“Dude, you don’t have to open doors for me. I can do it.”
He shook his head. “Mom would skin me alive if I let a lady open her own door. But you can jump down without touching my hand, if you’d rather.”
Feeling as though she’d been ungracious, Nell rested her hand lightly on his as she stepped down to the sidewalk. “Thanks,” she muttered. Although she broke the contact immediately, she could still feel the imprint where her palm had touched his fingers. Rubbing the offending palm against the thigh of her jeans, she strode ahead to the door of the pub, opening it before he could get there. Her first glance around showed her warm wooden tables and brick walls, bell-shaped glass lights and rustic open rafters overhead, a long bar counter. “This place looks all right,” she said, reaching back to hold the door open for him.
“Thank you, gorgeous.” He winked at her.
“Don’t—” Then she realized he was winding her up on purpose.
“We’re not in the office.” He took a burning good look at her below the neck before meeting her eyes again. “Yup, still as nice as before.”
“You’re unbelievable.” She felt a reluctant smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.
The hostess showed them to a cozy table for two up against one of the brick walls, put some menus on the table, and told them their server would be with them in a moment. Nell barely had a chance to look around before the server showed up. “Hi, my name is Aris. I’ll be taking care of you this evening. Can I get you started with some drinks?”
Nell asked for water.
“Dead Guy Ale sounds interesting,” said Eamonn. “I’ll have a pint of that. And a glass of the Stemilt Creek merlot for my dinner companion, but you can put it on my check.”
“But…” Nell opened, then closed her mouth. Not wanting to argue in front of the server, she fixed him with a disapproving look, holding her tongue until Aris walked away. Then she said, “But this is a work trip. And you’re driving.”
“Oh, Nella-bella, I’m perfectly safe to drive on one beer.” The jaded look he gave her suggested that he’d driven on much more alcohol and much worse substances than that. “And a little bit of wine won’t hurt you. Come on, I know you drink, I’ve seen you enjoying those peachy things at the Frog and Ball.”
“Did you just call me Nella-bella?”
He grinned. “Bella means beautiful.”
Just then, Aris returned, flipping a couple of coasters onto the table with one hand as she balanced her tray on the other. “The Stemilt Creek Caring Passion Merlot for you, ma’am, and a pint of Dead Guy Ale for you, sir. Have you had a chance to look at the menu?”
“We’ll get right on that,” said Eamonn.
Nell stared down at the menu in front of her. He ordered me a wine called Caring Passion? Every time she turned around, Eamonn “Easy” Yarrow had her more and more confused. The menu. Concentrate on the menu.
The food choices were extensive, for a pub. Lots of substitution options — veggie patties and gluten-free buns in the burger section, a gluten-free pizza crust choice, a quinoa pasta option, lots of extras and sides. She ended up choosing a salad entrée that sounded both substantial and healthy, with tomato and avocado, grated carrot and parmesan and jicama, pistachio nuts and cucumber slices. He ordered a burger with bacon and cheese.
“Vegetarian?” he asked. “Or dieting?”
She wasn’t sure if she wished she could answer yes. “Conflicted,” she said, after a moment. “I’m about seventy percent vegetarian. I like a lot of vegan recipes and could almost do it, but then there’s that other thirty percent where I’m a hardcore carnivore and I just want a burger or steak, damn it. Today isn’t one of those days, though. And I don’t diet. I really do like salads.”
“Sure.” He took a long sip of his beer, a tiny bit of suds catching on his upper lip. “This is good beer. I hope you’re happy with eating dinner here?”
“The wine is all right.” She nodded, glad now that he’d insisted she have it. One glass wouldn’t hurt. She could relax a little. Maybe she’d even sleep away some of the highway left to go. When the food came, it was as good as the menu had promised, and she ate with a hearty appetite.
By the time they walked back out to the truck forty minutes later, the wind had picked up a bit, whipping awnings and signs around. Nell looked up at the sky. “My weather app didn’t say anything about rain, but those clouds over there…”
“I’ve got good tires on my truck,” Eamonn said, “and four-wheel drive. Even if it rained hard, we’d be fine. Probably just a summer shower coming, though.”
“I wasn’t worried,” she told him.
This time, when he popped the passenger door open for her, she just gave him a nod and got in. I won’t thank him. I didn’t ask him to open it for me. But I won’t complain.
She settled herself into the seat and buckled up.
“I’m going to stop and get another coffee for the drive,” he told her. “Want anything?”
“Not me. I’m pretty full, and caffeine keeps me up at night.”
“That’s kind of the idea.” Once they’d been through the Starbucks drive-thru and were back on Highway 97, he plugged his phone into the truck’s sound system — but instead of loading up the classic rock playlist he’d been running earlier, he chose jazz.
“You like jazz music?” she asked. It was just so unexpected, so incongruous with his rock-and-roll persona and the country-boy truck he drove.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, with a wry twist to his mouth. “If you don’t like it, we can go back to rock, or I’ve got a classical playlist or some country. Your choice.”
Oops. “No, jazz is nice. I just didn’t expect…”
“No
