My stomach dipped at the thought of my parents, so I pushed all those thoughts away. I wanted to soak up Tim next to me in this marvelous room.
“If I were to design my dream restaurant, this would be it.”
He grinned. “Well, good. I did a lot of Googling and asking around, and when I saw photos of this place, I thought of you.”
I looked back at him. His reply was so honest, and I appreciated how much effort he’d made. His intense gaze caused my chest to tighten, and my belly erupted into butterflies.
“Well, you did good, as the Americans say.”Oh Tabs, what a dorky thing to say.“So, you must have been sick of concrete after Sunday,” I blurted.
His eyes bored into mine. “I don’t want to talk about the show… Do you?”
My breathing went shallow. Even though his eyes never dropped below my chin, I could feel my every pulse as though he’d traced down my body with a lazy, lingering gaze. I almost had to look away.
“No, not really,” I murmured. “What should we talk about?”
“Good evening, madam. Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Baronial Lair. Would you like a drink to start?”
I startled at the waiter, who’d popped our little bubble.
Tim turned to me. “Tabs?”
I breathed out. “Yes. A glass of champagne, please.” Better not drink too much tonight.
“I’ll have the same,” Tim said.
I looked at him as the waiter headed off and raised an eyebrow. “You drink champagne?”
“Yes, I drink champagne.” He wagged his head, mock-offended, back to the old Tim. “I’m not a complete philistine.” He winked at me. “Well, one glass.”
The waiter returned quickly with our drinks.
I took a sip. “Ooh, that’s good.”
“Better than that cheap sparkling cider we tasted when we were thirteen?” Tim grimaced. “Just before you went away for boarding school?”
“Ugh. I can’t even smell cider without my stomachturning.”
His grin about our in-joke made my stomach flip-flopin a way not related to the drinks.
“A toast to being grown up and having better booze,”he said.
We clinked our glasses together, and his blazing gaze disarmed me. I went to sip my drink but took a swig to recover my senses.
We talked for a while about all the dreadful boozy drinks we drank growing up. We started to relax and brush up against each other, his leg grazing mine, his arm touching mine, like a little dance, trying to get closer but pretending it wasn’t happening.
“Thanks for having dinner with me,” he said. “I was really looking forward to this.”
“To joint ventures and voluminous nightgowns,” I said, offering my glass to him. Ugh.Why didn’t I just say, Me too?I was still so nervous. “Thank you for inviting me, Tim,” I said.
He lifted his glass and clinked the edge of mine. His fingers brushed mine, sending an electric shock up my arm that was way out of proportion to how little of our skin had touched.
Sincere now, I held his gaze, feeling myself melt under his velvety brown eyes. “I was looking forward to it too.” And I hadbeen. Each day, when not thinking about work and deadlines, my mind had slipped to Tim, wondering what he was doing.
And now we were here, and it felt so right.
30
Tim
