Page 39 of Just for Tonight

“That would be very helpful. Thanks, Mackenzie.”

“And here we are.” She pulls into a parking lot, then backs into a spot with ease. There’s a warm glow coming from the windows of the restaurant, and I can almost smell the garlic. My stomach grumbles a little, right on time.

It is still pouring.

“This is an official topic transition,” I say and she laughs.

“Agreed.”

“Do you have an umbrella?”

“Just there.” She reaches into the back seat, but I beat her to it, claiming the umbrella with one hand.

“Wait right there,” I say, then get out. I come around to her side, the umbrella open overhead, and am treated to a smile bright enough to light up all of Empire.

“All this and a gentleman, too,” she teases, swinging her legs out of the car. She’s wearing a black floral dress that swirls around her legs, and they’re just as great as I remember. She slides out of the car and takes my arm, standing so close beside me that I can almost feel her curves. I get a sweet waft of her perfume, delicate and feminine, which sends a jolt to my toes. I slam the driver’s door and she locks it up.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers mischievously as we head to the front door. “That secret’s safe with me.”

10

Mackenzie

I’ve always thought this restaurant would be perfect for a romantic dinner. They’re not particularly busy, and the hostess seats us in a corner table, which is private and welcoming. The rain slants against the window pane, but wonderful aromas come from the kitchen, making it feel cozy. Jake gives me a simmering look as the waitress tells us about the specials, and when she leaves, it seems like there isn’t enough oxygen in Havelock for me to be with this man.

And what are we doing exactly? Another hook-up? A date? Is the fling moving to a thing? I have no idea. The only certainty is that there’s nowhere else I want to be.

His gaze lingers on me, a definite (and welcome) heat in his eyes, then he leans a little closer, dropping his voice. “I love your dress,” he murmurs and I flush right to my toes. “Although I think the other one would take the honours.”

“Because of the colour?”

“Evening wear.” He catches his breath and smiles, one hand over his heart. “There’s nothing like drop-dead glamour to start an evening off right.”

“Could I make it up to you by speaking French?”

His eyes flare. “Save that for later, please.”

I will.

The waitress brings the wine and we defer to each other as to who should taste, then when I insist, he does. “No pressure,” he murmurs so that only I can hear him, and it’s true, I’m watching. He performs the little ritual flawlessly and I’m already sure the cork is good. The waitress pours two glasses after he nods approval and leaves us to it.

Jake lifts his hands, inviting my feedback.

“Nine,” I say and he pretends to be wounded. “Perfect theatrics, but I’m not sure you really sipped.”

“I didn’t. Not really. It smelled fruity and there was no sediment in the glass. I trusted the brand.” I smile and he studies me. “How did you know?”

“As a perennial sipper, I know the signs.”

“Come on,” he invites. “Dish.”

“Your throat didn’t work.” I swallow and he watches my throat so intently that I feel a flush start somewhere around my navel. It certainly has gotten warm in here. We toast each other and sip, and he’s still watching my throat.

“A perennial sipper. How does that work?”

“I drink very little, actually. I taste. I sip.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like wine?”