“Oh,” I say.
“Since we’re here, we should have lunch.”
“Oh, I don’t know if here is a good idea? Wren always says if a restaurant isn’t busy, it’s for a reason.”
“In this case, it’s because I bought out all the tables but the ones they already had reservations for.”
“Oh,” I say, sounding more and more like a hooting owl, and sink into my chair.
“I’ve already asked them to make us a table upstairs.” Roark rounds the table and takes my hand. “This way.”
We go up two floors and come out into a smaller space. There’s a bar on the far side of the room. The windows are arched like a solarium, and doors open out onto a small balcony. There’s maybe five tables inside, but Roark takes me outside, where there are three smaller tables. Only one is set. But I don’t sit. The restaurant has a view of the lakestraight ahead, and to the side you can see part of the old city, and beyond, the new government center.
“Wow.” A ferry is taking off from the dock below.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“This is one of my favorite places in Zurich.”
“Not your favorite?”
“No. Maybe we’ll have time for that another day.”
I nod as if we’re going to be making regular sojourns to the city. We stand side by side for a long time, until the shoes of the server scuff across the tiles behind us.
“Good afternoon. I’m happy to take care of you. Your first course is ready when you are.”
“Do you need more time?” Roark asks. He motions to the lake.
“I’m ready.” I turn and catch him staring at me. His eyes are heated, so much so that it makes my breath hitch. He can’t be feeling the same way I am. Can he?
Roark helps me into my chair. It’s silly, but each and every time, it makes me feel special. The menus are gone. He reaches across the table and takes my hand, interlocking our fingers. His thumb gently glides over the back of my hand, sending goosebumps up my arm.
“You ordered already?” I ask.
“I did. Leopold said you don’t have any allergies.”
“That’s true.”
His blue eyes glow brightly at me, and the rest of the restaurant fades away. “I hope you like it. No worries if you don’t. No need to eat it.”
That’s a big difference from the one other time I let a guy order for me. Jeff—he thought he was being suave ordering a preset menu. But when the food wasn’t great, he glared atme when I didn’t eat much. I ended up cleaning my plate and was rewarded with food poisoning the next day.
This meal isn’t like that one at all. Everything they bring is fantastic.
“I think you’re going to have to roll me down the stairs.”
“Or carry you.” He sweeps me into his arms and goes straight out the front door.
“You didn’t?—”
“When you buy out a restaurant, they take payment upfront.” He chuckles and places me in the back seat of the car before climbing in next to me. “You know how to say no?” he whispers, his chin in the crook of my neck.
“I do.”
26
