From the corner of his eye, he spied the smile and a solid head jerk. “Thank you. Sorry if I insulted you. I just wanted to be clear.”
“Hey, I’d rather get it out of the way. Now, I just want to take you out for a nice dinner.”
And maybe other things…
Nah. She didn’t seem the type to let him get handsy on the first date. Something else he’d like. Call him old-fashioned, but certain women he didn’t want to be easy. He wasn’t against easy. Hardly. Casual sex was a way to have fun and blow off steam. But if dating a woman regularly, he wanted assurances she wasn’t getting busy with other men.
Men like Frank Falcone.
Rumor mill had it that they’d broken up enough times to have their own soap opera.
This current breakup might be just one more in the line. A definite risk on Tim’s part. Luscious Lucie Rizzo might eventually hand him his carved-up heart on a platter.
And he didn’t care.
I’m so screwed.
*
After a twenty-minute drive—not bad for Friday-night traffic—Tim held the restaurant door open and waved Lucie inside. Immediately, the aroma of cooking meat and spices hit her and her stomach growled. Straight ahead, a plump woman of about forty wearing a black long-sleeved blouse, probably to battle the air conditioner, stood at the hostess station, making notes on a board. Her long, silky, blond hair fell over one shoulder and she tucked it behind her ear as she wrote. To her left was the bar. The completely packed bar with oiled wood and polished brass everywhere. Each of the dozen or so high-top tables was full. Patrons were even wedged into the minimal open spaces between tables. To Lucie’s right was the dining room. Equally polished, equally packed.
Hopefully, Tim had thought ahead and made a reservation.
“Hiya, Tim,” the hostess said.
“Hi, Jaye.”
She grabbed two menus and waved them. “Follow me. Saved you a table in that spot by the windows.”
Yay, Tim. Her hero for apparently being a regular who carried enough oomph to warrant a reserved table on a Friday night when the wait list went twenty deep.
The hostess led them to a table at the far corner of the room along the front window. Outside, a couple holding hands and a mom pushing a stroller wandered by, heading toward the lake just a few blocks up.
One of the things Lucie missed about living downtown were the evening walks. Soon.
The hostess set the menus on the table and removed two of the four place settings. “Special tonight is Colin’s Irish Stew. It’s pretty good.”
Tim smirked. “Glowing endorsement, Jaye. Thanks.”
“Eh. What can I say? I don’t want him to get cocky. Enjoy your meal, guys.”
The woman strode away, swinging her ample hips as she went, and stopping to chat with customers along the way. Sensing something, Lucie turned to Tim, who had those green eyes plastered to her face. Not in an annoying way that made her want to fold in on herself—or hide.
This look was all male and heat and appreciation. Immediately, her cheeks fired. It had been a long time, too long, since a man had looked at her with such open appreciation and… longing. Sure, Frankie loved her, but the newness had worn off. With the newness went the subtle anticipation of where the night might go. Which, in Lucie’s mind, might have been one of their issues. No surprises. Everything just… was.
This?
All new.
And kinda fun.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m staring.”
She picked up her menu. “You are indeed.”
“I can’t get over it. You look different. I like cute, wholesome Lucie, who walks her dogs in a ponytail and sneakers. This Lucie? Gotta say”—he held up his hands—“and please don’t freak out. This Lucie? Seriously hot.”
Another onslaught of heat rushed her cheeks. Darn it. She held the menu in front of her face, pretending to read, but knowing, without a doubt, the handsome detective understood exactly what he’d caused. After a second, the blood rush slowed and her cheeks cooled. Phew. She lowered the menu and grinned at the stupid smile on his face.
“You are too damned cute, Lucie.”
“Thank you. And I’m not freaking out. It’s nice to have someone notice when I put in a little extra effort.”
He shoved his menu to the side, blew out a breath. “Oh, I noticed.”
She had to look away. If she didn’t, she’d have another surge of blushing, and really, she was a grownup. Compliments shouldn’t put her in such a state.
Compromise.
She shifted her eyes, looked over his shoulder at the iron light fixtures all in a row behind him. “I love this place.”
“You haven’t eaten anything yet.”
“I love it anyway.”
“I know you wanted cottage pie, but you might try the stew.”
“I guess you come here a lot?”
“I do. My brother owns it.” He waggled his thumb toward the entrance. “The hostess is my sister-in-law. Thus the wisecrack about the chef getting cocky.”
“The chef is your brother?”
He nodded. “They opened about five months ago. The first month, I gained ten pounds.”
Aha. That explained his beefier build. “I did notice you looked a little different since the last time I saw you. I like beefcake Tim.”
That got her a lightning-quick smile. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Thanks. I figured I could choose to not eat my brother’s phenomenal cooking, or I could go to the gym and turn that fat into muscle. It wasn’t a hard choice.”
He’d definitely made the correct choice. Definitely.
“When we’re done,” he said. “I’ll take you to the kitchen and you can meet him. He’s not as charming as I am.”
