Page 37 of Second Chances

“My pleasure. All that talent on stage deserves to be rewarded. As for tonight, you can see you have not been given any menus,” Miguel stated, his accent excitedly emphasizing his words, “so you can put away your glasses, Henry,” who slid them back into his front pocket. “I have made for you two your private tasting menu.”

“Stop. I didn’t know you did that here,” Charlotte responded, intrigued by this upscale version of one of her favorite dining establishments in Beverley.

“Well, it isn’t every day that Henry Livingston brings a date to dinner. In fact, I have never seen him, here or anywhere for that matter, with a date.” Henry blushed, sure that everyone in town would know tomorrow about his dinner with Charlotte. “That is okay, though, because he was clearly holding out for one of the best ladies in the city, state, country, all of it.” Miguel beamed at them while rubbing his hands together. “Now, you two sit back and enjoy. We will start you out with some passionfruit margaritas, sí?”

Astonished by the posh service, the little touches Miguel made for tonight were impressive, and judging from Charlotte’s delighted face, she thought so, too.

After Miguel left their table, nervousness settled into Charlotte, and she pushed her glasses up her nose. “Henry, I can’t believe all of this! I’ve never…I mean, no one’s ever done anything like this for me.” Instinctively, her hand reached for his, and she slipped her fingers into his outstretched palm. During thirty years of marriage, Brady had surprised her exactly twice: her thirty-fifth birthday, when he’d gotten them front-row tickets to a Linda Ronstadt concert in Des Moines, and their twentieth anniversary, when they’d had a weekend stay in Minneapolis. Her ex had certainly never communicated so much with his eyes while speaking so little with his mouth like Henry could. Stop comparing Henry to Brady—for much of their marriage, she had been happy, she reminded herself. What she hadn’t been was aroused to the point of distraction by one look.

A shadow crossed their table, startling them into releasing each other’s hands. Javier, Miguel’s son, carefully placed their drinks in front of them. “Drinks are on the house, Mr. Livingston. Ever since you worked your magic on my truck, it has been running perfectly.” To Charlotte, Javier explained, “One morning, I was on my way to Rapid City when my truck quit. Wretched thing is thirty years old, and I know I need to get a newer one. Anyway, I called the auto club. They told me a tow truck would come, but it would take over an hour to arrive. It was the dead of winter, freezing, and not even dawn yet, and I was stuck ten miles out of Beverley. I called Henry. He was there, with his tow truck, in fifteen minutes.”

Uncomfortable with excessive praise, Henry simply stated, “If you had called anyone else at my shop, they would have done it.”

“Maybe if it had been during work hours, but I called your cellphone. You went above and beyond. You always do.” With that, Javier left the table.

Charlotte’s dark eyebrow arched. “I didn’t know you were such a celebrity, Mr. Livingston,” she teased, knowing the falsity of her words. She had yet to come across anyone with a bad word to say about him. His “aww, shucks” demeanor might seem insincere on anyone else, but he meant it when he shrugged at her.

“Just years of making connections with this community,” he murmured, ready to talk about anything but work. Even though his shop had aided him in carving out the life he gave Josh, affording him the ability to pay for all of his son’s schooling, he loathed having his identity wrapped up in the shop. Out of necessity, he had made his career as a mechanic, not by his own free will.

“I think it’s more than that,” Charlotte insisted gently. “You sell yourself short if you don’t realize how important you are in this town.” When he cast his eyes to his drink, she said, “Henry,” and waited for him to look up. “Almost everyone I’ve met in Beverley has a story about how you’ve helped them…but not just that. Tonight, for instance. Our tasting menu Miguel is making—that’s because of you. And these peonies, they’re like the ones you brought me.” Charlotte brushed the downy petals with her fingers.

“I asked them to put some on our table…is it too much? I didn’t know-”

“They’re stunning, Henry.” She wanted nothing more than to drown in his eyes, pools of haunting blue in the candlelight.

“They’re nothing compared to you,” he said, clenching with desire as Charlotte caressed the flowers, blushing.

“All of this is truly spectacular. I’m so touched. It’s as if you had days, weeks, to prepare for tonight, instead of a few hours. How did you have time to arrange everything?”

“When something matters, you find a way to make things happen.”

Dear lord, had his voice dropped an octave? She needed a drink to center herself. “I propose a toast.” Charlotte lifted her margarita.

Charmed by her effervescence, which effortlessly lifted his spirits even higher, Henry grinned back at her. “I agree. To you, Charlotte, for suggesting we go out tonight.”

Charlotte giggled. “How did you know I was going to toast myself?” As he tipped his head back in laughter, her heart beat erratically. His throat, so elegantly provocative, was just where she yearned to run her tongue, from his chin to his shoulder. His glass clinked hers, saving her from throwing herself at him over the table.

Javier presented their appetizer. “Dad thought you two would enjoy these. Pork belly tostadas. It’s a recipe he’s been testing for a couple of months. Only one plate, Dad said, to bring you closer.” With a flourish, Javier put the plate in the center of the table, sprinkling it with something Henry didn’t recognize. Before he could ask, Javier was gone. What was he supposed to do now? Slide the plate to Charlotte? Or try it himself first before offering it to her? Awkward and completely out of his depth, he unfolded his napkin, remaining still until Charlotte reached for the plate.

“I think maybe…” Charlotte cleared her throat. “Maybe the intention is to feed each other?” Unsure how she was going to survive with her hands that close to his sensuous mouth, she held the tostada up to Henry. After he bit down, his tongue caught some of the sauce in the corner of his mouth just as Charlotte grazed her finger along his bottom lip. Feeding Henry was one of the most titillating experiences of her life, and when he offered her a bite, she parted her lips, brazenly closing her mouth around his finger, her eyes never leaving his. “Delicious,” she murmured. The crispy corn base, topped with perfectly tender pork and finished with a drizzle of something both subtly sweet and slightly spicy, was incredible, yet not half as delectable as Henry.

Unsure how he was going to make it through the rest of this dinner without bursting into flames, he gulped his margarita and then winced. Tasty, but sweeter than what he normally drank, Henry debated if it would be rude to order a Modelo.

Charlotte giggled. “Based on your expression, I get the idea that you might prefer something else to drink.”

Henry shrugged. “I don’t want to offend Miguel.”

“I’m sure he’d understand.” She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “Have you always been so considerate of everyone else?” Charlotte asked softly.

“I don’t know what you mean—” he started.

“Drinking something you’re clearly not enjoying, instead of having what you want, to spare potentially insulting Miguel. Answering your phone in the middle of the night to tow someone’s truck back to town. Helping a friend for months after her husband’s health took a turn.” She couldn’t help but lump herself in, adding, “Taking a woman out on a date to repay her for spilling water on her coat?”

Henry gave a short chuckle. “I’m sure my ex-wife would have something to say about me being considerate of everyone else. One of her biggest issues was that I was selfish, in fact…” He shook his head, telling Charlotte, “Never mind. The last thing I want to do tonight is discuss the past. Instead, I hope you know that tonight is not about me feeling bad about spilling water or repaying you.” He pinned her with his blue eyes. “I’ve wanted to ask you out since the first time you came into my shop.” He shook his silvery-blond head again. “No, wait, before that, even. Go back to the first time I saw you outside of Mr. Beans, two years ago. But the timing was…”

“I understand. Life got in the way.” Charlotte caught the relief that flashed across his features. “I’m glad we’re here tonight.”

Javier stopped by their table. “Henry, your margarita is where it was when I brought your appetizer,” he laughed. “Would you prefer a beer?”