He's Strong. He's Hot. He's Foreign. (And He's in the Mafia?)

My heart was beating a million times a minute and I couldn’t focus on anything. I’d be going on my first date in New York City. My first date with a rich stranger whose foreign accent made me swoon. My first date with Peter Dombrovski. I dawned my white eyelet dress with shaking hands and slipped on my white gladiator sandals. I let my brown hair fall around my face and applied some light makeup.

The doorbell rang. The quick melody seemed lighter, more romantic than usual. This was probably just my enchanted state. I sprinted to the door, pausing to steady myself before opening it.

Peter was standing at the threshold, his blue eyes gazing down upon me with a tenderness I wasn’t used to seeing in a man’s eyes. His dirty blonde hair was a perfect mess on his head and his lips formed into a breathtakingly white smile.

“Good evening, Miss Xavier” he said, his accent more sultry than ever. I had missed that voice.

“G-good evening” I stuttered, finding it hard to look in his eyes. Every time I did, my stomach got all twisted and my cheeks flushed bright red.

“I think I like this outfit much better” he purred, “It suits you”

I finally looked him straight in the eyes, but this time, I had no intention of looking away.

“I like your outfit too” I mumbled, my cheeks still flushed. Peter was wearing a black shirt and blazer with dark jeans.

“Thank you” he smirked, taking hold of one of my hands and squeezing it gently.

“So…where are we gonna go?” I asked timidly. My cheeks blushed an even darker crimson at his hold.

“One of my favorite restaurants, they have the most amazing deserts” he said with a grin.

“Here we are” Peter said, pulling up to an all too familiar restaurant. It was Christophe’s, the restaurant I worked at.

“Have you ever eaten here before?” Peter asked, opening my door for me and helping me get out.

“Oh…no!” I answered, with a forced giggle, praying to God that Rachel wouldn’t be our waitress. If Rachel knew I was dating some gorgeous foreign stranger, I would never hear the end of it.

“You know…my friend told me that the owner of this restaurant is this really snobby French guy maybe we should eat somewhere else…” I said, standing idly on the street corner.

“What are you talking about Jane?” he asked, confused.

“And I heard the staff is really annoying” I protested, trying to resist him pulling me towards the restaurant.

Peter laughed, “C’mon, honey, just give it a chance” I gave up and allowed him to lead me into the restaurant I knew all too well.

“I have reservations under the name of Dombrovski” Peter told the hostess, Tiffany, who was the over excitable niece of Christophe.

“Oh, yes of course…oh hello Jane! What are you doing here on your night off? You said that…wait…are you on a date with…” she whispers, “…him?!” She is beaming at me, waiting for my response.

“Uh…well yeah” I muttered, blushing. Peter squeezed my hand, causing me to look up at him.

“Oh my god! Rachel!” Tiffany screamed across the restaurant. Tiffany had grown up spoiled rotten and wasn’t accustomed to being in a working environment.

“Tiff you seriously need to keep your voice down…” Rachel said disapprovingly, walking up to us. When she saw me with Peter her eyes grew wide.

“Jane? Are you here with…him?” she asks, lowering her voice.

“Yes, alright? I am here with…him! This guy right here! His name is Peter and yes, as hard as it is to believe I actually have a date with not just a decent-looking guy…but no, an incredibly sexy one!” I exclaimed, fed up with the whole ‘awestruck’ thing.

I could hear Peter smirk as he squeezed my hand once more.

“Right this way, Mr. Sexy” Tiffany snorted, taking two menus and leading us to a secluded table way in the back.

“Enjoy your meal” Tiffany said as we sat down. She gave me one final wink before walking off. I sighed and slouched my head on my hands.

“So I’m guessing you work here?” Peter asked, suppressing a grin.

“How’d you know?” I muttered, looking over at him.

“Why didn't you tell me in the first place? We could’ve gone someplace different”

“I thought you wouldn’t want to go out with a pastry chief” I mumbled, not looking at him.

“You make the chocolate mousse?”

I nodded, hunching my shoulders a little.

“Wow, you are very talented” Peter complimented, his kind eyes resting on me, “Where did you learn to bake so well?”

“Nowhere really…my mom taught me how I guess” I mumbled, feeling like my head was going to explode since my cheeks were blushing such a bright red.

“Hmm…so where do you come from?” he asked, taking my hand from across the table, making my head spin.

“Kentucky…it’s not very exotic compared to Russia I guess” I said, allowing myself to drown in his deep blue eyes.

“They’re like animals!” Rachel interjected, suddenly appearing before us, rolling her eyes, “Gigi and Becky were fighting over who gets to wait the table with Jane and her hot man candy…um hello I think the best friend get’s to do the honors!”

I couldn’t help but smile at my friend’s silliness.

After we had ordered, then came the deadly awkward silence.

“Tell me what your childhood was like” he said, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.

“Oh um…it wasn’t very eventful…just kind of grew up…went to high school…” I mumbled, shifting in my seat uncomfortably.

