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“It sounds lovely,” Blake says.
I nod. “It really is.”
Our wine arrives and Blake watches as the server pours us each a glass before putting the bottle on ice. I watch Blake as he orders the chef’s special. He commands respect, and the server is reverent before he hurries away.
When he’s gone and Blake looks at me, I blush. I was caught staring.
“Did you find love in Paris?” Blake asks, lifting his glass to me in salute before taking a sip.
I shake my head. “No. I mean, I thought I did. But that wasn’t meant to be.”
“Tell me about it,” Blake says.
I hesitate. “He was self-absorbed. I thought he loved me, but he loved what I could do for him. Walking away was hard but it was right.”
While I talk, I run my finger up and down the delicate stem of the wine glass.
“Doing the right things isn’t always easy,” Blake says. He reaches for me, moving slowly as if not to scare me off, and he slowly traces one finger along my wrist and onto my hand. The touch is electric. When Blake looks up at me again, his eyes are a stormy gray and filled with something dark and delicious.
I pick up my wine glass, breaking the contact. I can’t think straight when he touches me, when he looks at me like that.
“What about you?” I ask. “Have you been in love?”
Blake hesitates before he shakes his head.
“Never?” I ask, surprised. “You haven’t been married, or dated, or anything?”
Blake chuckles. “Oh, I’ve dated. And I’ve had my fair share of one-night stands, too.” The thought of him sleeping with other women shoots a pang of jealousy into my chest. I shove it away—I have no claim on him whatsoever. But I have a strange sensation of possessiveness. I want him all to myself. “But sex and love are a far cry from each other,” he adds, and I nod.
Our first course arrives—a seafood cocktail with jalapeno, and the heat flushes through me.
Blake tops up our wine, and when the bottle is finished, he orders another. I’m starting to feel lightheaded. The alcohol feels like bubbles in my veins, and I start to relax.
When the entrée arrives, it’s roast duck with wild rice and perfectly grilled vegetables, and it’s amazing.
“How did you get your company started?” I ask Blake. We’re far from talking about work now. It’s personal, and we’re getting to know each other. The more I get to know Blake, the more I like him.
“I started in a mailroom in the very building I own now when I was sixteen.”
“That’s young,” I say.
Blake nods, watching me carefully. “I came to New York then. I had a dream, you know? I wanted to make it big.”
“And you did,” I point out. “Your parents must be proud.”
“I didn’t do it for them,” Blake says, his voice bitter.
“Are you close to your parents?” I ask.
Blake shakes his head. “Sometimes, a relationship with family is better off in the past. Blood doesn’t always mean family.”
I nod. I know what he means. I’m close with my family, but if I ever need anything, they’re not the first people I’d turn to.
The food is amazing, and the wine flows in abundance.
Dessert is a decadent chocolate sculpture with pistachio ice cream and nuts and it’s incredible.
When it’s over, we step out of the restaurant, and the world around me spins slowly. I press my hand to my head. When I sway a little and lose my balance, Blake is right there, righting me with his hand on my hip.
