“Jordyn Garrett,” she guessed, programming the oven to preheat.
He nodded.
“She finally agreed to go out with you?”
“Yes, but it’s not a date.”
Nata frowned as she scrubbed potatoes. “You just said it was.”
“Well, it is, of course—but Jordyn insists that she isn’t ready to start dating again, so we’re just going for dinner.”
“Clever,” she acknowledged.
“I thought so.”
She pulled a knife from the block on the counter and pointed it at him. “Be careful.”
“You think she’s going to break my heart?”
“I’m not suggesting she’d do it on purpose—” she began cutting the potatoes into bite-size chunks “—but I’m worried because I think she’s the first woman in a long time who would be able to.”
“Let me worry about my heart,” he suggested.
“I would—except that you don’t.” Nata continued to chop, setting the pieces on a baking tray. “Where are you going to take her for dinner?”
“Not Valentino’s.”
She gasped. “Blasphemy.”
“It’s the best place for Italian food in Charisma,” he said loyally. “But not a good choice if I want a second date.”
“If Mom and Dad or—God forbid—Nonna finds out that you took her somewhere else to eat, you won’t be allowed to walk through the door of Valentino’s ever again.”
“Which is why we’re going to Raleigh,” he told her. “There’s a new steak place there that’s been getting a lot of buzz.”
“The Idle Plough?” She melted a chunk of butter in the microwave.
“You’ve heard of it?”
“I’ve been there,” she admitted. “Craig and I went last weekend—it was definitely worth the trip.”
“Romantic?”
“I’d say it’s more rustic,” she admitted, drizzling the butter over the potatoes. “But you don’t want over-the-top romantic.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not a date,” she reminded him, sprinkling the vegetables with seasoning and Parmesan. “And if you take her someplace casual, someplace where she doesn’t have to worry that maybe it is a date, she’ll relax and enjoy herself and be more open to seeing you again.” She looked at her brother, who was shaking his head. “What?”
“All this time... I had no idea there was such a devious mind behind that pretty face.”
“You’d be wise not to forget it.” She slid the tray of potatoes into the oven. “And make sure you take her to Valentino’s for the second date.”
“Let me get through the first before worrying about a second.”
* * *
Jordyn hadn’t decided what to tell her sister about her plans with Marco for Tuesday night, so she was relieved when Tristyn texted to say that she was working late. Because she knew that, no matter how she explained it, Tristyn would never believe it wasn’t a date. And judging by the butterflies winging around in her belly, Jordyn wasn’t entirely convinced, either.
Several times throughout the day, she’d decided she couldn’t do it, that she was going to have to call him to cancel. Except she didn’t have his number. She could have called Valentino’s and left a message for him there, but that would require explaining the situation to someone else, and she wasn’t willing to do that.
Even as she got ready, she wasn’t sure she would answer the door when he showed up. But still, she tried on several different outfits, trying to decide which set the right tone for “dinner” without suggesting “date.” A dress was too dressy; jeans were too casual. The capris with the tailored shirt made her look like she was on her way to a business meeting; the deep V-neck top showed too much cleavage. In the end, she opted for a short skirt with a ruffled hem and a scoop-neck T-shirt with lace overlay. Then she put on her favorite wedge sandals with the laces that wrapped around her calves.
Gryff strolled into the room while she was slipping a trio of chunky silver bangles on her wrist to go with the hoops in her ears. He hopped up on the bed and stretched out in the middle of her comforter.
“What do you think?” she said.
The cat yawned.
She shifted her attention back to her reflection in the mirror. “I’m aiming for feminine without being overtly sexy and casually dressy without trying too hard.”
The cat turned his head to the chair in the corner—where she’d piled the rejected outfits.
“Okay, but he doesn’t have to know how hard I tried to get this look.”
Gryff rolled onto his back and closed his eye, signaling that the conversation was over.
“Is it too much to ask for you to show a little support?” she muttered. “I’m nervous enough without you judging me.” She shook her head. “And now I’m talking to my cat. Which wouldn’t be so bad if he would respond, but he’s not even listening to me.”
And she was nervous. As much as she tried to convince herself that it was no different than going for dinner with one of her sisters or a friend, this was Marco—the man who had turned her inside out with a single kiss.
She opened the top drawer of her dresser and pulled out the photo that she’d finally tucked away on the third anniversary of Brian’s death. She felt a pang in her heart as she looked at her fiancé’s smiling face, and a second when she saw the smile on her own. They’d been so in love, so happy, full of hopes and dreams for their future together. Only a few weeks after that engagement photo was taken, she’d lost him.
