Page 43 of Ethan

He looked at her steadily. “No. I suppose it isn’t.”

“Did you love her?”

“I thought I did.” He picked up his whiskey. “I think I loved the idea of having someone more than I loved her specifically. That’s not something I understood until after she was gone.”

Naomi was quiet for a moment. “That’s a very honest thing to admit.”

“You asked.”

“I did.” She looked at him across the table. “Has there been anyone since?”

“No one serious.” He held her gaze. “Not yet.”

Marco appeared with their food, and they both leaned back and let him set the plates down, and by the time he was gone the moment had shifted into something warmer and less exposed.

“Try your food,” Ethan said.

She picked up her fork, smiling, speared a shrimp, put it in her mouth, then moaned. “It’s fantastic,” she said after she chewed and swallowed.

Ethan cut into his steak, and stabbed a piece, then looked at her. “You can’t go wrong here.” He put the steak in his mouth, chewed, moaned, then swallowed.

“It looks really good,” Naomi said as she stared at his steak, the red juice swirling on the plate.

“Nope.”

“Not even a little piece?”

“Nope. I do not share my steak.”

“Fine. I won’t share mine either.”

Ethan chuckled. “I didn’t ask you to.”

At the end of their meal, Marco set the leather check holder on the table with a smile. “No rush whenever you’re ready.”

Ethan opened it, slipped his credit card inside, and set it at the edge of the table without looking at the total.

Naomi watched him. “Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful.”

“The night’s not over.” He leaned back in his seat. “Feel like a drink at Dewey’s?”

Her eyes lit up. “I’d love that.”

Marco returned, Ethan signed the receipt, stood and offered his hand across the table. She took it, slid out of the booth, and he kept hold of it as they walked through the restaurant toward the door.

After helping her into the truck he walked around the front, opened his door, and slid onto the seat. He looked at her for a moment before he started the engine, wondering what the end of the night would bring.

He pulled into a spot at Dewey’s and cut the engine. He made his way around to her side, opened the door, helped her out, then led her to the big double doors. He pulled one open and nodded for her to go ahead, then followed.

She stopped just inside and he nearly walked into her.

The place was packed wall to wall, the noise washing over them like a wave.

“It gets a little packed on Friday and Saturday nights,” he said close to her ear.

She turned to look at him. “A little packed? It’s like a sardine can.”

He chuckled and took her hand. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find stools at the bar.”