“I’ve officially run out of words,” I admit finally. “Everything I can think of to describe this place is woefully inadequate.”

“That’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

I turn to face him. “Thank you. Again. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.”

“Everything?” A smile tugs at his lips. The first part of him I remember being enamored by. Not that long ago, yet I feel I have known him much longer. Something in the way I am looking at him makes his expression turn serious. He opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted.

“Welcome to Treetops.” The young man who carried our bags earlier is lingering by the table. He had come into the room unnoticed. “Are you ready to dine?”

James closes his mouth, a fleeting look of disappointment flashing across his face. Then he relaxes and nods.

“Yes. Thank you, Craig, we are.”

Craig pulls out my seat and I sit, trying not to feel self-conscious that someone is waiting on me but secretly enjoying the experience all the same. James sits at the other end of the table. It’s only three or four meters long, but he seems far away and I get the urge to giggle and break into a song from Beauty and the Beast because it reminds me of a scene in the movie. James casts an expert eye over the wine menu and orders a bottle of red, after checking that I’m happy with his choice, and Craig disappears through a discreet door to fetch it.

“I hope you don’t mind,” James says from his end of the table. “But they don’t do a menu here, just a selection of courses they bring out. If there’s something you don’t like you don’t have to eat it. The chef here isn’t one of those precious ones who take offense easily.”

“Pardon?” I answer mischievously, cupping a hand to my ear. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you from all the way down here.”

He laughs. “You’re right. This is a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?”

He pushes back his chair and, with one scrape, gathers all his cutlery into his napkin. He then dumps it noisily onto the table to my right, and goes back to fetch his chair.

“There,” he huffs once he’s dragged it into place. He sits down and beams at me. “That’s better. Hear me now?”

“Loud and clear.”

If Craig is surprised with the new seating arrangement he doesn’t show it, barely blinking as he emerges from the back with a bottle of wine that James declares is “a particularly good vintage.”

Craig pours some in a glass and James swirls it around in his mouth, his face thoughtful. Finally, he swallows and nods. “First-rate drop, that is,” he says. “The top notes of cherry and plum are particularly noteworthy, and the depth of the smoky oak balances it out perfectly.”

When Craig leaves, James leans over.

“How did I sound?”

“Impressive.”

“Like I knew what I was talking about?”