“Spence, it’ll be fine.” I started down the path again, but she yanked her hand from mine.
“Shane, this is ridiculous. We’re not getting in, and even if we could, it’s a terrible idea. That place is crazy expensive. There are tons of other great restaurants within walking distance. We can go to one of those.”
“I thought you said you’ve been wanting to try it.”
“I have, but—”
“And that you like French food.”
“Yeah, but, Shane—”
“Then we’re going. Come on.” I held my hand out to her. “It’ll be fun.”
She scrunched her mouth to one side, fighting a smile. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“I do,” I said with a proud grin. “Now let’s go.”
She smiled and took my hand. “Why, because we’re going to be late for our nonexistent reservation?”
We crossed 18th Street and walked to a brown brick building with red awnings. Yellow Art Deco lettering on gray slate spelled out the restaurant’s name.
I pulled open one of the doors and held it for Spencer. She hesitated but finally relented with a shake of her head and stepped inside.
The interior of the restaurant was decorated like a 19th century Paris bistro, complete with Lautrec lithographs and colorful Tiffany light fixtures. A bar dominated one side of the lower level, and a long, mahogany leather banquette lined with tables occupied the other. Nearly every seat in the house was filled, but a quick look around revealed a handful of two-tops still sitting empty. A podium at the front of the room served as the hostess station, and a girl with a bored expression and jet black hair cut in a sharp angle from her ears to her chin stood behind it.
I glanced down at Spencer who stood beside me, clinging to my arm. “Okay. So, whatever I say, just go along with it.”
Spencer’s amber eyes went wide, but she didn’t have a chance to argue before I strode toward the podium, her arm still wrapped in mine.
“Can I help you?” the hostess asked.
“Yeah, I have an eight o’clock reservation for two. I know we’re a little early, but that table over there in the corner would be just fine if it’s open.”
The girl turned to look where I’d pointed, and I leaned over her podium to quickly scan the book open on its surface. Her attention returned to me, and I tipped back from her stand again.
“Name?”
“Utley,” I said, hoping I’d deciphered her loopy scrawl correctly.
Spencer’s nails dug into my arm, but I ignored it and met the hostess’s skeptical expression with a calm smile.
“Utley?” she repeated.
“Yep.” I nodded. “Table for two, eight o’clock.”
One of her penciled-in eyebrows arched dramatically. “Chase Utley?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Chase Utley. The second baseman for the Phillies?”
Fuck. “Well.” I laughed, buying for time. “I mean, of course I’m not Chase Utley.” I put my arm around Spencer’s shoulder. “He couldn’t make it, so he offered us his table.”
Her expression changed from skeptical to one of outright disbelief. “Because you’re such good friends?”
I opened my mouth, but Spencer piped up before I had a chance to speak. “We live in the same building over in Washington Square,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. She nestled closer under my arm.
“We’re new in the building,” I added, squaring my shoulders in an effort to look like someone who owned a million-dollar apartment in the city instead of someone who rented an efficiency for $150 a week. “They’re probably our friendliest neighbors, which is surprising given how famous he is.”
Although, apparently not so famous I wasn’t smart enough not to use his name. Still, Spencer had done a good job of making my mistake work to our advantage. Playing off her reminded me a lot of running cons with my brother. We didn’t even need to talk to each other to make it work.
“You expect me to give you their table just because you say so? Why didn’t they call to change the reservation?”
I started to speak, but Spencer cut me off. I felt her body tense and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing when I realized it wasn’t nerves but actual annoyance that had her so on edge. “Probably because they didn’t think you’d make a federal case out of it. This is a restaurant, not the U.S. Mint.”
“I know.” The hostess narrowed her dark eyes at Spencer. “It would be easier for you to get a table there.”
Spencer made a disgusted sound at the back of her throat. “Forget it.” She looked up at me. “Come on. Let’s just go to that Turkish place we actually wanted to try tonight.” She put her arm across my back and steered me away from the podium, then said in a volume meant to be overheard, “I guess this answers Jenn’s question about whether this place is worth checking out.”
I didn’t have a clue who “Jenn” was, but apparently the hostess did.
“Wait,” she called, and we both turned to look at her. Her disbelief had melted into nervous uncertainty. Earning a bad reputation with one of the highest profile residents of Philadelphia certainly wouldn’t be good for business. “You swear they gave you their table?”
Spencer rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Who would go to all this trouble just for dinner?”
Who indeed? The girl fidgeted, considering this.
“Didn’t Chase say they were thinking about booking this place for their fundraiser dinner? For their charity…what’s it called?” I asked Spencer. It seemed like a safe bet. All those guys raised money for one charity or another.
“Yeah, Utley’s All-Star Animals. Jenn was just tweeting about it.”
“Jardin would be a perfect place for a fundraiser,” the hostess said and slid two tall leather folios from inside the podium. “I mean, I’m sure you’ll tell them that, won’t you?” She flashed a beatific smile as she stepped from behind her station.
“We will if the food’s any good,” Spencer said.
I mashed my lips into a tight line. If I laughed, I might blow the whole thing, but Spencer’s indignation was almost too much to take given that the whole thing was a complete fabrication. She was a natural clip artist, a trait she must’ve inherited from her father without even knowing it.
The hostess faltered for a second but regained her composure quickly. “If you’ll both follow me.” She led us to the table set for two in the back corner and stood aside while I pulled the chair out for Spencer. Then I took my own seat. She opened the menus and placed them in front of us. “Bon appétit,” she said with a smile so bright it almost looked painful. “Please let me or your server know if there’s anything you need. Anything at all.”
“Thank you.” Spencer gave her a saccharine smile. “We will.”
When the hostess had made her way back across the restaurant, Spencer looked at me, her wide-eyed expression having returned. “I can’t believe you did that!”
“We did that, sweetheart.” I grinned at her. “And you were damn good at it, too. I’m pretty sure you could’ve gotten a table on your own.”
She giggled. “Well, I definitely would’ve chosen a name from that list a little more carefully.”
“All right.” I nodded. “That was probably not the best name. But I didn’t have a ton of time to consider my choices.”
“So is this what you do with all the girls? Steal reservations from major sports figures?”
“Nah,” I said. “Usually I go with political figures. Mayors, state reps—that sort of thing.”
“Well, it’s certainly the most unconventional date I’ve ever been on. But I have to admit that was kind of fun once I got past the terrified part.”