She’d grieved for a long time—feeling as if her heart had not just been shattered, but the pieces ripped right out of her chest, leaving only a gaping emptiness. But eventually, over time, she’d started to heal; she’d learned to look forward to each new day again. In the past year, she’d even been on a few dates—though more to appease her sisters than because she was interested in any of the men she’d gone out with. But while she’d been preparing for those other dates, she’d never felt the kind of giddy anticipation that danced through her veins now. And she’d certainly never thought about kissing any of those other men, but she couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Marco.
Was she ready for this?
Her heart jolted inside her chest as the doorbell sounded.
She honestly didn’t know, but it was too late to back out now.
* * *
As Jordyn made her way down the stairs, her heart was pounding so hard inside her chest she was certain Marco could hear it through the closed door. Then she opened it, and her already-racing heart went into overdrive.
“Hi,” she said, feeling unaccustomedly shy.
“Hi.” He stepped into the foyer and smiled at her. “You look fabulous.”
It wasn’t the words so much as the sincere appreciation in his gaze that made her skin tingle and the blood in her veins heat.
“So do you,” she told him, noting the khaki chinos paired with a pale blue shirt and darker blue jacket. She also noted that they were standing in almost the same spot as when he’d kissed her that night. And the way he was looking at her, she knew he was remembering that kiss, too.
So she was almost as disappointed as she was relieved when he said, “We should be on our way.”
“Where are we going?” she asked as he guided her to his vehicle.
“That depends—do you like steak?”
“Mmm,” she agreed. “My mouth is watering already.”
He opened the passenger side door, helped her in. “There’s a new steak house in Raleigh that I’ve heard good things about.”
“There are steak restaurants in Charisma, too,” she said when he was settled in his seat.
“There are,” he confirmed. “I just thought there would be less talk about us having dinner tog
ether if no one saw us having dinner together.”
“I guess that makes sense, in a convoluted kind of way.”
“And maybe, during the drive to Raleigh, you’ll start to relax a little,” he suggested.
“Sorry—I guess I am a little nervous.”
“No expectations,” he reminded her.
“Right.” But his reassurance didn’t magically disperse those damn butterflies still fluttering around in her tummy. “So tell me about the new Valentino’s.”
“Why are you so convinced there’s going to be a new Valentino’s?”
“Because there’s a sign in the window of what used to be Mykonos that says ‘Future Home of Valentino’s II.’”
“I guess that’s a pretty good reason,” he acknowledged.
“Are you going to duplicate the original restaurant?”
“No—even if the space lent itself to a similar design, we want customers to have a unique dining experience at each location.”
“Most successful eating establishments in the current economy are recognizable chain restaurants,” she pointed out.
“Two restaurants hardly gives us the status of a chain,” he countered. “Besides, if people want Valentino’s—they’ll go to Valentino’s. The purpose of the new restaurant isn’t just a second location but to broaden our appeal to a wider clientele—a wealthier clientele.”
“No pasta special on Tuesday?”
He smiled. “We’ll have the same specials and the menu will include most of our customer favorites, but we’ll offer some new dishes, too—entrées that are a little more daring and innovative.”
Listening to him talk, she realized there was a lot more to him than she’d originally thought. “And all this time, I believed you were just a bartender.”
“I am a bartender.”
“And, I’m beginning to realize, you’re also the mastermind of this expansion.”
He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be happening if not for my grandparents.”
“But whose idea was it?” she pressed.
“It’s been the subject of discussion among numerous parties for a while now,” he said, hedging a bit.
“And I’ll bet you were involved in every single one of those discussions.”
“I had some input,” he confirmed.
“Why are you so reluctant to take credit?”
“Maybe I don’t want to take the blame if the project fails.”
“It won’t,” she said confidently.
“While I appreciate your faith, you can’t possibly know that.”
“But I do—because I know you won’t let it fail. You don’t give up or give in and you’ll stick with the new restaurant until it succeeds.”
“You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?”
“Well, you got me to go out with you—even if it isn’t a date.” She looked out the window. “So the original Valentino’s was started by your grandparents?”
“Forty-seven years ago,” he confirmed.
“Are they still involved?”
“Sometimes I think too involved. Almost every morning, my grandmother is in the kitchen making pasta or sauce—or both.”
“She must really love to cook.”
“She loves to be in control, and she doesn’t trust anyone else to do things the way that she does. And of course, her way is the only right way.”
“So the pasta really is made fresh every day?”
“Absolutely.”
“How is that going to work with Valentino’s II?”
“Nonna’s going to train and supervise the new kitchen staff—when we have a new kitchen staff—and then she’ll probably split her time between the two restaurants for a while.”
“What does your grandfather do while she’s in the kitchen?”
“He’s the quality-control supervisor.”
She smiled at that. “Meaning he eats what she cooks?”
He nodded. “And samples any new additions to the wine list.”
“They sound like an interesting couple.”
“They’re wonderful,” he said sincerely. “They drive me insane at times, but I couldn’t imagine my life without them.”
