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"Regardless, you did exactly the right thing," he assured her. "Now to more important matters. Where's my gift?"
"Your gift? Oh, you mean these," she grinned, opening her fist.
Closing his fingers over hers, he took them from her, then stuffed them into his pocket.
"They're a gift because they're mine now, a treasured reminder of tonight. When you see them missing from your drawer, you'll be reminded too."
"Duncan," she whispered, "this is...you are..."
"I believe the waiter is coming," he said softly, but silently thinking, Yes, this is special. We are special, but bloody hell, it doesn't feel like some meaningless fun.
A few minutes later they placed their orders, but to Duncan's dismay the blonde man had returned to the bar and was blatantly staring at Brittany.
"He's still at the bar, isn't he?" Brittany asked quietly. "I can feel his eyes on me."
"Yes, he's still there, but he won't be for long. Just follow my lead."
"I'll do my best."
Sitting tall in his chair, Duncan signaled to the wine steward standing near the bar.
Patric Dupont, a French-born sommelier, knew how to spot a well-traveled and accomplished man. The gentleman who had just requested service was exactly that, and Patric moved quickly to his table.
"Good evening, Monsieur. My name is Patric Dupont. How may I be of service?" he asked with a slight bow.
"Good evening. We're both having the pheasant. I'm partial to the M. Cosentino 2001 M. Coz Meritage from Napa Valley, but I would like your recommendations."
As he suspected he would, Patric's eyes widened and he broke into a warm smile.
"Monsieur knows his wine. An excellent choice."
"But I see you also have the Corton-Charlemagne 2009 Louis Latour. With pheasant, the choice isn't always so easy."
"Oui, this is so," Patric nodded, even more impressed with his customer. "Perhaps mademoiselle has a preference."
Brittany had been raised by parents who often entertained, and though not an expert, she was familiar with the basics of pairing fine wine with gourmet dishes.
"The pheasant is served with plum sauce," she said thoughtfully, "so I believe the Meritage would best please the palate, but I'd be happy with either. White burgundy's are always an interesting alternative."
Brittany's erudite observation took Duncan by surprise, especially her knowledge that the Louie Latour was a white burgundy.
"Mademoiselle, you are familiar with these wines?" Patric asked, smiling a toothy smile.
"I am, and I'm finding myself partial to the Meritage."
"Then the Meritage we shall have," Duncan declared.
During the conversation he had unabashedly sent his eyes to the bar several times, and as Patric took the wine list from his hand, Duncan frowned and leaned slightly forward.
"Is there something wrong, Monsieur?"
"I don't want to make a fuss."
"Monsieur, we pride ourselves in making sure our guests are comfortable and satisfied. If there is something not to your liking please allow me to make it right."
"Rest assured it is not this lovely restaurant or the impeccable service. How remiss of me. My name is Duncan Rhys-Davies, and my companion is Miss Brittany Carter. Forgive me, Brittany, but perhaps Patric is right."
"Perhaps he is," Brittany said with a sigh, "but as you said, we don't want to make a fuss."
