“So that golf outing was a fluke, then?”
“Purely a business thing. A lot of deals are made over the phone, but it might surprise you to know how many are made out on the green.”
I can’t help it. “And the supermodel?”
He smiles without much humor. “That was a fix-up. Friends trying to push her and me together.”
“So, no fireworks, then?”
He shakes his head. “Not so much as a spark.”
Luckily, the food arrives at this point, giving me a few minutes to think. Why am I being so territorial? Clearly, last night hadn’t just been some wild fling or we wouldn’t be here now. What are his intentions, though?
As if guessing my thoughts, Trent says, “Steph, a lot of unexpected things have happened to me over the past year, and a lot of those things have happened over the last several days. I want you to know that last night meant something to me.”
I poke at my salad without interest, just moving the vegetables around. “So what happens now?” I ask at last.
“What happens now is that I walk you back to the restaurant so you can get back to work. I have to go into the office myself for a bit.”
“On a Sunday,” I chide.
He gives me a handsome smile. “Pot, meet kettle.”
“Touché.”
“Anyway, I would like to see you again.”
“I’d like that, too. I hate to say it, but I’m slammed this week. Trust me; you do not want to see me at the end of the workday.”
“I respectfully disagree. How about this? Why don’t you pencil me in for dinner on Wednesday?”
“I won’t even be kind of caught up by then,” I protest with a genuine stab of regret.
“People like us are never caught up,” he counters, “at least not to our satisfaction. Out of all the days that are bad for you, is Wednesday the least terrible?”
I have to answer quickly before I can talk myself out of it.
“Wednesday it is.”
Trent walks me back to DuMonde’s as promised. By now, it is just after noon, and the springtime weather is nothing short of gorgeous. The sun shines down on us from a cloudless blue sky, and the lightest of breezes accompanies us as we make our way up the sidewalk.
At the front door to the restaurant, he kisses me for the first time today, and, for the moment, all of my urgency to get back into the kitchen disappears. I could stand out on the sidewalk with him like that for days.
“See you on Wednesday,” he says, stepping back. “Six o’clock?”
“Six o’clock,” I confirm, a little faintly. I wonder if I’ll be floating back into the restaurant after he leaves.
Up pulls Curtis with Trent’s car. He nods at me through the window and I wave back. Trent climbs in, gives me a wave himself, shuts the door, and then they’re gone. I’m left standing there, feeling suddenly hot and bothered, but in a good way.
I go back to planning the week with Daniel, only now I have to carve out some time on Wednesday evening. Actually, I don’t feel that I have to carve out the time; I feel that I get to carve it out. Were it for anything else, I would likely have found a way to worm out of it and come in anyway, but I don’t think of doing so this time.
Daniel is a lot like me, in that he lives to work in the kitchen. Unlike me, though, he has a life outside of the restaurant business, but when he’s on the clock, he’s one hundred percent committed. He’s got everything set up for today’s business, and we open at one, right on time.
I’m still thinking about Trent as the day goes by, but I’m more focused on what I’m doing. Okay, I’m at least equally focused, to the point where I’m not making any mistakes.
The next thing I know, it’s seven o’clock and time to close. I’m tired, but I don’t mind. I don’t mind much of anything at the moment.
When I get back to my apartment building, I wonder at the events of the last twenty-four hours. A couple of weeks ago, I had had an excellent case of tunnel vision, thinking only of work. Now—
I get off the elevator on the third floor and my eyes are immediately drawn to the flowers.
There must be a dozen vases of a dozen sunflowers each left by my door. They blaze with the warmest yellows and browns, lighting up the otherwise drab hallway like one of Vincent van Gogh’s wildest fever dreams.
There’s no note with the flowers, but I don’t have much doubt as to whom they are from.
My elderly neighbor, Mrs. McKinney, comes out into the hallway, walking her Pomeranian, Charlie, who sniffs the nearest blue vase of flowers curiously.
“Hello, Stephanie,” Mrs. McKinney greets me. She tips me a wink. “It looks like someone’s got a secret admirer.”
I would have thought I was blushed out, but apparently, I’m not. I can feel my cheeks getting hot again.
“It’s all right,” she says kindly, patting my arm. “You’re a lovely girl. You deserve an admirer or two.” She glances at the flowers. “Or three or four, by the look of things.”
“No,” I answer. “Just one.”
“Really?” she says in surprise. “Pretty grand gesture from one person. He must be someone special.”
I pick up a vase and cradle it in the crook of my arm.
“He might be,” I tell her. “He might be.”
Chapter 14 - Trent
I grasp my handholds a little tighter and begin pulling myself up the
