What’s that?”
“Mastelo! It’s a hallmark dish in Sifnos. Braised lamb in a tomato sauce with dill, cooked in a clay pot. I have a feeling it’ll be your favorite. The other dish is astakomakaronada. You can’t go wrong with a fresh Greek lobster pasta. Plus, I’m a seafood girl.”
I cut into a piece of lamb, watching as it tears away like butter. Fuck, this is going to be good. The flavors burst in my mouth, the lush sauce coating my tongue as the meat melts. The fresh dill springs through the richness, tying everything together. Damn, this restaurant is amazing.
Stevie twirls her pasta, humming with pleasure as she bites into it.
“This has been the best dinner ever, and we haven’t even gotten to the melopita. I know you prefer chocolate desserts, but everyone loves the honey cake.” Her eyes crinkle. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Her excitement is utterly infectious. When she smiles, her entire being glows, and she hasn’t stopped smiling this entire time. I wouldn’t be surprised if she complained that her cheeks hurt tomorrow.
“I love your smile.”
The compliment blurts out of me, and I reach for my wine, downing the rest of the glass then reaching to fill ours both up again, finishing the bottle.
I look up, and Stevie is trying her hardest not to smile, but she breaks into a full-blown grin.
“Thank you. That’s so sweet.”
I groan.
“What?” she asks.
“I’m acting like an all-out sap,” I complain.
“No! It’s cute.”
“I’m supposed to be hot, mysterious, sexy. Not cute. NightBlade32 is not cute.”
“No,” she tips her wine glass toward me, “but Aleksander Knight just might be.”
I give her a dead stare. “That doesn’t make it any better.”
She just winks at me before taking a sip of wine. I huff but let it drop.
Guess I’ll just have to come to terms with the fact that when it comes to Stephanie Andwell, the playbook doesn’t exist; there are no rules.
She’s the king on this chessboard, and I’m just a pawn charged with protecting her.