I’d managed to secure a dinner date with the only man I’d ever loved—twenty years too late—and I wanted to quit while I was ahead.
Jamie
Ipulled up in front of the daunting building where Beatrice was staying—gargoyles atop tall ivory columns bookended the stairs—and I took a deep breath. Ford was leaning against one of the columns, wearing dark jeans and a crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves. He walked toward my car, forearms exposed, hair damp, and a smile on his face.
“Nice ride,” he said, opening the passenger door.
“Thanks,” was all I said. I’d bought the tiny German sports car a year ago when I realized a family wasn’t in my future. “It was either a dog or the car, and I’m not home enough for a dog,” I admitted to Ford.
“Married to your job?”
“Till death do us part,” I answered, pulling away from the curb.
It was a short drive to Opus, the nicest Italian place in the area. I’d been twice with Val for special occasions, and I had to admit I wished for the chance to go more often. Maybe that was why I suggested it to Ford. After all, I didn’t have to worry about digging in with him—he’d known me all my life. I could eat and drink with abandon.
“When did you decide to get into development?” His hand crossed over the console and landed on my thigh. I was surprised I didn’t wreck that car.
A landslide of emotion clogged my throat. His hand, my thigh, talking about the past—it was overwhelming. Mustering as much willpower as I had, I didn’t pull the car over and maul the man next to me. I took a deep breath, exhaling out all the tension, and spoke. “My degree was in English.”
“I knew that…”
My throat clearing filled the car. “I never went for my master’s because…well, Tony didn’t think I should. He liked me home, and at first I thought it was a luxury. But I quickly learned it came with strings. That’s when I met Val. I was tutoring college students to make cash. When I finally decided I was done being a puppet, I took my cash and filed for divorce. But this isn’t what you asked,” I said as we pulled up to the restaurant.
“I want to hear,” he said as the valet grabbed my door and yanked it open.
“Put a pin in it,” I said as I got out of the car.
Ford opened the door to the restaurant and the smell of homemade sauce enveloped me.
I closed my eyes and breathed it in before saying to the hostess, “Hi, I called earlier and was lucky to grab a reservation. Jamie Silver, table for two.”
The hostess looked at me, and I internally cringed over my need to always say too much. “Oh, sure. Right this way.”
Thankfully, I didn’t mention I’d used my title at work to secure the table, but with the way the hostess was eyeing Ford, she seemed happy to have obliged. I’d said I was needing to entertain a famous donor, and I sort of was—crazy how a guy the same age as I was garnered so much attention from a young woman.
Seated, she handed Ford his menu first and he politely handed it off to me, schooling her.
He put his down in front of him, and said, “Now, let’s finish what you were telling me in the car. But first tell me why you seemed to have an orgasmic moment walking into this place.”
I started to cough and laugh at the same time, reaching for a water that wasn’t there yet. Luckily, the server arrived and poured me a glass.
“Bottle of red?” Ford looked at me as I was swallowing.
I nodded.
“Bottle of red, Cabernet, bartender’s choice,” he told the server.
“You don’t like to peruse the selection and choose yourself?” I asked.
This time, he laughed. “I’d rather talk with you than look at a wine list. Staring at a wine list is what men do when they don’t really care who is sitting across from them.”
Unsure what to say, I drank more water.
“The orgasmic look when we entered, and then getting into development. In that order.”
It wasn’t a request. Ford’s tone suggested I better get talking, yet it wasn’t threatening. It was almost comforting, like he desperately wanted to know. “My mom was Italian, you know?”
He nodded. “And your dad was Jewish, if I recall?”
