21 Jump Street (Tom Hanson)

Tom and Mickey's Date

He drove us across town to my favorite fancy restaurant, Le Tarte Tatin. We have only been here a couple of times before together, but he really likes it too. Only for special occasions do we eat here, or when he's trying to apologize... like tonight. The owner is a chef from France, and they only serve French delicacies. We had to give his car to the car valet and we walked inside.

"We have a reservation, table for two," Tom said to the hostess.

"Last name?" She asked while opening her reservation book.

"Hanson."

The hostess found his name before she picked up a couple of menus and said, "right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Hanson," and began walking to the table.

I raised my eyebrows at being called Mrs. Hanson, and I looked to Tom who looked slightly embarrassed. We brushed it off, and followed her to our table. After she said that our waiter would be with us in just a moment and left, Tom rushed behind me and pulled out my chair.

"Thank you." I sat down and he pushed me closer to the table and took his own seat across from me. The low lighting could be described as romantic, and soft classical music played that could be heard over the white noises of other people talking quietly and enjoying their food. The restaurant was lavishly decorated with beautiful artwork and wood detailing. The linen tablecloth was white and pristine, with silverware placed on the napkins. We had candles on the table with a fresh rose and baby's breath center piece. Everyone was in formal attire, and even the waiters wore suits and bow ties.

"Are you going to get the Steak Diane again?" Tom asked me while taking a peak at his menu.

I nodded but still looked at the menu in case anything else caught my eye. Tom always gets new foods whenever we come here so I asked, "what are you getting this time?"

"I'm thinking of getting the fois gras," he said in a French accent.

"You know that is liver, right?" I chuckled.

Tom's eyes shot up at me and he said in a humorously serious tone, "why would you tell me that?"

I tried to hide my smile, and Tom was clever enough to look away when he felt his emerging. I wonder if he can see what he does to me. He makes me so happy.

The waiter came by with ice water and asked if we were ready to order. I ordered my favorite steak and asked for a Cola to drink. The waiter tried to talk me into ordering a wine that would compliment the steak, but I was firm on my decision of a soft drink, which he definitely judged me for.

"Can I get the fois gras?" Tom asked the waiter, pointing at the menu.

"That's one of my favorites," the waiter said, "might I suggest the 1980 Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin Vintage Brut Champagne? It has a very youthful, pale gold colour. It has quite a high, perfumed, estery and exotic nose, with a hint of oxidation and bruised fruit. It pairs superbly with the fois gras."

Tom looked lost at the waiters elaborate review of the sparkling wine. He finally said with a goofy grin, "okey-dokey."

"May I have your identification, sir?" The waiter asked. Tom fumbled with his wallet before handing the waiter his driver's license and he scanned it with his eyes. Determining that the identification was real and he was over the age of 21, he gave it back and asked me for mine. Despite only ordering a soda, I could understand why he would want mine as well, since Tom had ordered a bottle of alcohol. I handed him my drivers license, and he gave it a quick scan before handing it back.

"I'll get those started for you," the waiter said and left. 

I took a sip of my water because my mouth was feeling a little dry. I think it was because I was nervous. Tom did the same, and his rings clanked against the water glass. I teased him about how confused he looked when the waiter was sprouting off about the champagne, and he returned the fire by how there was no way I could understand any more than he could. We talked about Russell Buckins and what he did while he was in California, and before we knew it our food came.