He opened her door, walked around the front, boots crunching on the gravel, and folded himselfonto the leather seat with a low, satisfied exhale.
“It got really cold since this morning,” she said, pulling her gloved hands together in her lap.
“September in Montana, darlin’. Even though it’s only the beginning.” He turned the engine over, rich and powerful, and reached for the dash. “I have heated seats.” He pushed both buttons and the dashboard washed their faces in a soft red glow.
“Oh, that’s nice. I used mine in the SUV on the way over.” She settled back as the warmth began to rise beneath her. “Warm butt, warm heart.”
Cole’s laugh came up from deep in his chest. “Pretty sure that’s not how it goes.”
“Works for me.”
Cole eased into the parking lot and cut the engine. The building’s facade glowed under a pair of wrought-iron lanterns, rich red brick catching the pooled light, two oversized windows flanking the glass doors throwing molten amber out into the dusk. Aftyn leaned forward in her seat and took it in. On the sidewalk a couple in distressed denim laughed at something between them, and near the entrance a woman in an elegant sheath dress paused to adjust her stiletto. Cole had told her any attire went there, and the crowd bore that out.
“Sit tight,” he said, pushing his door open. “I’ll get yours.”
“Thank you.”
He came around the front and offered his hand. She slipped her fingers into his palm and he helped her down, and the warmth rolling out from the entrance felt like a mercy after the wind.
Inside, the air carried polished oak and simmering stock and something rich she couldn’t quite name. Cole guided her through a short foyer to a hostessstand carved from dark mahogany, where a woman with chestnut hair offered them a practiced smile and Cole something a little warmer than that. Aftyn noticed. She told herself to let it go, jealousy wasn’t something she made a habit of, but there was a difference between courteousness and the way that woman’s eyes moved over him like she was reading a menu but already knew she wanted.
Cole gave his name. The hostess gathered two heavy leather-bound menus and led them to a booth beneath a low-hung lantern. Cole lifted Aftyn’s coat from her shoulders, folded it, and laid it across the bench, then set his hat and coat aside and settled in across from her.
“This is a nice place,” Aftyn murmured, running a fingertip along the grain of the table.
“Always busy.” Cole flipped open his menu. “Hard to get a table without a reservation most nights.”
The hostess reappeared at the edge of the booth. “Can I get you something to drink while you wait for your server?”
Cole glanced across the table. “Aftyn?”
“White wine, please.”
“And for you, sir?”
“Callahan Whiskey. Rocks.”
“I’ll be right back.” She was gone as quickly as she’d come, and Aftyn watched her navigate the corridor with a fluid confidence that suggested she knew exactly the effect she had.
“No wonder you need a reservation,” Aftyn said, leaning in.
Cole’s mouth curved. “Every night. I called Grant to get us in.”
“Grant Hunter?” She looked up. “What’s his connection?”
“He owns it.”
She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I didn’t know that.”
“How would you?” Cole set his menu down. “He didn’t want to set up in Clifton, didn’t want to step on Connie’s toes back home. So, he came here instead. Works out well for everyone except the people who forget to call ahead.”
“That was thoughtful of him.”
“He’s a good man.”
“Very handsome too,” she said, and watched Cole’s eyes narrow across the table, the corner of his mouth fighting itself. She laughed. “I’m teasing you.”
“Sweetheart, you can tease me all you want.” His voice dropped low.