Chapter Ten
The Idle Plough was a little more rustic than Marco had anticipated, but Jordyn seemed genuinely charmed by it.
The restaurant was actually a converted barn with exposed rafters and beams and a wooden staircase—thankfully not a ladder—leading to additional seating in the former hayloft. Wagon-wheel chandeliers hung on heavy chains from the ceiling while more intimate lighting was provided by old-fashioned lanterns on each table.
Their server—dressed in a Western-style shirt with blue jeans and cowboy boots—asked if they wanted drinks while perusing the menu. Jordyn asked for a glass of wine, and Marco decided to have the same. For dinner they, of course, ordered steaks. She opted for the strip loin, he chose the T-bone, and they both went for loaded baked potatoes and green salads.
While they ate, they talked. Even after several weeks of chatting, there was so much he wanted to know about her. She read science fiction novels, liked old movies—and not just vintage romances but classic mysteries such as Rear Window and Sorry, Wrong Number. She had horrible taste in music (new country—really?) and got lost without her GPS, but she knew how to make more than fifty different shooters, was a Durham Bulls fan (and not just because of the Kevin Costner movie—although she admitted to being a fan of that, too) and had lips sweeter than anything else he’d ever tasted.
“How did you end up working at O’Reilly’s?” he asked, setting his knife and fork on his now-empty plate.
“I saw the help-wanted sign in the window and applied for the job.”
“Okay—maybe I should have asked why you’re working at O’Reilly’s rather than Garrett Furniture.”
She shrugged. “There’s not a lot of demand for bartenders at Garrett Furniture.”
“I’m sensing there’s another story there that you’re not telling me.”
“Actually, it’s all part of the same story.”
When their server came to clear their plates, they both declined dessert but said yes to coffee. Of course, Jordyn added two creams and two sugars to hers, so he teased her that it was like having dessert and coffee in one.
“Thanks for this—dinner, I mean,” she said, wrapping her hands around the mug. “I really enjoyed it.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess I am, a little. I know it wasn’t supposed to be a date, but getting ready, I kind of felt like I was getting ready for a date which, of course, made me nervous. But this was...good. Really good.”
“I’m glad,” he said. “So maybe next time you’ll be a little less resistant when I ask you to go out with me?”
She shook her head, perhaps regretfully. “I really don’t want to get involved.”
“Maybe this is the part where you tell me why.”
“Do you really want to hear my sad tale?”
“I want to be with you, Jordyn, and I have a feeling that I’m going to need to hear it to decide if that’s ever going to happen.”
She took a deep breath. “I was supposed to get married in April—well, April three years ago.”
“You were engaged?” Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. The knowledge that she’d loved someone else, planned to spend her life with someone else, was more than a little unsettling.
She nodded.
“What happened?”
“He died. It was a car accident.” She swallowed. “He was hit head-on by a teenage driver who took a curve too fast and crossed into his lane. Brian was wearing a seat belt, but his airbag didn’t deploy. The doctors worked on him for hours at the hospital,
but his injuries were too severe.”
Her straightforward recital of the facts wasn’t unemotional. Though she kept her tone even, he saw the anguish in her eyes, and he ached for her. He didn’t know how she felt—how could he? But he could imagine the shock and heartache of the loss, and he wished there was something he could do to ease her pain. He reached across the table and touched her hand. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
Early on, he’d figured out that she’d been hurt. Her obvious wariness combined with her determination not to get involved had led inevitably to that conclusion. But he hadn’t been prepared for this. It would have been easier to console her if the engagement had ended because her fiancé had walked out or cheated on her. But no—the man she’d planned to marry had probably been a prince of a guy whose death had left a huge hole in her heart. There was no way to ease that kind of pain, no way to expedite the healing process.
But even the deepest wounds healed eventually, and it had been more than three years since her fiancé died. Added to that was the undeniable chemistry between them—another reason he couldn’t walk away from her.
“I’m not still grieving,” Jordyn said. “I still miss Brian at times, but I’ve accepted that he’s gone. I’m just not ready to get involved in another relationship. I don’t know that I ever will be.”
“Are you saying that you haven’t been on a date in almost three years?”
“No, I’ve been out on a few,” she admitted. “Although mostly just to keep my family off my back.”
“Then why won’t you go out with me?”
“Because I like you.”
“You’re going to have to explain that,” he told her.
“Usually when I agree to go out with a guy, it’s because I know he’s going to realize there’s no connection and no chance of a second date. As you’ve already noted, there seems to be some chemistry between us.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” he said. “You don’t want to go out with me because you’re attracted to me?”
“And I’m not ready for a relationship,” she confirmed.
The server came by again with the coffeepot, and Marco nudged his cup forward for a refill.
The Bachelor Takes a Bride (Those Engaging Garretts!) Page 11