Page 72 of Postmarked December

She peered at the wine and spirits list, deciding. Martini, Negroni, Blackberry Bourbon, Champagne Cocktail with sugar cube and bitters, and under “lighter refreshment,” her choice would be between the Elderflower Spritz and the Cucumber Gimlet.

Their waiter approached the table with a friendly smile, resting his hands at his sides. “Good evening, and welcome,” he said, his cadence expertly practiced. “May I start you off with something to drink?” He glanced between them briefly before continuing. “We have our selection of classic cocktails and an extensive wine list, but we do have a few seasonal specials if you’d like me to tell you those.”

“I think I’ve decided already,” Heather said, wanting to get this show on the road. “I’ll have the Elderflower Spritz.”

“Excellent choice. And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the Smoked Old-Fashioned and then a soda to follow.”

“Perfect.” The waiter gathered their cocktail menus. “I’ll return with some fresh bread.”

“Thank you,” Heather said.

When the waiter left, Nick’s emerald eyes landed on her. “You look incredible tonight. I hope to make you feel just as incredible.”

“I’m not sure you could ever make me feel incredible,” she said.

His features shifted downward, as if her comment had been an invisible stab, and she felt guilty for snapping at him. But should she? He was certainly great at mind games.

The waiter returned with a steaming basket of buttery rolls and two dinner menus.

“Your drinks will be up shortly. I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the main course options.”

Wanting to get dinner out of the way so she could hear Nick out and head home, she scanned the choices. Dry-aged rib eye, filet mignon, and Wagyu, were the standouts of beef, and from the seafood options, there was butter-poached lobster tail, pan-seared sea bass, jumbo lump crab cakes…

She was still considering when the waiter brought their drinks to the table. Her Elderflower Spritz shimmered pale gold in a tall, stemmed glass, tiny bubbles rising steadily to the surface. A delicate twist of lemon and a fresh mint sprig floated on top. In front of Nick, the waiter placed the Smoked Old-Fashioned in a short, heavy glass, the beverage swirling around a single ice cube with a thin orange peel curled on the rim.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to enjoy these,” he said before leaving them once more.

Heather was dying to flag him down, give him their orders, and ask for the check so they could leave as soon as she’d gotten her answers, but she had to endure this little dance of etiquette instead. It was exhausting.

She picked up her drink and sucked down a large gulp. It was light and aromatic. The floral sweetness of elderflower liqueur softened the crisp prosecco. She’d need a lot of it to get through this evening.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Heather had devoured a crab cake and was now on her second Elderflower Spritz. Finally, after declining dessert, with the bill on the table, she and Nick had been left alone, the empty plates between them. Dinner had been awkward, since Nick had wanted to talk after they ate. So she’d hurried through her meal to get to the end of it.

Nick paid the bill and slipped the pen back into the leather folder.

“The dinner was a gift from me to say I’m sorry to have upset you. But I suppose you just want answers,” he said, leaning on the table with his forearms. “And I can’t tell you how relieved I am to finally give them to you.”

She stared at him skeptically.

He lifted his soda to his lips and took a long drink, then swallowed. “To understand it all, I have to start at the beginning.”

“That’s the best place to start,” she said.

His chest filled with air, and he looked at her for a moment, that fondness for her showing.

She didn’t trust it.

“You asked who the anonymous donor was. I can tell you now.” He set down his drink. “It was Toby.”

Heather drew back. Did he really think she’d buy that? She was clearly wasting her time. She should throw her napkin on the table and walk out. But that strength she’d been building came back. She wasn’t going to leave that easily. She’d stay to defend Toby.

“You’re lying. Toby always kept things private, and he did not want his life story out there. He told me so himself.”

“You’re right. He wanted his regular life and death to remain private.” He looked thoughtful. He took in another breath. “The May before last, I got a call from Toby. I hadn’t spoken to him since college—Belmont, remember?”