She certainly hoped not. “I guess I’ll try the stew from the not-as-charming brother.” She placed the menu at the edge of the table, set her hands in her lap. “So, here we are. The mob princess and the Irish cop. Who’d have thunk it?”
“Is that how you think of yourself? The mob princess?”
“No. I think of myself as a woman with a Master’s degree who got downsized out of corporate America and started her own business. Everyone else in this city sees me as the mob princess.”
He shrugged. “I don’t. We can’t control who our parents are or what they do.”
God, she liked this guy. He was wrong for her in so many ways—the first being she was still in love with Frankie—but how refreshing to share company with someone who didn’t flinch over her lineage. And a cop no less.
“Thank you for saying that.” A tiny bit of tension in her shoulders eased, relaxing finally. “I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to rise above the mob thing. A fancy job at a big investment firm downtown. Moved into my own place and thought I had it made. Now here I am, back in my parents’ home. It’s been humbling. But I think it’s okay. I’m figuring out how to be Lucia Rizzo, business owner, rather than Lucie Rizzo, mob princess. I like it.”
“As we get older, there’s some self-acceptance that comes with it.”
“Wise man. How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
Eight years on her. It didn’t feel like it. He just felt… comfortable. Easy.
“Huh,” she said. “You’re practically an old man to my twenty-six.”
“Huh,” he shot back. “You’re practically a baby to my thirty-four.”
“Touché, Detective.”
He laughed. “Does it bother you? The eight years?”
“You keep telling me I’m hot and it won’t.”
Oh. Boy. Where did that come from? Go, Lucie.
The good detective apparently liked the sound of that because the side of his mouth lifted into a devastating smile. “Don’t you worry about that, Lucie. I’m all over you, babe.”
Which might be nice. Eh-hem. A waitress came by, took their order and, before leaving, spent a solid three minutes catching up on the restaurant gossip with Tim. All
in all, it was a productive few minutes. One of the busboys had stormed out in a snit leaving them shorthanded. On a Friday night. The new waitress was sleeping with the sous chef, making Tim’s brother extremely unhappy, and his mother and father had just left an hour ago. Somehow, Lucie was glad to not have met the parents on the first date.
Talk about pressure.
The waitress moved on and Lucie shook her head. This place had more drama than Petey’s and the Rizzo household combined. “So, I guess you know everyone here?”
He shrugged. “My family is in and out constantly.”
“How many of there are you?”
“Five kids. I have two brothers and two sisters. I’m number four.” He pointed toward the street. “My folks live five blocks west of here. They’re here a lot. They get their exercise by walking over.”
“You’re a close bunch then?”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t take a bathroom break without someone in my family finding out.”
Part of her understood that. As much as her relationship with her father had been strained, he was constantly—even from his cell—up in her business. Part of it came from protective instincts. The other part was simply his sense of control. Something her father craved, but serving time—being locked up—had destroyed.
Lucie studied Tim. Checking for the tell; how he felt about his family being so involved in his life. One thing she didn’t need was another man who allowed his loyalties to divide them.
“Do you mind that?” she asked.
“Nah. I can handle it.”
“What do your parents do?”
“My dad is retired. He was a high school English teacher. My mom used to run a daycare out of the house. She still watches a couple of kids in a pinch, but she’s mostly retired too.”
Lawdy, compared to her crew, Tim O’Brien’s family should have been in a Rockwell painting. What would his parents think of their all-American boy being on a date with Lucie Rizzo?
Just that fast, years of embarrassment came rushing back, turning her stomach to a brick. She’d fought so hard to become her own person, to ignore the snickering about her family. And she’d done it mostly. Until now. When she’d taken a chance on dating someone other than Frankie. Someone outside the life.
Sometimes every step forward turned into a step back.
Tim tilted his head, then leaned in, his big shoulders moving with such ease that her seizing stomach relaxed. He had that way about him. A presence that shattered tension.
Before tonight, it would have made her nervous. Now? She wasn’t sure what it made her. Aside from someone who liked being around him.
Dangerous as it might be considering who he was and who she was and, well, the fact that she loved Frankie.
“Lucie? Did I say something wrong?”
She smiled up at him. “No. It’s me. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“About your normal life and what your parents would think of you being on a date with me.”
“Are you a nice person who treats people well?”
She gawked. “I would hope so.”
“Then I don’t care what they think. I care about what you think and what I think. If we’re happy and treat each other right, everyone else needs to get on board. If they don’t, it’s their problem. Not mine or yours.”
If Lucie could have melted into her seat, she’d have done it. Just turned into a puddle of goo right there. Tim O’Brien, in three seconds, had summed up everything she’d wanted to hear from Frankie these last few years.
I’m in trouble.
But one little statement couldn’t define her relationship with Frankie. Could it? They had history. Good history where they laughed and loved and understood each other. That meant something. Something solid and pure.
Something she couldn’t just toss aside.
“Okay, Tim O’Brien, why does it sound like you’ve experienced your family not liking the people you date?”