“How old are you?”

“19”

“You are very young” he smirked, “You are very lucky to have a job as prestigious as this one.”

“That’s all it took really,” I mumbled, smiling slightly.

“No, you have real talent as well,” he said, squeezing my hand, “I took a couple colleagues of mine out to lunch here one afternoon. They are the type that are very hard to please. They have one taste of your dessert. They could not stop raving for weeks.”

I blushed even more furiously, staring down at my menu.

After dinner, which went off without a hitch minus Rachel trying to question Peter about every detail of his background, we walked back to his car, Peter refusing to tell me where we were going next.

"Oh c'mon it's probably just some fancy place. Why can't you tell me?" I asked as we drove down the streets of Manhattan.

"How do you know, my dear?" Peter smirked.

"Because that's what rich people do. They do rich people things," I said.

Pete looked over and studied me, a humorous glint in his eye, "Whatever you say, Jane."

I rose an eyebrow when I discovered that we were heading south, towards Brooklyn.

"Uh...Peter, I think we're reaching the rich people city limits..." I said, as drove over the Brooklyn Bridge.

"I may be a wealthy man, darling, but I am certainly not a 'rich person'," he said, turning onto a side street.

"Peter we're are we going?!" I exclaimed as we rushed down the cobblestone streets. They were alive with the colorful nightlife that populated this cultured Brooklyn neighborhood. There were bars, art galleries, and street musicians. I hadn't even stepped out of Manhattan since I had arrived in New York. Not because I didn't want to. I just didn't have the time.

"I don't you to miss it," he said as he lead me by the hand down the street, "It's probably my favorite thing about Brooklyn."

After going through some alleyways surrounded by abandoned red-brick buildings, we arrived at a pier that jutted out into the water.

"Wow," I whispered as I looked out at the sunset over New York harbor. The sky was alight with a beautiful collage of pink, purple, red, and orange. It reflected on the water in such a way that seemed to light up the whole city as well.

"Do you like it, Jane?" Peter asked as we reached the end of the pier.

"I haven't seen a sunset like this in ages," I whispered, "I haven't had fun like this in ages."

I heard Peter smirk and realized he was still holding my hand.

"Enjoying your 'rich people fun'?" he asked as I rested my head on his shoulder, watching the sun as it began to disappear into downtown Manhattan.

"Very much," I giggled.

--------------------------

After an amazing night, Peter drove me back to my building and walked me up to my apartment, holding my hand the whole time.

“Good night,” Peter whispered. I felt his lips brush against my ear as he talked, making me sigh in longing. I had never felt this way about someone else before.

“Good night,” I whispered back, looking up into his clear blue eyes. He smiled slightly and brushed some hair behind my ear. I shivered as he touched my cheek, not because his hand was cold, but because he was making me more nervous than I had ever been.

“Hey…I was wondering…” I said, as his lips were inches away from mine,”…would you like to come inside for coffee or something?”

He grinned and said, “I like coffee.”

“Decaf is okay, right?” I asked as he sat down on the couch in my “minimalist” apartment. It was minimalist so I could afford an apartment with a decent sized kitchen.

“Yeah,” he said as I walked into the living room with two mugs of steaming hot coffee, which was the way I hoped he liked it.

“Thank you, Jane,” he said, smiling at me as he took the mug.

“So, if don’t mind me asking, what’s a nineteen year old southern girl doing living in New York City all alone?” he asked, looking over at me.

“I just had to leave that place,” I said, lifting my bare feet up on the couch, tucking them under me, “No one appreciated me there.”

“Don’t you miss home?” he asked, taking a sip and setting the mug on the table.

I shook my head, “No one liked me there…I was so alone.”

Peter noticed my hands shaking as they held the mug. He put a hand on my shoulder, whispering, “Jane…you don’t have to feel alone with me.”

I looked at up at Peter, meeting his blue eyes which were warm as they gazed at me. I wasn’t used to someone (especially an attractive guy) having a genuine concern for me. I felt tears escape my eyes and quickly wiped them away, my cheeks growing bright red with embarrassment. I hadn’t even shed a tear since I moved here.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, unable to stop my tears from flowing. I put my mug down and turned away slightly from Peter, hiding my face in my hands.

“What is it, Jane?” Peter murmured, retracting his hand from my shoulder.

“I…I just haven’t thought about it…” I said, turning back to him , feeling slightly flustered, my eyes shining with tears and my face still red, “I never cry in front of people. I feel like an idiot.”

"You're not an idiot," Peter hushed, holding my cheek in his hand, causing my whole body to tense up.

"I'll keep you company...that is if you want me to," he murmured, his thumb brushing over my cheek, wiping away any stray tears, making me shudder.

I nodded as shivers went over my spine. Peter smiled and took my face in both of his hands, his lips pressing against mine firmly. I seemed to melt in his arms as my body encased his.

"Thank you," I mumbled, breathing heavily as he pulled away.

"You're welcome," Peter said, kissing my nose, making me giggle.