My dad’s favorite.
Gerard’s face lights up. Not what he was expecting, I’m sure.
“I’ll have the same. Your best bourbon, please.”
Wendy nods, her head full of thick, tight curls.
“You are quite the surprise.” Gerard settles comfortably into his seat.
“Why do you say that?”
“A sophisticated woman who drives a vintage Vette and drinks bourbon. I like the combination.”
“Well, thank you. I like to keep everyone on their toes,” I smirk.
“I’m starting to realize that.” His statement is bold and suggestive. It makes me tingle in places that haven’t tingled in a very long time. The way Gerard is looking at me, I could be his appetizer. Maybe even his main course. There’s blatant attraction mixed with some suppressed hunger.
Shit, I could really use that drink now.
I clear my throat and break eye contact with him just for a moment, just to gather my bearings, but he doesn’t let the conversation go that easily.
“What other surprises are you hiding from me?”
“I’m not really that surprising.” I rest my arms on the table. “I’m just a woman at the tail-end of raising a daughter who’s submersed in running her company.”
“And what kind of company is that?”
“Cosmetics,” I answer as Wendy finally delivers our drinks.Thank Jesus.
Gerard picks his tumbler up to toast me. “To surprises.” He clinks the rim of his glass with mine.
“To surprises.” We both take a sip. The soda is sweet and cold, and the bourbon has a velvety burn as it slides down my throat. Gerard seems to take great interest in my neck as I swallow. I can almost feel what he wants — to take a bite right out of me.
I may sort of want that, too.
“What’s the name of this cosmetics company?” Gerard keeps the conversation rolling.
“Glam.” I lick some sweetness from my lips. His attention zeros in straight to my mouth. I swear the setting sun is scorching us with the temperature at this table right now. I just met this man, but the attraction between us is undeniable. Irrefutable, impossible to ignore. “Kira came up with the name when she was seven.” I try to keep our chat rolling, but the way Gerard is looking at me has me very distracted. It’s unnerving, and truth be told, I like it way too much. I take another sip of my drink, but that seems to just keep fanning the flames, so I just suck it up and keep talking, hoping I don’t ramble like a damn idiot. “I was a stay-at-home mom back then, and she was so into everything and anything girlie. She got into my makeup bag one day, and I found her with red lipstick all over her face. It was the most adorable thing, until she broke out in hives all over the place. She was allergic to most of the ingredients in cosmetics, and the ones she could wear just weren’tglamorousenough for her. So, I started doing some research, and then experimenting in my kitchen, and before I knew it, I had hot-pink lip gloss my daughter could wear. It was a slow start after that. Years of just playing scientist with Kira in our kitchen. It was the best times,” I reminisce, missing Kira at that young age.
“So, what made you decide to start a company?”
“I didn’t really. It just sort of happened.” I shrug. “For Kira’s thirteenth birthday, I put together homemade goodie bags with all the products we had concocted. Her friends went crazy over them, and so did one of the mothers. My social circle back then was very elite. My ex came from a high-profile family and had gobs of money, so we were always hobnobbing with the rich or famous. I didn’t really belong; I was just a surfer girl from Malibu who somehow caught the attention of an insanely rich, older guy.”
Wendy appears in the middle of my story with two large white dishes in her hands. She places them in front of us, and I am struck with the smell of fresh basil and visually entertained by the vibrant colors of the tomatoes stacked on the plates.
“Buffalo mozzarella caprese salad with Jersey tomatoes drizzled with a balsamic champagne reduction,” she announces cheerfully.
Holy yum.
“This looks fantastic. Tell the chef thumbs up.” Gerard gives her a wink as he picks up his fork.
“Umm.” Wendy lingers. “The chef asked me to tell you . . .” She looks a bit uncomfortable, shifting on her feet. “That you don’t know jack shit about dining, so he’s going to prepare a chef’s tasting menu so you don’t screw up your date,” she speeds through the last of her message from Poker.
Gerard chokes a bit, and Wendy nearly goes pale. “Did he now?” Gerard’s eyes are suddenly cold and deadly. My protective instincts kick in, and just before I throw myself in front of Wendy, Gerard barks a huge laugh. “Tell that motherfucker to piss off. But we’ll take whatever he’s willing to whip up.” He continues to chuckle as he takes a large gulp of his drink. Wendy visually relaxes, as do I. For a second, I was convinced Gerard was going to go postal.
“That’s okay with you, darlin?” he asks, a large, endearing smile plastered across his face.
“I’m up to try anything,” I tell Wendy.
