I Almost Got Cumberbatched!

I almost got Cumberbatched!

Mr. Cumberbatch was wearing a black tuxedo and his most dashing Sherlock Holmes smile. His eyes were a sparkling blue that demands cliché comparisons to things like sapphires and tropical oceans.

Of course, I would only know his eyes shine like Arkenstones in real life because he was standing less than two feet away from me at the bar, talking to Cate Blanchett.

I know, you think I’m lying … but I’m not.

Back in 2015, the film 12 Years a Slave (which featured the previously mentioned Mr. Cumberbatch), won the Oscar for Best Picture, and I was at the Academy Awards that night. At the time, I lived in Los Angeles and my best friend worked for the Academy of Motion Pictures. A perk of her job was free tickets to the show every year, and in 2015 she asked me to be her date.

Of course, our seats were way up in the nose-bleed section (which aren’t even shown on TV). But this was not my friend’s first rodeo. She knew how to sneak to the first floor and hang with the celebrities. The secret? Act like you belong. We were already at the Oscars. Now we just had to pretend that we rubbed elbows with the rich-and-famous all the time.

We waited for the proper commercial break, then we slithered down to hob-knob with Hollywood’s elite. To the lobby bar we went, where we staked our claim at one of the high-boy tables.

Which brings me back to Mr. Cumberbatch.

He was at the bar with Ms. Blanchett (who is Lady Galadriel in real life, with the presence to part crowds with Elven regality). The two were chatting, when Mr. Cumberbatch reached back and attempted to place his drink on our table behind him.

Attempt is the key word here, because he actually hit the table’s edge, wherein his drink teetered, and wobbled, and threatened to splash cranberry vodka all over my dress. Mr. Cumberbatch quickly turned at his mistake, and—BAM!

Eye contact!

**Cue the swooning crescendo of music**

His eyes locked on me. My eyes locked on him.

And those dreamy baby-blues of British wonderment said, “Bullocks! I almost spilled my drink on you!” 

To which my eyes replied, “Not a problem. You may throw alcohol on me anytime.”

Okay. Maybe it was actually three awkward seconds of fumbling silence between us, before he returned his attention to Ms. Blanchett.

But, we had a moment—and I’m positive that next time we meet we’ll be on a first-name basis.

Romance novels would have us believe that all celebrity encounters are awkward meet-cute worthy moments. And although Benedict and I ultimately didn’t have our torrid Hollywood affair, I will definitely affirm the awkward part happened.

And so would the heroine of the second book in the Flambé series. The beginning of Arie’s twin sister Esme’s story has all the necessary elements:

• A sparkly dress
• A hunky Hollywood star
• Easily spillable drinks

Cue the foot-in-mouth witty banter of awkwardness.

About Whiskey Splash

Mistaken identity was never so hot …

When Arie’s twin sister, Esme, is mistaken for the up-and-coming restaurateur, her love life goes from non-existent to volcanic.

The crew of the hottest new show on television, Billionaire Heat, just checked into the Atlantis Resort in Waikiki. On his first night in town, the show’s smoldering leading man, Desmond Pike, visits the infamous restaurant Flambé expecting to meet the owner Arie (and her sinful reputation for late-night delicacies).

Only, Desmond accidentally mistakes the chef for her twin sister Esme instead. Esme is everything Arie is not—sweet, shy, romantic—and for a girl who is allergic to one-night-stands, things are about to turn molten!

Refusing to let her sister blow it with TV’s hottest celebrity, Arie decides to coach Esme on how to bring the actor to his knees.

And when Arie sets her mind on a project, get out of the way. Dessert is back on the menu and Arie is turning up the heat.

WHISKEY SPLASH is the second book in the Flambé series. Get your copy here.