He sat back again, rested his arms on the armrests and glanced around the restaurant. One big swoop before coming back to her. “Very perceptive, Ms. Rizzo. I was engaged once. We broke up four years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. There was a reason we dated five years before getting engaged. She dumped me for someone she works with. Said she couldn’t deal with being married to a cop. I don’t know what she thought for the six years we were together. I’d been a cop that whole time.”
“Yeesh.”
“Yeah. Making it worse was the fact that my family didn’t like her. Not one of them. Now every time I go out with someone, I get the same round of questions.”
“What questions?”
He flicked his index finger up. “Is she a nice girl?” Another finger went up. “Do you know what you’re doing?” Another finger. “Are you happy? After that, assuming my answers are all yes, they move on and leave me alone.”
“What if your answers are no?”
He set his elbows on the table and leaned closer. Close enough where, if she wanted to, she could edge a wee-bit forward and…
He focused on her lips, smiled at her as she drew closer. “Lucie, if my answers are no, my family never knows she exists. And in case you’re wondering, I’d definitely not be bringing her to my brother’s restaurant.”
He met her gaze and the intensity in his green eyes, the focus, sent an explosion straight from her core. Lawdy, lawdy, the man might make her come apart.
Needing distance, she broke the eye contact, fiddled with her fork, and checked her other utensils for water spots—because that’s what normal people did, right?
Across from her, Tim grinned. “Sorry I embarrassed you. Tell me about your day.”
Her day? Why would he be asking that? He couldn’t have known about the road trip. Could he? She flicked a glance at him then moved to studying her knife. No spots. Clean as a whistle.
“Um, it was fine. Why do you ask?”
He puckered his lips for a second, raised his eyebrows. “Generally when people are having dinner, they talk. Maybe about their day.”
What was wrong with her? This dating thing was strange. “Right. Of course. Good. Good day. How about yours?”
He scanned the restaurant, his eyes darting over the occupied tables for a few seconds before he came back to her. “Same old thing. Coupla robberies. I did close one case. Been working on that a few months. Finally got the SA’s office to file charges.”
Careers. Finally, something they could discuss without her nerves disintegrating. “That must be rewarding. To see your work come together like that.”
“You know it. I like to think I’m goal oriented, so, yeah, every case closed is a goal reached.”
“Do you like being a detective?”
The man’s face lit up, every fair-skinned inch. “I love it. There’s always something different. I didn’t like being a beat cop so much. Investigations are different. I like the puzzle.”
Interesting way to look at police work. Given her current circumstances, she understood that need to connect all the pieces, put them in order to reveal the bigger picture.
She sat forward and propped her chin in her hand. “How much of what you do is skill versus instinct?”
“Both. Absolutely. I never discount my instincts. Sometimes it’s the difference between a case going cold and solving it. Even if a lead feels nutty, I follow it.”
“Huh.”
Maybe this obsession she had with the could-be-fake painting might be her instincts kicking in, urging her to move forward. Really, her life in general could use a good dose of following her instincts rather than always plotting every aspect of her existence. Goals were one thing, but typically, reality always set in and she’d be forced to adjust her plan. Not be so glued to a list. Four years ago, she imagined she’d be married by now—to Frankie—and making millions as one of Chicago’s hot-shot investment bankers.
“You look perplexed, Lucie.”
She shook of
f her errant thoughts. “No. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Instincts.” She circled her hands around her head. “I tend to think a lot. I wrote a life plan for myself when I was in grad school. I thought it would keep me motivated. And it did. Until I got laid off. Now I wonder if I’ve been too rigid. Too dialed in.”
An older couple from the next table got up to leave, and Tim’s gaze swept over them. Head to toe, scrutinizing their movements. Had to be a cop thing.
The couple moved on and he brought his attention back to her. “There’s nothing wrong with being ambitious.”
“No. But sometimes I second guess myself.”
Like when I wonder if my client is a thief.
“Then stop doing that. What’s the worst that will happen?”
“I’d be wrong.”
“Last I checked, being wrong wasn’t a crime.” He rested his elbows on the table. “You’re a smart, attractive, no-nonsense woman. Give yourself a break. Trust yourself. You might like what you find. God knows I do.”
At that, she smiled. “Thank you, Tim O’Brien. You’re a good man.”
One she might need to spend more time with.
Chapter Seven
After dinner and meeting Tim’s brother, who—hello—made a wicked Irish stew, Lucie followed Tim back through the restaurant to the street where dusk quickly faded to darkness. He placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her around the other pedestrians as they moved toward the parking garage on the corner.
Humid lake air surrounded them and Lucie inhaled. She loved this city and any time spent here reminded her how much she’d missed living downtown.
A cabbie honked at a slower car and a slew of curses followed. Another Friday night in Chicago, land of the insane drivers.
All of it somehow comforting to a girl whose life hadn’t quite turned out the way she’d planned.
Yet.
At the corner, they waited for the light to turn, giving them half a chance to survive crossing the street.
Tim pointed east, toward the lake. “It’s a nice night. What do you say we head up to the lake? Take a walk and grab some dessert somewhere?”
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