She shook her head, easing into a grin.
“Me either. Anything on your hard-limit list?”
She studied the menu. “I’m not crazy about mushrooms. Or beets. But I do like—”
He raised his hand, palm up. “Nope. We’re totally using the force on this. No hints. No clues. Just what’s off limits.” He stood to grab some kids’ menus and crayons from the hostess station, then returned to the table. “Here, you can write down what you have in store for me on this.”
“Well,” she said, grinning, “maybe after some tic-tac-toe and word-find. Okay, food freak, what turns you off?” She grabbed a crayon, prepared to jot down notes, jumping in with a noticeably competitive spirit.
He studied the menu. “Nothing gluten-free. And nothing completely vegetarian.”
She curled her arm over her paper to block his presumably cheating eyes as she made some exaggerated x’s on her page, then froze and looked up at him. “Wait a minute. Did you just tell me your preference for meat without actually saying it?”
Richard shrugged with a playful smirk.
“Ready, or do we need another minute?” the waitress asked, setting two glasses of ice water on the table before them.
“Yes.” He quickly folded the page he’d scribbled on. “The lady and I will be surprising each other. Here’s what she’ll be having.”
The server nodded her understanding with a wide smile.
Jaclyn quickly made some final notes and folded her paper elegantly. “Blue Eyes will be having this, and we’d like to get it all at the same time. Oh, and can we get some bread?”
The waitress peeked at Jaclyn’s submission, giggling. “I’ll do my best on this. Bread coming right up.”
“Now,” he said to Jaclyn, only partly kidding, “I’m getting nervous.”
A few minutes later, the waitress returned. “Here’s your bread and drinks.”
From the tray, she took a basket of bread and set it between them. Then she placed a pink-hued cocktail with sliced strawberries floating near the top before Jaclyn. Giggling at Richard, the waitress handed him a wineglass, the deep purple liquid inside barely splashing its color over the oranges, blueberries, and strawberries filled to the rim.
Richard frowned at Jaclyn as she laughed. “Why does my sangria look like a fruit cocktail with a splash of wine?”
“Because I love nibbling on the fruit,” she said.
“Ah.” His brow crinkled, he squinted at her. “I see you’re used to getting what you want. We’ll switch.”
He was about to reach for the glasses, but paused as she frowned, looking up at him through her lashes.
“But I like the one you gave me too.”
Is she seriously batting her eyes at me? And why do I want to give her whatever she wants when she does it?
With a sigh of defeat, he slid his glass over to join hers. “Okay, Ms. Two-Fister, if you’re keeping both, you need to get me something else.”
She looked at the waitress. “The gentleman will have a Woodford and soda.”
The waitress winked at Jaclyn and left.
Jaclyn drew both her drinks closer. She grabbed a spoon and began scooping wine-soaked berries into her mouth, gleefully devouring her fruity appetizer.
He rolled up his sleeves, resting his arms on the table as he clasped his hands. “I’m glad you’re warming up to your surroundings.”
“I haven’t eaten here in years, but I’m a total fan. It brings back a lot of memories.”
“Good ones, I hope.”
Jaclyn nodded, but her expression fell for a few seconds before she lifted the lighter-colored cocktail to her lips. “Mmm. I’m so glad you ordered this for me.”
“If it’ll keep a smile on your face, there’s more where that came from.” Richard wanted to pry, but his instincts reined him in. He shifted gears. “Why do you live in a hotel?”
“What makes you think I live there?” Her words dared him to explain his deductive reasoning.
“You’re in a hotel bar in your hometown alone past midnight. You’re not exactly a lush, and the Joule is hardly party central. And since we’ve established you’re not prowling for a john, I’m pretty sure you live there. I tend to live in and out of hotels because I travel so much. But you’re not traveling. How’d I do?”
Sheepish, she kept her gaze on her drink. “You’re right. For me, it feels right. Homes are meant for families.” She took a long sip. “Besides,” she said, her voice turning chipper, “I love the skyline at night and round-the-clock room service.”
With a nod, he agreed. “Me too.”
The waitress returned to their table with a tray holding Richard’s new drink as well as two pizzas, and handed Jaclyn hers first.
Jaclyn looked down with an “uh-oh” escaping her lips.
“What?” Richard asked.
When he received his plate, before them lay two identical orders for the same pizza. “Uh-oh. Barbecue chicken.”
“It’s perfect, right?” Jaclyn said. “An amazing combination of flavors that put California Pizza Kitchen on the map. A landmark in their origin story. The beginning of it all.” Her huge smile gave him every assurance she was enjoying herself.
Richard raised his drink, and she joined him by heartily raising both of hers in a three-way clink. He only needed a second to think of the toast, a testament to why he was so determined to finally get everything he’d wanted. A twice-in-a-lifetime chance that he wouldn’t squander. Two beginnings.
“To beginnings.”
Seven
“Rick?”
Showtime.
Richard shoved his cell aside and stood up from the table at the Capital Grille. “Dylan. Hey. You look great.” Confident and determined, he leaned in for a hug, but Dylan’s stiff arm’s-length of a handshake stopped him.
Unable to stifle his amused grin, Richard beamed as he sat back down in their booth. The high-backed semicircular booths provided a bit of privacy, giving the illusion of intimacy. It was everything Richard needed.
Dylan slid across on the other side, as far as possible from his date.
It’s like I told Jaclyn. Pricks are so predictable.
After a few appetizers and Richard’s insistence on buying bottomless drinks, Dylan loosened up.
“So, how do you know Jaclyn?” Dylan asked.
“I really don’t know her at all. We met a few nights ago, and it’s like she can’t keep her hands off me.”
A head popped up from behind Dylan at the booth next to theirs. Jaclyn shot Richard a hateful glare, and he squelched a laugh.
“She can be so aggressive,” he said with a sigh. “Thank God I’m pitching for the home team.” His smartass comment practically double-dared her to do anything.
She responded with a menacing glance that sank in slow motion behind the dark leather seating.
“Oh, I know what you mean,” Dylan said with a nod. “But I like that feistiness. And that ass. Whew.” He tossed back his Scotch as the waiter brought him a quick replacement, an arrangement that apparently suited him just fine. “Now, this is service.”