“Chase,” I hiss, but I’m hauled out of my car, the door kicked closed.
He tugs me forward, our bodies too close as he holds the bag of bottles like a football and stares down at me.
“Nobody gives a fuck what you look like. All my friends are in there, and you’re a friend. Plus, you couldn’t look like trash if you tried.”
I groan as he turns around, still holding one of my hands hostage as I’m dragged behind him like some kind of errant child onto the sidewalk.
“Plus,” he says over his shoulder, “I’d fire anyone who says otherwise.”
The commitment I show to keeping my head on straight should be rewarded, because I have to dig my teeth into my bottom lip to make the smile trying to bloom stop and wilt.
“Can we be done being friends now?” I gripe.
He chuckles, letting go of my hand to open the door, his eyes meeting mine.
“No.”
Fuck. I stand there for a second, staring at him with my arms crossed, before I finally give in. I mean, how bad could it be? I look like shit, but they’re all probably food stained and perfumed with garlic.
“Fine. But if the food sucks, I’m writing like ten Yelp reviews.”
He lifts his leg, kicking me in the butt, and herds me inside. “Get inside, loser.”
I can’t help but squeal, bouncing inside the grandiose glass doors before I’m immediately hit with boisterous laughter and what sounds like a passionate conversation about duck fat wafting from the kitchen.
The smile on my face is immediate as Chase moves in behind me, whispering down to my ear.
“Welcome to my home,” he whispers.
Home?
I blink. Taking it all in at once.
While he may have said his “friends” were here, I think he meant family, because it reminds me of mine—loud, boisterous, and full of joy.
Home is that kind of perfect place that makes you feel cozy and the most yourself you’ll ever be. I grin, realizing this is a place where he’s himself.
Someone yells from the back in French, and I see white napkins fly, so I turn and look at Chase over my shoulder with a smile still on my face.
But he just grins. “Don’t worry, you’ll fit right in. They’ll love you. Just bring your A game. The sarcasm is top tier here.”
I blink too quickly as he takes the lead, walking quickly, so I follow. And while I’m less worried about my appearance, I’m somehow more nervous.
Wait, why am I nervous?If they’re anything like him, I’ll deserve severance for the good acting job I’ll be forced to do before I quit this dinner and run.
We weave through the front room, filled with unsullied tables topped with expensive linens and tiny gold lamps. He glances back at me as the noise from the kitchen grows louder.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, because pride is written all over his face.
He should be proud. Even the gold-leaf wallpaper-banked walls are gorgeous and elegant. And yet, it feels cozy like his restaurant in Boston. There’s a distinct comfort while still feeling elevated.
He’s good at this ... Nothing else, just this.
“Yeah.” He winks. “You should come back when it’s open ... say, two and a half weeks?”
Goldie told me about the opening, but I’d planned to have other plans.
I shrug. “Put me at Goldie and Noah’s table.” I reach out, touching a sage green menu with gold lettering that’s stacked on a table. “This place looks expensive. They can pay.”
