“Dinner is coming right out. I asked if maybe we should be starting with salads and your chef told me that you’re not a fan.”
“That’s not entirely true,” she said, laughing, trying to heed Eric’s advice to look at him through different eyes. “I just think if you’re going to go for the gold, calorie-wise, why fill up on greenery?”
Chase smiled again and reached for the champagne, refilling their glasses. “A woman after my own heart. Nothing bugs me more than a healthy girl pretending it’s attractive to starve herself. When we were going over the menu, I gave myself a high five.” He took a hearty swallow.
“It’s probably wrong to ask, but I’m dying to know just what it took to get these guys to come in tonight.”
Chase leaned across the table to divulge only part of the secret. His breath was sweet with champagne, and his eyes were warm with admiration. “They have been very well compensated for their time. But the truth is that at first, they all refused my offer and were willing to do this for free. It seems they’re very fond of you, as am I. It’s easy to see why.”
With perfect or not-so-perfect timing, Freddy arrived at the table with his serving tray. And just as Eric had alluded to, it was laden with painstakingly garnished plates consisting of her favorites from the menu. Pecan-encrusted chicken resting on a bed of risotto, and string beans sautéed with mushrooms and almonds.
He even sacrificed his love of beef, she mused when the same meal was placed in front of him, even though Phillip could have easily prepared any number of the dishes Chase usually ordered. After draping his napkin across his lap, he dug in, encouraging her to do the same. He always ate with gusto, but never like a heathen, even if his portion was double the size of hers. He cut his meal into manageable bites, never spoke with his mouth full, and knew how to use a napkin. He asked all the right questions.
“What made you want to open a restaurant?” he politely inquired.
“Neither of my parents wanted me to follow in their footsteps and get involved with law,” Amanda answered.
After years within its trenches, both the Coles viewed the judicial system as little more than an assembly line of tortured souls who had seen the worst of mankind, in themselves and others. Her father retired as early as he could, while her mother trudged on, determined to make a difference while occasionally facing injustice. They’d both wanted to spare her that sort of jading. Her father loved cooking and grilling, often throwing parties in the summers and welcoming her involvement. When he suggested Johnson & Wales in Providence, Rhode Island, to learn all about cooking, she thought it was as good a place to start as any. She could even venture into pastry baking. But her natural propensity for organization and leadership soon had her gravitating toward restaurant management. She had the fair-minded compassion of her father perfectly blended with the attention to detail and tenacity of her mother. In homage to her mother’s influence, she completed a double major in Food Service Entrepreneurship and Culinary Arts. There was no question in either of the Coles’ minds any investment in their daughter’s future was a wisely judicious one. When she expressed the desire in owning and operating a small restaurant, they didn’t hesitate to back her. They used their influence to cut through miles of red tape and were the holders of her liquor license. They saw to all the small details to set her up for success, including getting the best location and making sure it included a parking lot. From time to time, her father could be found in the early mornings dabbling in her kitchen, secretly overjoyed that his passion for good food had been passed on to his daughter. The Coles dined and entertained there, sometimes with high-ranking government officials, and word began to spread. She had an innovative chef and adequate portions. Amanda had turned out to be everything the Coles’ images dictated she should be. She was proper, intelligent, and graceful in every sense of the words, even if she was a little too cautious.
In turn, she asked him about baseball, and he lit up with the same boyish enthusiasm conveyed in every interview she ever saw him give. It was a fascinating transition, and Amanda caught herself smiling when he did it. It was clear he was passionate about his sport. But other than that, he appeared to be way more interested in learning about her.
“You really are big enough to play football,” she said, trying to even out the exchange of information.
“I did play in high school,” he confirmed, “mostly because my dad said if I wasn’t doing something productive with my time off, he would put me to work on the farm. He was a big believer that kids with too much free time often found trouble.”
“He sounds like he was a smart man,” Amanda said, suddenly remembering footage she had seen. A snippet, the image of a stoic, glassy-eyed Chase walking his unsteady and red-eyed mother briskly to a car outside a church, flashed across her mind, reminding her that even in grief, he was denied privacy. “I’m sorry you lost him so young.”
“Thank you,” Chase replied soberly. “He was a smart man. When I was offered scholarships for both, he was the person to suggest I stick with baseball, because it would be easier on my body, not to mention my mother. I don’t think he ever gave me a piece of bad advice. And I’m comforted by the fact he died exactly the way he wanted to. Quick.”
Amanda nodded; there really was nothing to say. But she was sad for him, too, even if he was little more than a stranger whom she had to fight off to keep that way.
“He’d be real disappointed in me if he knew I spent the rest of my life mourning him. He wanted me to do great things,” Chase said by way of closing the subject. He didn’t want to see pity in her eyes; he much preferred her feisty. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and took a hearty swig of champagne before standing up and holding out his hand.
“Dance with me.” It sounded more like a command than a request.
She stared at him blankly before looking out into the restaurant. Several tables had been pushed to the sides, creating a space in the middle of the room. Had they been moved before she got there and she just didn’t notice? Earth, Wind & Fire was still playing, rich and soulful. Eric was still behind the bar. minding his own business and working on what Amanda was sure was a crossword puzzle. She took Chase’s hand and he led her to the impromptu dance floor and pulled her in close. Although it required a reach on her part, one of her hands rested on his shoulder. Her other hand, secure in his, was placed directly over his heart. Together they began to sway to the music.
Finally he had her in his arms, which was right where she belonged.
“We fit together well,” he whispered in her ear, and the pressure of his fingertips on the small of her back increased. “Don’t you think?”
It was likely her neck would need a chiropractor if she spent too much time looking up at his face. But staring at his chest had its benefits. Despite his size, he was light on his feet. She resisted the urge to melt into him and he dipped them a little.
“You are just full of surprises, Mr. Walker, right down to your choice of music. Isn’t your theme music the chorus from ‘Head Like a Hole’ by Nine Inch Nails?”
He chuckled. “I have my aggressive head-banging moments, but they don’t make for good romance.”
“And once again, I need to remind you, romance with you is not part of my equation,” she reiterated, hoping she sounded convincing. It felt good, huddled up against him, so good.
“Aren’t you even the least bit curious to see what a guy like me has to offer?”
“I already know what you have to offer, being on the road for half the year with the added bonus of women throwing themselves at you.” The argument was as weak as the accusation.
“I never took you for a gal who reads the National Enquirer,” he mused, foiling her again.