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Eight
When Bran knocked on their attached room doors and picked Addi up for dinner, he didn’t count on his body tightening at the sight of her standing in front of a bed. Seeing her, rosy cheeked and smiling up at him, had been the stuff of his recent fantasies—if she were wearing a lot less clothing.
Tonight, she wore a bright green dress the color of jungle leaves. The color made her eyes appear piercing turquoise rather than blue. Her pale blond hair was swept up, revealing her neck, and the dress had a demure square neckline that didn’t show what she was hiding beneath. Unlike Tammie, Addison was a mystery. Not knowing only made him want to unwrap her more.
White wine poured, their appetizer arrived. Crab and cream cheese wrapped in cigar-shaped, deep-fried wonton wrappers served with sweet chili sauce. Bran wolfed down three of them before coming up for air.
“Damn, those are good.”
“They really are.” She blotted her mouth with her cloth napkin, having only made it through one.
“So, tell me—” he leaned back in his chair “—what’s it like to eat somewhere other than Pestle & Pepper?”
Teasing her about her favorite restaurant in River Grove was low-hanging fruit. A takeout bag from P&P was sitting beside her desk at least three times a week. He’d needled her about it before.
“Have you been to Pestle & Pepper?” Her smile was confident, her voice strong. He liked this much better than her wide-eyed and dashing away from him.
“Never. Though considering how many times you come back with leftovers or carried-in lunch makes me wonder if I’m missing out.”
Their dinners arrived—fish and vegetables for him and a chicken pasta dish for her. They each ate a bite before she spoke.
“You only know half of it. I eat there as many times for dinner as I do for lunch.” Her nose wrinkled. “I’m not much of a cook.”
“Me, neither. I love to grill.”
They shared a not-uncomfortable beat of silence. Progress.
“What’s so great about that place, anyway? Do they have some signature dish I should know about?”
“Their food is incredible. But the atmosphere, the people, are even better than the food. After college, I ate dinner with my parents a lot, but that changed.” She was silent while she wound pasta on her fork. “I missed that feeling of home—a home-cooked meal. Pestle & Pepper is a close second.”
It was the most he’d ever learned about Addi’s personal life. In his efforts to treat his assistant with professionalism, he’d unintentionally kept their relationship on the surface. Shame.
“Family dinners weren’t a regular occurrence in the Knox household. Dad worked a lot.” Jack Knox was far from an absentee father, but it wasn’t as if they were going to the zoo or the beach every weekend. Building ThomKnox had taken a lot of his dad’s dedication and time. Bran thought of his own brief obsession with CEO. Temporary insanity was the only explanation. No way did he desire a schedule that demanding or pressure that intense. “Dad was right about naming Royce CEO. I was the wrong choice.”
“Not wrong. Just...different.”
“You must’ve thought I lost my mind this year.” His eyebrows jumped as he considered her point of view for the first time.
She pressed her lips together like she had something to say but wasn’t willing to share it yet. They’d get there.
“Consider yourself lucky you won’t have the privilege of meeting my parents. They’re arriving tomorrow afternoon.” She lifted her wine glass and took a sip. “I assume you’ll leave for River Grove early?”
Again, he sensed there was something she wasn’t asking. Was she wondering if he’d be around for breakfast? Or attempting to ferret out his schedule in order to avoid him?
“Not sure yet,” he answered. Now seemed the wrong time to drop the “I’ll be here all weekend” announcement. “So, the staff at Pestle & Pepper treat you like family?”
“The owner, Mars, does.” Her eyes warmed. “Last week he asked me to taste a new dessert they were adding to the menu. He took my advice on the cinnamon. Always more cinnamon.” Her tempting lips curved into a smile of pride.
“I don’t have that sort of treatment anywhere. Don’t they know who I am?”
“It’s not about status.” She took the joke the way it was intended and consoled him by patting his hand. “I have a delicate palate.”
He imagined kissing her and having a taste of her delicate palate. As he held her gaze, the air snapped with a now familiar electric current. Then she broke eye contact and steered them onto bumpier terrain.
“I need to apologize for what I said in the car. Again.” She put her fork down and put her hands in her lap. “First off, you’re not an idiot.”
“Why, thank you.”
