I arch a brow. “You’re the one who had this delivered.”
He grins. “Pamela has excellent instincts.”
I reach for the tall glass of sparkling lime water the server brought and take a slow sip, letting the citrus settle on my tongue. “To second first dates,” I say, holding it up halfway.
Knox lifts his glass. “And life outside of our summer bubble.” We clink, glass to glass, and then he leans in. “You still want this?”
I nod, the side of my leg pressing back against his beneath the table. “One hundred percent.”
The words come easily. Maybe because being with him doesn’t feel like a risk anymore. Especially when he’s looking at me likethis. Besides, if we can survive our bubble, certainly we can survive…my dad.
Before either of us can say more, the server returns, buttoned-up and breezy with a linen napkin over one arm. He launches into a well-rehearsed overview of the seasonal menu, describing each dish from their signature wood-fired sea bass with miso broth to the foraged mushroom risotto like we’re on some kind of culinary pilgrimage.
We place our order. Knox goes for the dry-aged ribeye, rare, with heirloom carrots and truffle-mashed potatoes. I choose the roasted halibut over saffron couscous, with citrus beurre blanc on the side.
The server nods approvingly, promises warm bread and olive oil to start, and floats off like a silk napkin caught on a breeze.
Knox shifts slightly, one arm resting behind me. “So, Francesca Camille Beaumont…” My full name spills from his lips like a seductive dare, velvet-wrapped and edged with amusement. “Where shall we begin?”
I meet his gaze, my lips curving. “Formal introductions. You first.”
“Okay…I’m Knox Everette Ryder. Thirty-five. Divorced. Only child of Everette and Claire Ryder. Yes, the Everette Hill ReserveSyrup people.” He pauses, a slow lift at one corner of his mouth. “And I own Luxe Properties.”
I blink.
Beyond fascinated.
My summer bubble hottie is the only child of some maple syrup dynasty.Like, what?
And, it suddenly clicks.
The syrup. The name on the label. The bottles his grandma stuffed in the biscuit bag when we left Vermont, the brand he used this morning at breakfast. And, oh my goodness, our late-night breakfast at Pier 24 when he said he was picky about syrup.
“You’re—wait.” I lean in, narrowing my eyes. “You’rethatRyder?”
He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching again. “Guilty.”
“During our drive to Vermont, you mentioned you’d traded maple syrup and apple skins for glass and city glare. It all makes sense now.”
“You remember…”
“Of course I do.” I lean in, elbows propped on the table, curiosity drawing me in. “And Luxe Properties? As in the vacation-rental empire?”
His grin widens, just enough to confirm every wild guess spinning through my head. “That would be the one.”
“Wow.” I lean back, stunned. “Okay.”
He studies me like he’s trying to gauge whether I’m impressed or about to bolt. “Too much?”
I shake my head, still a little breathless. “No. Just…unexpected. In the best way.” I take a sip of water, wishing it were tequila. “Did your ex start Luxe with you?”
Knox shakes his head, expression unreadable. “Jenna? No. She has her own brand. Vow & Vine.”
“Jenna Blair?” My brows lift. “The celebrity wedding planner?”
He nods. “Yeah. Dropped my last name. Didn’t want her brand tied to maple syrup. Same reason she finally signed the divorce papers. If word got out she’d cheated, it would’ve tanked her image.”
I roll my eyes. God, she really didn’t deserve him.
