Page 41 of A Really Bad Idea

“My parents’ wedding was here thirty-nine years ago. We’ve come as a family a few times.”

The Gallaghers were married in September, a month that is the perfect mix of warm and cool here in New York. I can picture the windows open as the wedding guests laughed and danced. The restaurant is high class yet casual at the same time.

“You should take more dates here. It makes an impression.”

He grins. “Taking a woman to the place my parents were married could leave her with the wrong impression.”

“Good thing you’re not worried about giving me the wrong impression.” My voice deepens with my joke.

“I couldn’t imagine taking you anywhere else for our first date.”

I’m blushing. You can’t feel yourself blushing, but there’s a warming on my skin, and if that isn’t radiating a blush, then I don’t what is. I clear my throat and straighten my posture, attempting to seem cool.

“Okay, lay it on me. What’s next on the Christian Gallagher plan of woo?”

“Woo?” He raises a brow. “I don’t woo.”

“You should woo. You’re fantastic without even trying.”

“It’s good to know that, if I were trying, you’d have no idea.”

“Oh, I know there’s a plan. Dr. Gallagher has too methodical of a mind not to plan his entire date down to the final walk to the door. So, tell me, what’s your move?”

He shakes his head and looks up at me through dark lashes. I’m drumming my fingers on the table, waiting for an answer.

His grin lets me know I’ve won. “If you must know, I have the waiter come over with the finest cabernet and two glasses.”

“That is so cliché.”

“I know,” he admits, just as the waiter walks over to the table with a bottle in his hand. This bottle, however, is not a cabernet or a wine of any type. It’s a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. “That’s why I’ve upped my game for you.”

The waiter places two glasses filled with ice on the table and pours the scotch into each. When he’s gone, Christian lifts a glass to cheers. I can’t help my own lopsided smile as I clink.

Instead of ordering entrees, we settle on eating every appetizer on the menu, having them served three dishes at a time so that we can savor each one and talk. A pianist plays in the background, yet I can’t hear the lyrics to the song, only the laughter coming out of Christian’s mouth as he entertains me with stories I’ve never heard about his time in San Francisco and how he loved to eat at this pub in the Noe Valley because it reminded him of his grandmother’s cooking.

“There was this woman named Nora who would come and sit with me and bring a basket of potato-and-cheddar biscuits. I swear, sometimes, I wake up from dreaming about them; they were so good.”

“Dreaming about another woman’s biscuits?”

“If you had them, you would, too. She was the chef there and taught me how to make her beef brisket and sweet potato stew. I’ll make it for you sometime.”

I squint an eye and scrunch my mouth. “I didn’t know you cooked.”

“I don’t, but it doesn’t mean I can’t. I just have no one to cook for.”

We talk about travel—where we’ve been and where we want to go. Me, Fiji. Him, to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. Two wildly different locations but equally desirable.

We talk work but not the mundane. I fill him in on some of my interesting cases, and he tells me about his most recent time in the operating room. It’s hard to miss how his eyes light up when he’s talking about the human heart and repairing it from the inside out.

We order dessert—a tiramisu to share. When it’s served, Christian slides his hand onto the table, palm up. I wonder if this is part of his dating repertoire. If I take his hand, then the relationship will be entering the next phase—the more intimate phase.

I stare at his palm. It looks warm and inviting. How easy it would be to slide mine onto his and let his thumb run along the inside—

“Meadow, is that you?”

My thoughts are interrupted by Frank Romano, otherwise known as Bachelor Number One from my birthday ambush. He walks up to the edge of our table, looking shocked at the sight of us here.

“Christian Gallagher! What are the odds of seeing you two here tonight?”