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Chapter 8
Eli was full of surprises.
He drove them to Benicia’s Italiano, located on the Magnificent Mile, a very small, very ritzy joint that wouldn’t bat an eye if a couple walked in wearing their finest attires—which they were. Upon Isa’s brief inventory of the place, she spotted two other men in tuxes. Candles behind amber-colored glass in the center of every table bespoke tradition, but the crisp white tablecloths and the sunny orange and yellow motif on the walls gave the restaurant a modern feel.
Eli spoke to the host briefly and the older, bald man nodded and collected two menus. He led them to a cozy booth at the back of the restaurant where a bottle of wine and a cup filled with slender, crisp breadsticks waited for them.
“Chianti as per your standing reservation,” the host said, placing the menus on the table and pulling Isa’s chair out for her. She sat, eyeing Eli as he unbuttoned his jacket and lowered his tall, lean form into the seat across from her. She wished she could snap a picture of him to preserve the moment—the moment Eli Crane put on a tuxedo and took her to dinner after telling her ex off.
Tonight was one for the books.
“Color me impressed.” She bit her lip to hide a grin as she inspected the elegant crowd. “How’d you get us in here? Does the owner owe you a favor?”
“The owner’s son was my rehabilitation guy,” Eli said, studying the menu. “Ex-military. We spent a lot of time together while I was learning to walk on the leg and he mentioned Benicia’s over and over. Said once I get out and about to stop by and he’d have a table and a bottle of Chianti waiting for me.”
“Wow.”
“He’s a man of his word.”
“As are you.”
Eli gave her a dark blue wink and her stomach clenched in anticipation of where the night might lead.
Their waiter stopped by to chat about the specials and fill their glasses. They each ordered the chef’s special—linguine with homemade noodles and mussels. A thick loaf of fragrant, freshly baked bread arrived a minute later, steam curling. Isa’s mouth watered.
“You have a knack for making friends in spite of your trying hard not to,” she observed, tearing off a corner of the bread and dragging it through a shallow dish of seasoned olive oil.
“Are we friends?” he asked.
She paused, the bread dripping oil onto the white plate in front of her. Why did that question feel so intimate? “I think so.”
He lifted his wineglass and drank, saying nothing more about their friendship.
“Thank you for getting me out of the ceremony. I really didn’t want to watch Josh take the reins of my parents’ company.”
“Tell me how you started Sable Concierge,” Eli said, clearly not wanting to discuss Josh any more than she did.
“I’m organized. I’m bossy. I’m good at being an assistant.”
He laughed and she found herself pausing between bites of the bread to admire the brief flash of levity. Eli Crane was gorgeous when he smiled. Well, he was gorgeous anyway, but especially when he smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his dark scruff parting to reveal a flash of white teeth. Her eyes lingered on his lips for a beat too long to be appropriate. She couldn’t help it. She knew what his mouth felt like on hers—the firmness of his lips, the confidence of his touch—and the experience wasn’t one she’d soon forget.
“Sounds like an organized, bossy person would be perfect running your parents’ company. Why didn’t you?”
She took his teasing in stride, lifting her wineglass. “Sawyer Financial isn’t exactly thrilling. Besides, you don’t appear overly eager to take on COO for your parents.”
“Father,” he corrected, but his tone was gentle.
“Oh.”
“My mother passed a day short of my fifteenth birthday.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her heart squeezed. She could easily picture Eli spending his fifteenth birthday quiet and angry at the world for taking one of his parents away.
Isa slid her plate to one side so she could put her elbows on the table—anything to move closer to the man who’d shared a personal detail with her—a detail she hadn’t found on his laptop.
“She wrecked on the highway on her way to buy my gift. The video game I wanted was in the passenger seat.” He took a deep swallow of his Chianti.
“Eli…” She wanted to touch him, but his rigid posture suggested he wouldn’t accept her comfort.
