Chapter 348
**Sara**
The first course arrived with a flourish - a delicate arrangement of Sydney rock oysters with finger lime and what Michael described as "sea consommé."
"The chef recommends consuming each oyster in a single bite," he instructed before departing.
I picked up my first oyster, studying the glistening morsel. "I've never had oysters this fresh before."
"Try it," Tom urged, watching me intently.
I tipped the shell to my lips, letting the oyster slide into my mouth. The burst of briny flavor, enhanced by the citrusy pop of finger lime, was unlike anything I'd ever tasted. I closed my eyes involuntarily, a small moan escaping me.
When I opened them again, Tom was staring at me, his expression hungry in a way that had nothing to do with food.
"That good?" he asked, his voice lower than before.
"Better." I licked my lips deliberately. "Your turn."
Tom maintained eye contact as he tasted his first oyster, his reaction subtler but no less appreciative.
"Damn," he murmured. "That's exceptional."
Each subsequent course was more impressive than the last: marron tail with cultured cream, roasted quail with black garlic and orach, smoked pig jowl with shiitake, and sea scallop. The wine pairings complemented each dish perfectly, from crisp whites to complex reds.
By the time dessert arrived, I was in a state of blissful satiation, feeling slightly tipsy from the wine and drunk on Tom's attention.
"And now," Michael announced, "Chef's signature dessert - the Snow Egg."
He placed before each of us what looked like a delicate white egg perched atop a bed of granita in a glass bowl.
"What is it exactly?" I asked, peering at the creation.
"A poached meringue with an ice cream center, encased in a crisp maltose shell, served with a jackfruit granita and fool."
I tapped the shell with my spoon, delighted when it cracked. The contrast of temperatures and textures was extraordinary - cold, creamy ice cream inside warm, cloudlike meringue encased in a sweet, brittle shell.
"Holy shit," I blurted, forgetting my surroundings.
Tom laughed. "I take it you approve?"
"This isn't food. This is... art. Magic. I don't even know." I took another bite, closing my eyes to savor it fully. "I'm ruined for regular desserts now."
"Good. That means I'll have to keep taking you to extraordinary places."
"Is that a promise?"
"Absolutely." His foot found mine under the table, hooking around my ankle in a casual claim. "I'm just getting started showing you the world, Sara Parker."
The way he said my full name sent a pleasant shiver up my spine. "I'm holding you to that, Thomas Blackwood."
"I'd expect nothing less." Tom signaled for the check, which appeared almost instantly. He didn't even glance at the total before sliding his black card into the leather folder.
"Don't you want to know how much it costs?" I asked.
"No." His answer was simple, definitive.
"What if they charged you a million dollars?"
"Then I'd question their business model. Even with premium wine pairings, that's excessive." His eyes crinkled with amusement. "Besides, I'd pay whatever they asked if it meant seeing you make that face when you tasted the Snow Egg."
"What face?"
"The one that made me consider bribing the staff to clear the restaurant so I could take you on this table."
I choked on my water. "Tom!"
"Just being honest." He signed the receipt with a flourish. "Ready for our next adventure?"
Outside, the afternoon sun bathed Sydney in golden light. Tom took my hand, leading me toward the lush gardens adjacent to the Opera House.
"The Royal Botanic Garden," he explained as we passed through ornate gates. "Over seventy acres of paradise in the middle of the city."
The transformation was immediate—from urban bustle to serene greenery. Wide paths wound between manicured lawns and dense plantings, and the city skyline was visible above the treetops.
"It's beautiful," I breathed, taking in the exotic flowers lining our route.
"It was established in 1816," Tom said. "Some of these trees have been here for nearly two centuries."
"How do you know that? Did you read the entire Wikipedia page before bringing me here?"
"I might have done some research." He squeezed my hand. "I wanted to impress you with my botanical knowledge."
"Consider me impressed. What's that tree called?" I pointed randomly.
"That's... a green one."
I burst out laughing. "Your extensive research failed you!"
"I focused on the romantic spots, not the arboreal identifications."
We strolled hand in hand along winding paths, the harbor glimmering between the trees. I stopped abruptly when we rounded a corner and came upon a cluster of extraordinary orange and blue flowers.
"Oh my god, look at these!" I pulled out my phone. "They're like exotic birds."
"Bird of paradise," Tom said. "Strelitzia reginae."
I looked at him suspiciously. "Did you actually know that, or did you just read the sign?"
"The sign," he admitted. "But I delivered it confidently."
I laughed and snapped several photos of the vibrant blooms. When I turned the camera toward Tom, I caught him watching me with undisguised affection.
"What?" I asked, lowering my phone.
"Nothing. I just like seeing you happy."
I took a picture of him before he could protest. "For evidence."
"Evidence of what?"
"That Tom can look at a woman like she hung the moon."
"Only one woman." He pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my lips. "And only when she's geeking out over flowers."
We continued our walk, veering off the main path onto a smaller trail that led toward the water. A secluded bench overlooking Farm Cove appeared, positioned perfectly beneath the spreading branches of an ancient fig tree.
"Planned stop number one," Tom announced, guiding me to the seat.
The view was spectacular – the Opera House to our right, the harbor stretching before us, and the Harbour Bridge in the distance.
"How many planned stops are there?" I asked, settling beside him.
"That would ruin the surprise."
I leaned against his shoulder, content to sit quietly for a moment. A strange squeaking sound from above caught my attention.
"What's that noise?"
Tom pointed upward. "Flying foxes."
I followed his gesture and gasped. Hanging from the branches were dozens of large, furry creatures with leathery wings folded around their bodies.
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