Behind Closed Doors ; Timothée Chalamet

Chapter 2

Christian and I drove along the busy streets of Portland. The sun was setting, and I checked my watch, hoping we wouldn't be late for our dinner reservations. A week ago, I met Christian's parents, and they insisted on meeting again in the city so I could meet Christian's brother. I was unsure why I felt nervous to see his parents again; they were lovely. I hope that feeling will pass in time. 

"Are we going to be late?" I ask Christian as the car comes to a stop on the freeway. I looked out the window at all the other frustrated drivers.

"It doesn't matter if we're a few minutes late; Tim is always late anyway," Christian says, resting his hand on my knee for reassurance. 

"Being punctual isn't his thing?" I ask.

"Eh, sometimes he just gets stuck at work." Christian clears his throat.

"Tell me more about him and you; how's your guy's relationship?" I question, facing back towards him.

"We get along well." 

"That's it?" I laugh a little

Christian shrugs. "We're just very different." 

"That's okay." I nod understandingly. "My other two sisters and I aren't very much alike, either." 

"Yeah?" Christian says.

The traffic cleared up a little, and we began driving again. I sigh relivingly.

"Yeah, but we have different interests; I still get along with both of them," I answer.

"That's good." Christian trails off.

"Is something wrong?" I center my gaze on him.

"Well." 

I wait patiently for his response.

"Something happened a few years back that made us uh- kinda not be as close." 

"What was it?" 

"I'd rather not talk about it." 

"Was it something he did?" I pry.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Christian says, refusing to look at me.

"Okay..." I furrow my brows. "Doesn't sound too convincing. 

"Drop it, okay?" Christian clears his throat.

And with that, I don't continue to investigate if Christian wants to tell me he will in time. I check my phone for the time and see a text from Terri saying she and Henry are also running late. I sent a quick response back saying Christian and I are as well.

Christian and I continued a different conversation until we reached the restaurant. We pull up to the valet, and the passenger side opens. 

"Welcome to Grassa," The valet attendant says, helping me out of the car.

"Thank you." I smile.

Christian hands him his keys and nods at him, walking over to me and placing his hand on the small of my back, guiding me towards the entrance. The doors open before us, and the smell of freshly baked loaves of bread and olive oils fills my nose.

"Hmm," I hum.

"You're going to love it here," Christian says, smiling.

"Gosh, we're so late. I feel awful." I whisper to Christian.

"Don't; everything is all good," Christian reassures me.

We reach the hostess, Christian tells her his last name, and she smiles.

"Great, everyone has already arrived, just this way." The tall blonde ushers us to follow her.

We walk through the dimly lit restaurant and pass other diners. I sneak peeks at what drinks and food orders the other customers have decided on. My eyes were fixated on the colorful and carefully made cocktails and heaping plates of freshly made pasta.