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But Cooper ignored that little voice and watched her closely.
She stood by his truck, staring up at the quaint restaurant, shivering slightly. Her eyes, luminous as ever, were wide and shiny, but it wasn’t anticipation he saw there. It was fear.
“We can go somewhere else.” He spoke gently, thinking maybe this place was a bad idea.
Morgan didn’t respond right away and, after a few moments, turned to him. “You must think I’m the most screwed-up person you’ve ever met.”
Cooper shook his head and offered his arm. He’d seen a lot of crazy in his lifetime. “Not even close.” He cocked his head to the side. “Coming?”
After a few seconds, she slid her arm through his, and they headed inside. La Spagatt took up the main floor of a century-old home. Built for show, the Victorian-inspired house was grand and opulent, and, now converted into an Italian restaurant, it was lush and surprisingly subdued. They were greeted by a tall, thin man with a full head of snow-white hair, pale gray eyes, and eyebrows as black as soot. The man, Mr. Valenti, was the owner and obviously proud of his establishment as he led them to a small alcove in the first room to their right.
La Spagatt was quite full, and Cooper realized they were lucky to get a table considering he’d not called ahead for a reservation. The ambiance was soft and romantic, and he watched Morgan as she settled into her chair. Her skin glistened, and sweat beaded the top of her lip.
“Have you been here before?” he asked, watching her closely.
Morgan’s gaze swept the room before settling on his, and damn, something inside him jumped up hard.
She nodded slowly. “A few times.”
There was a tremor in her voice, and when the waitress suddenly appeared, she jerked a bit.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” the waitress asked. The server was young, early twenties, with a dark pixie cut and brown eyes that widened when she glanced at Cooper. He knew the look. She either recognized him or thought she recognized him. A by-product of being a Simon, especially the one with the uncanny resemblance to his famous cousin, Beau.
“We’ll have a bottle of red wine.” He looked at Morgan questioningly, but her gaze had dropped to the table. “A nice Malbec, I think.”
“Sounds good,” the waitress replied. She cleared her throat, setting menus down on the table, and shot a look toward Morgan. “Aren’t you Sara Campbell’s sister?”
Morgan flinched. He saw it, and he was pretty sure the server did as well. “Yes,” she mumbled.
Before the server spoke again, Cooper cut in.
“Thanks. That’s all for now.”
Morgan glanced up when the waitress left, shoulders tight, her complexion pale under the muted lights. The candle in the middle of their table reflected in her eyes, making them appear more luminous than ever.
“Hey,” he said softly, willing her to look at him. She’d grabbed a napkin, her fingers nervously tugging the ends. “Morgan.” He reached across the table and slid his hands over hers and kept them there even as she tightened up and would have withdrawn.
“We can leave if you want to. Go somewhere else.”
“No,” she murmured. “I’m good.”
He held on and waited until she looked up at him. Her eyes were full and shiny and, he thought, maybe on the verge of tears. The urge to draw her into his arms was strong, and he couldn’t look away if he tried. In that moment, something changed. A connection was formed, tentative and unsure, but there nonetheless.
“I’m glad you came,” he found himself saying slowly. He sounded like a teenager and didn’t give a damn.
A heartbeat passed. She licked her lips. Exhaled. Relaxed.
“Me too.”
It was only two words, but it was enough. He arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been here before, so what do you recommend?”
Morgan gently disengaged her hands from his and reached for the menu. “It’s been a while. Let me have a look.”
She bit her bottom lip, concentrating as she read the menu, and Cooper settled in his chair. The server brought them their bottle of wine. It was smooth with a hint of oak, just the way he liked it. He sipped from his glass slowly, watching Morgan as she relaxed, and something rolled through him. It was electrifying and sharp and punched him hard in the gut.
He sat up a bit and felt like a king when a half smile crossed her face. The night was young and full of possibilities. And that feeling inside him? It was one he’d not felt in a long, long time.
Anticipation.
