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From what Felicity could see at a glance, there were fifteen or twenty tables spread out over two rooms. Each of the tables was tucked away in a small alcove, ensuring privacy on three sides.
“Wow,” she said. “This is lovely.”
“I’m glad you like it. The restaurant is new. It only opened last month. Word is still getting out.”
“But clearly, you’re the kind of man who can get a last-minute reservation at a spot like this?”
His gaze narrowed. “Are you complaining?”
She squirmed inwardly. “This is all commonplace to you, isn’t it? The fancy cars and exclusive restaurants. The money-is-no-object shopping and the private jets?”
Green eyes turned to ice. “I’ve worked damn hard to get where I am today. I don’t feel the need to apologize. Would you rather we leave? I’m sure there’s a McDonald’s somewhere we can patronize.”
His sarcasm made Felicity feel petty. But she couldn’t get past the change in him. Even though he had built a house in Falcon’s Notch—and who knows why—he didn’t fit in there anymore. This new Wynn Oliver belonged with the New York City elite.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“I don’t mean to criticize,” she said carefully. “I’m sorry. I think I’m just having a hard time reconciling the teenager I knew with...” She waved her fingers. “With you.”
His expression softened. He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “I’m still me, Fliss. You don’t have to be afraid. I’m the same guy you knew in high school, just better dressed.” He chuckled.
Felicity smiled, but she wasn’t convinced. Wynn had style and self-assurance. He possessed the careless confidence of the rich now. Swagger? Yes, he’d had that before. But the hint of bold masculinity was new.
“Thank you for bringing me,” she said. Her tacit apology seemed to pacify him.
When the waiter arrived with heavy leather-bound menus, there were no prices on Felicity’s. That was a first for her. She ordered a chicken dish and a savory appetizer platter. Wynn chose a steak with scalloped potatoes and a garden salad large enough to share.
The sommelier arrived with their choice of wine. The man tipped out a small portion, swirled the glass and handed it to Wynn. After Wynn’s nod of approval, the dignified gentleman poured two servings in antique etched-glass goblets. Felicity began to feel like she was in a movie.
She was no stranger to nice restaurants. After all, she had traveled the world with her job. But this intimate date was over-the-top. Though she had dined at Michelin eateries, it was usually in the company of work colleagues. Her friends made the ambience entirely different.
She took a sip of her wine. It was the perfect blend of tart and sweet, rich and full-bodied. She was no wine connoisseur, but even she could tell this was an amazing bottle of vino.
“Do you like it?” Wynn asked. “I can ask for a bottle of white, too, since you ordered chicken.”
“Those rules don’t bother me. This is delicious.” She finished her first glass and asked for a second.
As Wynn picked up the bottle with the French label and poured, he gave her a questioning glance. “Why do I get the feeling you’re working up the courage to say something?”
She swallowed, her cheeks flushing. That was the problem with someone who knew you very well. It was hard to dissemble.
No point in dragging it out. “I feel bad because you’ve been so kind to me yesterday and today, but I have to be honest, Wynn. I don’t think I can take care of Ayla for a year. Or even nine months.”
“Is the airline harassing you? I can speak to someone.”
“It’s not that.”
He frowned. “So what’s the problem?”
Maybe she should just lay it out there and see what happened. The wine had given her a nice little buzz...and a dollop of courage.
“I don’t want to fall in love with you.”
