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“Do you come here often, Quinn?”
“Not very.” He turned slightly so he could face her. “Have you been here before?”
“Oh, sure, once a week at least.” She sent him an acerbic glance that made him chuckle.
“I’ve been here a few times. Always had excellent meals. But my theory is that if you do special-occasion things too frequently, they lose some of their magic.”
“I agree.” She hated that she was already wondering what woman he’d been here with and how special she was to him.
“I’ve only been here with clients. This is my first social visit.”
Had he read her mind? The violent blush threatening to climb up her face would have been humiliating if the waiter hadn’t chosen that moment to introduce himself, welcome them, hand them menus, Quinn a wine list, and suggest drinks.
Quinn quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “Champagne?”
Marie smiled sweetly, as if she was offered the stuff every day, wondering how much a bottle went for in a place like this, then deciding she didn’t want to know. “Can anyone say no to champagne?”
“Not anyone I’d like to know.” He turned back to the waiter and pointed to the wine list. “How about a bottle of the Perrier Jouët?”
“Certainly.” The waiter nodded politely and strode off.
“Are we celebrating something?” Marie asked.
“Of course.”
“What?”
“Hmm.” He looked pensive. “I give up. Do we need a reason?”
Marie laughed. How about the deep love that you’re about to confess you feel for me? “Not at all.”
Another server came by with a crystal tulip glass for each of them and a footed metal bucket to keep the champagne cold, draped with a white linen towel. Marie couldn’t stop smiling. Everything about the place felt luxurious, relaxing and totally indulgent, from the soft cushioned back of their banquette to the small light hanging over their table dripping sparkling crystals, to the bevy of waiters working to make them comfortable and satisfied. But she’d probably feel pampered and indulged in a cafeteria with Quinn, too. Every second in his presence felt like a special event.
“So how goes your matchmaking with Darcy?”
She regarded him suspiciously. “Do you really want to know or are you going to lecture me again?”
“Lecture?” He put his hand to his chest, the picture of wounded innocence. “Is that what I did?”
“Um, yeah?”
He dropped the act, gave a genuine smile. “Marie, I have tremendous respect for you, even if I don’t love all your methods. If I lectured, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” She put her hand on his forearm, and wanted to leave it there. She got the chance when he covered her hand with his and squeezed, making it very difficult for her to keep her mind on what she wanted to say. “As for matchmaking, I assume it went well, because Darcy hasn’t called to scream at me again and it’s been three days.”
Quinn lifted his brows. “From what you said, she’s the type who’d have no problem screaming if she thought she was entitled.”
“Not the slightest. But I haven’t heard a word, which I’m daring to hope is because she’s embarrassed it worked, rather than so furious she’s not speaking to me.”
“Any way you can find out?”
“I could…” Marie made a face. “A roundabout way, through Justin and Candy and Troy. But believe it or not I’m trying to respect her privacy.”
“What?” Quinn faked convincing shock. “When did you come up with that novel idea?”
“Ha…ha.”
The waiter returned with the champagne in a green bottle with gold foil, hand-painted with a spray of white flowers. He removed the cork with a discreet thunk, and poured an inch for Quinn to try. On approval, he poured cold bubbly magic for each of them and nestled the bottle into the ice bucket.
“Cheers, Marie.” Quinn lifted his glass. “Here’s to us. To the past few months of friendship and to the rest of our lives.”
“Hear, hear.” She clinked, smiled and sipped, thrilled by the “rest of their lives” concept, determinedly refusing to listen to the little voice repeating Kim and Nathan’s opinion about men taking women to Dream Dance. Marie could do a lot worse than be friends with this man for the rest of her life, and that was going to be the focus from now on or she’d implode from anxiety.
