“We have a couple paying their bill and no one waiting for their table, if you wanted to move into the dining room,” Gemma suggested.
Rachel shook her head, immediately and vehemently. “I’m good here.”
His instinctive response was the same. If they dined together in the kitchen, they could share pasta and casual conversation. But if they ate in the dining room, with soft lighting and romantic music, it would take on a whole different ambience—almost like a date.
“Looks like a pretty good setup,” he said to Rachel. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Of course not,” she said.
The words were barely out of her mouth before a waiter was at the table, setting another place. One of the chefs immediately put a salad on the table for him.
“I almost think there’s better service here than in the dining room,” he teased Gemma.
“Now I’m thinking that I should put your pasta in a take-out container and send you home,” she countered.
He was tempted to say “please,” but given a choice between sharing a meal with the florist and eating alone, he had to go with the florist.
“The truth is,” he said instead, “the culinary genius of the chef is second only to the beauty of the restaurant’s hostess.”
Gemma laughed. “Flattery will get you anywhere you want to go in my restaurant, but now I must go back to work.”
When she’d exited the kitchen, Andrew picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of lettuce. He and Rachel ate in silence for a few minutes, and though his dinner companion said nothing, he could imagine the questions that were running through her mind.
“I’m impressed,” he said, when he’d finished his appetizer.
She sipped her wine. “By the salad?”
“By your restraint.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “It’s not any of my business.”
“But you’re wondering why I’m not having dinner with the woman I bought the flowers for,” he guessed.
“The thought did cross my mind.”
“The flowers were for my wife,” he told her. “But she died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “How long were you married?”
“Five years.”
One of the kitchen assistants cleared away their salad plates and another immediately set bowls of steaming pasta on the table. He looked from his to hers, noticed they were the same.
Rachel speared a chunk of spicy sausage with her fork, popped it into her mouth.
“What about you?” he asked. “Why are you alone tonight?”
“I’m on a dating hiatus,” she admitted.
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I made a lot of bad choices with respect to relationships, so I decided to take a break from men.”
“How long have you been on this break?” he wondered.
“Sixteen months.”
“You haven’t been on a date in more than a year?”
“No,” she admitted. “But even when I was dating, I never liked dating on Valentine’s Day.”
“Why not?”
“There’s too much pressure to make a simple date into something more on February 14, too many expectations on both parties.” She nibbled on her penne. “Did you know that ten percent of all marriage proposals take place on Valentine’s Day?”
He shook his head.
“It makes me wonder—is the popularity of proposals on that day a result of romance in the air or a consequence of the pressure to celebrate in a big way?”
“The Valentine’s Day chicken and egg,” he mused.
She nodded. “And then there are the Valentine’s Day weddings, which seem to me the lazy man’s way of ensuring he’ll remember his anniversary.”
Andrew waited a beat before he said, “Nina and I were married on Valentine’s Day.”
Copyright © 2014 by Brenda Harlen
ISBN-13: 9781460333266
DESTINY’S LAST BACHELOR?
Copyright © 2014 by Christyne Butilier
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