I’m early though, so rather than bailing out of fear, I sit, trace the rim of my wine glass and try to breathe normally.
Then I see him and my heart nearly stops.
Santiago. He moves with a grace born from confidence, not arrogance.
Holy shit, he’s more gorgeous than I remember. Dark eyes. A strong jaw. Mouth made for sin and sincerity in equal measure. Tonight, he wears a white shirt with an open collar and sleeves rolled to his elbows tucked into dark trousers. Tall, lean.Delectable.
The faintest smile plays on his lips when he spots me when he walks through the door. It’s no exaggeration—every eye in the room snaps to catch a glimpse of him.
He doesn’t even notice becausehiseyes are on me.
“You beat me.” He sits and scoots his chair close.
“I didn’t want to be late.” I shrug.
Santiago laughs. “I like a punctual woman.”
With a subtle gesture, he signals the waiter and orders in Spanish without opening the menu. His voice is quiet, sure. I find myself relaxing. It’s nice to let someone else decide a meal for once.
When the server leaves, he leans back. “You look rested.”
“I slept for nearly a day straight,” I admit. “Then walked my ass off. Got lost twice. Ate everything in sight.”
His eyes spark. “That sounds like the perfect way to conquer jet lag.”
“It was. Even better, it’s the first time in months I woke up without a list of problems waiting.”
“I’ve been there.” He rests his chin on his palm. “You forget how to breathe until someone forces you to stop.”
“You sound like you know from experience.”
“I do.” He folds his hands. “For the record, the reason I had to leave you so abruptly at the airportis because I sold my company yesterday. Ten years of work signed away in an hour. Today, I’m a free man with a nice little nest egg.”
“Wow. How do you feel?”
“Strange. Excited for what’s next.” He hesitates. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight since we parted ways.”
The blush from my cheeks creeps down to my chest. “Me too.”
Food arriving interrupts us for a moment. I’m delighted. Garlic prawns. Octopus croquetas. Thin slices ofjamón. A basket of bread already glistening from a vintage olive oil he recognized when he ordered.
He chose with care, matching textures and pace, the way a talented sommelier pairs courses with a story. Somehow, he anticipated everything I would have ordered myself.
He pours the wine. “Montsant. I think you’ll like the balance, it’s not too sweet.”
“Are you guessing what my palate is?” I smile.
“I’m not…exactly.” His eyes meet mine. “It’s time for a confession. When I sat down next to you, I recognized you immediately because I’ve eaten at your restaurant. A few times. Not enough. I’d have visited more if my travel schedule hadn’t been so full.”
I’m immediately unnerved. I didn’t expect this. At all. I can’t believe I didn’t notice someone like him, especially with his Spanish accent. What else have I missed over the years.
Oh,shit…
My hand stills on the glass. I’m an idiot. This dinner is less about romance and all about business.
Disappointment washes over me and I can’t hide it. “You’ve been to my restaurant? Why wouldn’t you have just said something?”
“Well, I was planning on it but I enjoyed our time too much.” He leans back and looks me directly in the eye. “As to your restaurant, I never stop thinking about it. I love everything you’re doing there.”
