In all the years they’d been together, Connor had never opened the car door for Nora.It just doesn’t make logistical sense,he’d argued when she had commented on a sweet scene of an older gentleman holding the door for his wife just outside of the movie theater one Sunday evening early in their relationship.
That was Connor for you. Fiercely practical, even with his romantic gestures, which were woefully few.
Nora tried to shake the comparison out of her head as she buckled in and J.P. took his place in the driver’s seat. It wasn’t right to line J.P. up with Connor, even though J.P. came out shining in every scenario. She needed to let things unfold between them naturally, without the pressure of past relationships tarnishing their new moments.
“It’s a bit of a drive,” he started to say. “But I made a reservation for us at Bespoke.”
Nora’s heart lifted. “That trendy new restaurant just outside of Hamilton?”
He nodded. “That’s the one.”
It had been open less than a year, but Nora had it on good authority that the waiting list to even get a reservation at the hip dining establishment was months long.
“What organs did you have to sell on the black market to manage that sort of miracle?”
“Have no fear; both of my kidneys are still intact.” He gave a little wink. “I was the foreman for the construction project for the restaurant.” J.P.’s hands draped loosely over the wheel, head tilted in her direction, though his gaze remained forward. “It was the last big project I worked on before moving here.”
She knew he hadn’t been in town long, but never gave much thought to what his life might have looked like pre-Harmony Ridge. He had told her a little about Kenzie, but there was still so much about J.P. to discover, so much newness and mystery and layers to peel back.
“I’ve heard so many great things about the place,” Nora said to keep the conversation going.
“Same. This will be my first time eating there.” He paused. “And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather do that with.”
She wondered if the niceties were forced. After all, up until recently, she would have considered J.P. her nemesis. Suddenly, everything was different. Like she saw him through new glasses. Understood him better. Things were clearer, and yet, her feelings were fuzzy all the same.
The restaurant was located in the suburbs outside the bustling metropolitan city of Hamilton, so the drive was just shy of forty minutes. There was an unassuming quality to the clean-lined brick building. Ivy clung low on the walls, the newness of the restaurant providing little time for the foliage to scale up higher corners and eaves. The name, Bespoke, was written in thin black iron posted on a stained wood border. Everything was geometric, sharp angles all around.
But the inside was the polar opposite.
Plush denim couches flanked either side of the lobby, with worn leather pillows propped near the rolled fabric armrests. There was a western appeal, but not in the old-timey sense of the word. It was fresh. Texas charm meets boho chic. Nora loved everything about it.
“I like what they’ve done with the place,” J.P. acknowledged with a tipped chin, head scanning the interior in one sweep. “Last time I was here, it was all blank walls and empty rooms.”
There was a juxtaposition between the exterior and interior, and Nora saw J.P. reflected in that. On the outside, he was angular. Sharp, biting comments and strongly worded remarks. But there was so much more on the inside. Something softer. Something comfortable and approachable, lacking pretentiousness. Something she wanted to curl up in and stay a while.
“Hi there.” J.P. stepped up to a podium to address the young hostess. “We have a reservation for two for Weatherford at seven thirty.”
For a fleeting moment, Nora thought she might discover J.P.’s true name. A little slip up where he’d reserved his table in his given name rather than nickname. But she wasn’t so lucky.
“Yes.” The hostess nodded and gathered two leather-bound menus, along with an impressive wine list that was covered front and back. “Of course, Mr. Weatherford. Right this way.”
They were led toward the back of the restaurant, and, as if on cue, the lights dimmed as they took their seats.
The young woman looked up at the single Edison bulb dangling above their table. “Mood lighting in full effect.”
She gave J.P. a little wink before returning to her post at the front of the building.
To Nora, it was clear the woman had been flirting, but J.P.’s face was buried in the menu, his attention given to his upcoming dinner decision. And when he glanced up from his menu, all of that focus shifted onto Nora with a weight that made her lungs feel tight.
“Anything look good?” he asked.
“It all looks good,” she nearly cooed.
But she hadn’t even so much as glanced at the menu.
Chapter Twenty-Two
They ordered one round of cocktails and were two bread baskets deep when J.P.’s anxiety finally subsided enough that he didn’t need to concentrate on his breathing. He was unnaturally aware of the way his lungs pulled with each sustaining breath. Even his heartbeat felt thicker, stronger than usual, to the point he could hear it pumping loudly in his ears.
