make our six o’clock reservations, we should go.”
“I’ll put this away for you.” Major wanted to draw her into his arms and show his previous claim but settled for giving her the warmest smile he could muster. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“Bye.”
He turned when he reached the executive dining room, hoping to see Meredith watching him with longing in her gaze. But she and Breaux were already disappearing through the frosted-glass doors.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mumbled, making his way through the dining room by the dim light from the cityscape beyond the windows. In the kitchen, he felt his way along in the dark until he found the handle on the door of the reach-in refrigerator.
The reception lobby was dark when he came out, and he had to unlock the doors to exit. He fished his keys out of his pocket and locked up before heading toward the elevators. They took too long, so he opted for the stairs instead.
He should have been happy for Meredith finding time to date, having a social life, allowing room for romance in her busy schedule. But seeing her with another man only made Major want to make her part of his life all the more.
Who was he kidding? He’d seen the amount of work she was taking home with her to do this weekend. If he had the added pressure of getting a restaurant started, not only would his social life become nearly nonexistent, but what little personal time he might have would need to be spent with Ma. He had to let go of Meredith.
Knowing his brain wasn’t going to easily let go of the image of Meredith with the Jolly Green Giant, he pointed Kirby toward Beausoleil Pointe Center.
The receptionists greeted him by name at the front desk, and many of the residents did the same as he made his way to Ma’s apartment. When she didn’t answer the door, he walked down the hall to the common room.
“Major, what are you doing here?” Ma looked up from her hand of cards when he approached her table.
“I came to see you.”
“Today isn’t your regular day to come. I’m busy. You’ll have to come back another day.”
After all these years, his mother telling him to go away shouldn’t have stung like it did. But after being rejected by Meredith a little while ago, albeit in a roundabout fashion, it hurt that the person he was giving Meredith up for didn’t want to see him either.
“Fine. You know how to reach me if you change your mind.”
He trudged back out to the Jeep and squealed the tires a bit pulling out of the parking lot. If he were already running a restaurant, he’d be there on a Friday night and not worrying about how the two women in his life didn’t want him. He also wouldn’t have to face the fact that he’d done such a good job of keeping everyone out of his personal affairs that he found himself in this situation.
Would it really be so terrible if Meredith knew about Ma?
Major’s mind went back to the last time his mother had a real, full-blown schizophrenic episode. He shuddered. Yes, it really would be so terrible if Meredith had to witness that. Just like the few other women he’d dated, if she found out, she would look at him in disgust, wondering when that was going to happen to him—and then hightail it out of there. And he wouldn’t blame her. There were times he wished he could do the same.
He stopped at the international market on the way home and picked up a bunch of random, interesting ingredients. Back at the condo, he put
The opportunity offered by the Guidrys looked more and more like the only future Major had.
“You’ve hardly touched your
Meredith cut another small piece of the braised lamb. Cooked with honey, garlic, and onions, and topped with crumbled Cabrales cheese, the strong flavors burst in her mouth. But nerves kept her from enjoying it as she should.
She set her fork and knife on the edge of the plate and raised her napkin to wipe her mouth. “I think I ate too much of the tapas. Of course, they gave me enough of this”—she indicated the large lamb chop atop a mound of garlic mashed potatoes—“to feed three people.” And plenty to take a sample to Major, who always liked trying new dishes.
Her chest once again felt like it would cave in at the memory of the look on Major’s face when he’d seen her with Ward. Had she imagined the flicker of jealousy in his eyes?
Ward waved the server over and asked for a takeaway box. “And two flans for dessert with
She couldn’t help but smile back at him, though his high-handed manner was starting to grate on her nerves a bit. Just because they were in a Spanish restaurant and he spoke the language didn’t mean she couldn’t order for herself.
Nevertheless, it was kind of charming and old-fashioned in its way. And if she were out with Major, she’d allow him to order for her. But of course, she had good reason to trust Major implicitly when it came to food.
“You were telling me about your college major,” Ward reminded her.
“Art history. I specialized in the arts and crafts movement.”
“Thus your love of the craftsman style of architecture?”
“Yes. I’ve wanted a craftsman bungalow since I was a little girl.” She grinned. “And now I have one.”
“One that isn’t livable.” His dark brows arched over gray eyes twinkling with amusement.
His flirtatiousness had made her uncomfortable at the beginning of the meal, but now she rather enjoyed the focused attention. “But you’re going to help me remedy that, aren’t you?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I do have one request—I’d like to ask Major O’Hara to help with the kitchen design. He worked with the architects who designed the kitchens at B-G—the large one for Vue de Ceil and the smaller executive kitchen—and I’ve seen some of his ideas for his dream home kitchen that I hope to incorporate in my house.” Of course, when she’d originally come up with this idea, it had been with the thought in mind that the kitchen might one day be his, if he ever woke up and realized she was in love with him.
No. She couldn’t allow herself to think like that anymore. He’d had eight years. She couldn’t waste any more time on him.
“That’s an excellent idea. When we get to that point, I’ll be happy to work with him.” Ward looked down at his buzzing phone.
Meredith grimaced but quickly schooled her expression. While Ward hadn’t actually answered his cell phone during dinner, several times he’d looked down when it vibrated to see who was calling him. She’d have to check with Anne and Jenn, but she was under the impression that proper etiquette was to turn one’s cell phone off when out on a date. That’s why hers was currently just a deadweight in the bottom of her purse.
He glanced across at her. Some of what she was thinking must have shown in her expression.
“Sorry. I’ll turn this off. I’m such a phone addict, it’s hard for me to ignore it.” He looked up and leaned back when the server brought their desserts.
The baked custard with the burnt-sugar syrup was almost as good as Anne’s favorite dessert—crème brûlée—but not quite as good as cheesecake. She savored each bite slowly.
“If you majored in art history, how did you end up becoming a big-time corporate executive? I mean, I know it’s your parents’ company and all, but it seems like you’d have gone into some kind of design work, or maybe become curator at an art gallery.”
“I thought about that—actually, I minored in interior design as an undergrad.” She put her spoon down after about half of the rich dessert. “When I finished my master’s degree, I was ready to get out of Mom and Dad’s house, to live on my own. But the part-time job I had at the city art museum wasn’t enough to pay rent and utilities and buy groceries.”
She tried not to stare at the way Ward’s long, tapered fingers curled around his spoon. She could get used to eating out with him.
Clearing her throat, she continued. “At that time, my cousin Anne was the event planner for B-G—and the company was much smaller then with just a couple of event venues. But they’d just acquired Lafitte’s Landing,
