going—light. I don’t want to explore my past or yours, or get into all the big relationship drama.”
Jake didn’t skip a beat. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
…
At six on the dot, there was a knock on my door. I opened it and invited Jake in. “Just let me water my plants real quick, before I forget.” I filled a cup and walked across the room to my window.
“You got another one?” Jake asked as I poured water into the dark soil of my new plant.
“I won it at a bridal shower yesterday, since I knew the bride best.”
Jake came up behind me and put his arms around me. “And you didn’t think you should give it to someone who doesn’t kill plants?”
I elbowed him in the gut. “Hey, be nice. It tipped over and lost some dirt on the ride home, but I’m sure it’ll perk up soon.” I pointed at the larger plant that had been with me since I bought the place. “And look how good my one green blade is still doing.”
“I think you should just put them both out of their misery.” Jake kissed my neck, sending pleasant chills through my entire body.
I set my cup on the window ledge and twisted to face him, placing my hands on his arms. “Aren’t you supposed to be impressing me, not making fun of my lack of gardening skills?”
Jake grinned. “Let’s go, then, before you change your mind.” He grabbed my hand and walked me out of the building and into the parking garage. He led me to a Chevy Camaro Z28. Classic, most likely late sixties, painted black with white racing stripes on the hood—hanging with mostly guys in high school, I’d learned a lot about cars.
Drew and Devin would die to ride in one of these. Hell, I wanted to ride in it, too. But I couldn’t help thinking of Allen and his Dodge Viper, and how I had a rule about guys who were obsessed with their cars.
“Nice car,” I said, kind of wishing it wasn’t, but failing to be unimpressed.
“Thanks. I like her.” He opened the passenger door.
After a moment’s hesitation, I slid inside. The steering wheel was skinny, the windows were the roll-down kind, and there were gages on the middle console, along with a silver-knobbed shifter.
Jake got inside, filling the car with the scent of his familiar musky cologne. “I was thinking we might drive a bit. There’s a place in Boulder that’s—”
“I’d rather not go to Boulder,” I blurted out, a bad sense of deja vu hitting me.
“In case you have to bail early? Like with that counselor guy?”
“Exactly,” I said, working at sounding casual about it. “Who knows when you’re going to say something that sends me running?”
“Okay. I know a place that’s closer to home.”
I was overreacting, but I couldn’t help it. Because of Allen, even the mention of Boulder for dinner struck a raw nerve. Especially combined with the fast car thing. I realized that I hadn’t seen Jake’s place yet and started to panic.
I reached for my seat belt. My stomach was churning, so I took a deep breath to try to calm down and think about things rationally. Jake and I lived in the same building; he’d introduced me to his friend Tina; he kept insisting I go to Blue. Oh, and Virginia Hammond wanted to set us up. All things that suggested he wasn’t married.
The engine roared to life, then quieted down to a purr. “Did you get a chance to listen to more of your book?” Jake asked, maneuvering out of the parking garage. “It seemed to have you on edge earlier.”
“Even if I was listening to music, I still would’ve jumped when you snuck up on me. Whenever I get on the treadmill, I check out of the real world.” I glanced at him. “But the book was definitely a nail-biter. The end was so intense I couldn’t put it down—or whatever you say when you don’t actually have the book in your hands.”
“So you like to read? Or listen, anyway?”
“I’ve found it helps me stay on the treadmill longer. But I always like to have a paperback on hand, too. I need to swing by the bookstore for another one, actually.”
“We can stop there after we eat, then.” Jake reached over and took my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. There was something about the smallest gestures with him that made me feel like a teenager again. I told myself to just enjoy it.
Still, at the back of my mind, I heard that nagging voice saying,
…
“I told you the food was amazing,” Jake said. “The good thing about knowing one of the best chefs in town is you know all the great places to eat.”
I took a sip of my water. “How’d you get into the restaurant business anyway?”
“Long story.”
I stabbed a tortellini with my fork. “And you’re thinking of bolting soon? I haven’t even told you about my creepy porcelain doll collection yet.”
He shot me a quick smile. “I thought you wanted to keep things light? Talk only about superficial things.” He raised his eyebrows. “Weren’t those the terms?”
“Yes, but your refusal to tell the story makes me think it’s a good one, and now I’m really interested.”
“Well, it was between being a professional clown or starting a restaurant.” Jake sighed, a tragic look on his face. “Unfortunately, I flunked out of clown school, and my parents disowned me. They kicked me out of the tiny car holding twelve other clowns and sent me on my way.”
I shook my head, fighting a smile. “I can’t believe you flunked out, when you’re obviously so good at it.”
Jake grinned. “I am a natural.”
“Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me the real story, you clown-school dropout.”
Jake pushed his plate aside and propped his forearms on the table. “My dad built the Knight Marketing & Advertising Group in New York from the ground up. He was big on learning how to work, so he told me I’d have to qualify to get a job in his company. I went to NYU and got my degree in Marketing, with a minor in Economics. As soon as I graduated, I started working for my dad, made some good money sitting behind a desk all day, and hated every minute of it.
“One day I ran into Brent—he and I had roomed together in New York while he was going to culinary school. He was back in town for a week visiting family. Anyway, we got to talking, and he told me that he’d moved to Denver and was trying to open his own restaurant. When I asked how it was going, he said he was having a hard time getting a place, but he wasn’t going to give up.”
The waitress came by with a pitcher of water, refilled our drinks, and asked if we needed anything else.
“Where was I?” Jake asked when she walked away.
I placed my napkin over my plate. “Brent was trying to open a place here.”
“As he talked, my mind automatically started thinking about the business side of things. I made a few suggestions and told him what I could to help him out. Then he made a joke about how we could open the place together. The joke was on him, because I flew to Denver to check it out, and the rest is history.”
“Was your dad upset about you leaving the family business?”
“I think he was a little disappointed, but he’s always encouraged my sister and me to do something we love. She still works for my dad, because she has a passion for it.”
“I like that story,” I said. “Not as scandalous as I thought it’d be, but nice.”
Jake leveled his eyes on me—they were even bluer tonight, since he was wearing a navy button-down. “What about you? Why’d you choose interior design?”
“I love throwing things together and transforming a place. I know it’s not saving lives, but I have fun doing it, and I’m good at it.”
Jake ran his finger along the rim of his glass. “I think it’s important to enjoy what you’re doing. Sure, there
