accidentally booked two tastings on the same night and needed Veronica to take one of them.
She didn’t mind.
Getting glammed up and being served an elegant dinner “on the house” was a treat. All she had to do was sample two versions of a three-course meal and vote on which she preferred. But after she felt as if someone was watching her all day, being in public or putting on a happy face for someone else’s sake didn’t sound appealing. She wanted to go back to the hotel, raid the vending machine, and rent some ridiculous Ashton Kutcher movie on pay-per-view to lift her spirits.
Too bad bosses couldn’t call in sick…
As she pulled in front of Marie’s and killed the engine, Logan parked behind her and came around to open her door.
“I can get it myself,” she said, stepping out.
“I can still be a gentleman.”
She huffed. “Among other things. Listen, I’ll be out in about an hour. Try not to get too bored out here.”
He followed behind her as she stepped onto the curb. “Didn’t Heather tell you? Your wedding company got two tickets for tonight. She thought I’d be able to keep an eye on you better if I had the other one. Looks like I’m your date.”
Thing was, Logan played the part too damn well: black slacks and a charcoal-gray dress shirt emphasized the strong width of his shoulders and the slenderness of his hips. He looked handsome. Lean and strong. Under any other circumstance, she would’ve been proud to walk into a place like Marie’s with a guy like Logan.
“Just because we have two tickets,” she said, “doesn’t mean we have to sit together.”
In fact, sitting apart would be good. Perfect, actually. Because as Logan opened the doors leading into the restaurant, a gust of wind carried a whiff of his aftershave to her nose. It was a blend of grapefruit, something spicy, and smoked wood. It made her want to nuzzle against him and breathe him in.
She wouldn’t be able to do either of those things if he was sitting at a different table.
As the wind stilled, the feeling that someone was watching her returned full force. She turned back to the street. Nothing. She searched the windows of the building across the street, and on the rooftops. Still, nothing.
“I sense it, too,” Logan said, palming the small of her back. “But I can’t pinpoint it. He’s staying close to you now. Come on, let’s go in.”
Suppressing a shudder, Veronica let him escort her through the double doors.
Walking in was like stepping back in time. Marie’s was dimly lit, with dark hardwood floors, antique tables and chairs, and low-hanging wrought iron chandeliers. Oil lamps decorated the walls, creating umbrellas of warmth that reached for the vaulted wood-beam ceiling. Old-timey pictures of Seattle at the turn of the century hung in wooden frames. The serving staff was dressed in suit and tie, white towels draped over their arms.
“Welcome to Marie’s,” the hostess said, smiling. “Do you have reservations for tonight?”
Veronica handed her the invitation, and Logan did the same.
Her gaze shot between them. “For two?”
“Please.” Logan took Veronica’s hand. “A quiet table, if you have one.”
“Right this way.” The hostess turned away before Veronica could argue.
“I know your game.” Taking back her hand, Veronica wound around tables. “Just because we’re having dinner together doesn’t mean we have to talk.”
“Fine.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll do the talking.”
As the hostess seated them at a table in back, Logan pulled out Veronica’s chair. She glared and then sat down. He took the chair next to her, as opposed to the one across the table.
The hostess spouted off the wedding dinner options, explained the order in which the items would be served, and instructed how to vote online at the end of the meal.
“Wine?” Veronica asked, eager to take the edge off the night.
“Red or white?”
“Red.”
Seconds after the waitress came back with water and wine for the two of them, Veronica took a hearty drink. She swirled the drink in the glass, studied the pictures on the wall, and browsed around the restaurant. Anything not to meet Logan’s gaze.
The place was packed with couples choosing menus for their weddings. It was Love Central. Hand-holding over the tables. Whispering sweet nothings. Smooching over foo-foo drinks.
And then there was Logan.
Taking a long drink, Veronica glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
What did it mean that she wanted to be doing those things with him?
His attention shifted to the table nearest them, where a couple was waving in their direction. The woman wore a bright-red dress that dipped so low in front, her date could’ve used her cleavage to store his uneaten celery sticks. She had bleached-blond hair and matching eyebrows. Pointy chin and glossy lips. Her date looked distinguished. Like a young Robert Redford.
“Do you know them?” Veronica asked.
“From a long time ago.” Logan averted his gaze and took a sip of water. “They’re coming over, aren’t they?”
“Um, yeah, you pretty much beckoned them with that come-hither thing you do with your eyes.”
He gaped. “My what?”
“Logan!” the woman shouted, sliding into the seat across the table. “So great to see you—it’s been years. You remember Harold, don’t you?”
“I do, yes. Hard to forget a childhood friend.” Logan shook Harold’s hand. “Great to see you again.”
“I’m sorry,” Veronica said. “And you are…?”
The woman beamed, her glossy lips peeling apart revealing a set of veneers that were too big for her mouth. She looked like a chipmunk that got trapped in the M.A.C. Cosmetics display. “I’m Roxanne Tate, Logan’s ex-girlfriend.”
He stared straight forward as he tipped back his glass, filling his cheeks with water.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
She took a hard drink. Logan choked on his water.
“Oh, you’re a fun one. I like you already.” Roxanne patted the chair next to her. “Don’t mind if we join them, do you, sweetheart?”
“No, dear.” Plopping into the chair, Harold ordered a vodka tonic from a passing waiter.
Logan leaned over and whispered into Veronica’s ear. “We can go, if you want.”
“Where would we go?” She put her fist to her chin and smiled ear to ear. “This is going to be the best dinner party
Cranberry vinaigrette salad arrived—the first course. Harold dug in.
Logan wiped sweat off his brow. “We don’t need to go there.”
“What do you want to know?” Roxanne scooted her chair closer to Veronica’s and leaned over.
“Why’d you guys break up?” Veronica traded food for drink. In mass quantities. She sent back the salad and ordered another glass of red. “Was it because of his anger problems?”
“Anger problems?” Roxanne raised her eyebrows at Logan.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “I keep telling her she’s got me wrong.”
“As much as I’d like to blame the breakup on him, it was my fault. I cheated.” She stabbed a romaine heart with her fork. “Harold was too irresistible to resist.”
