He leaned forward, relaxing his elbows on the table. “Did you decide what you’re going to eat?”
I cleared my throat and forced my gaze to the menu so I wouldn’t be tempted to stare at him. “It all looks so good.” Okay, moment of honesty, I had no idea what any of this was, but I was positive it would be good. So that counted, right? “I’m just not sure which one to pick. What are your, um, favorites?”
“The coq au vin is spectacular,” he answered casually. “Also our duck confit was saved when I fired Marcel. I’m happy with how the kitchen has been preparing it lately.”
Yes, my best friend was a chef, but that didn’t mean I’d paid attention to anything she’d ever said about cooking before. Just like she couldn’t pick up a paintbrush and do anything useful with it just because she was friends with me. To be honest, when she started talking about food, I usually tuned out the Charlie Brown teacher voice that made zero sense.
But hindsight was twenty-twenty, and what I wouldn’t give to remember at least a few of her helpful tidbits! Like what the heck was coq au vin? Was that a meat? Or a wine? And duck might be okay, but was the confit part of it something weird? Like the intestines or something? One thing I knew about chefs was that they were willing to eat anything. And most of the time the weirder the food got, the better the acclaim. Like beef hearts and tongue, and thousand year eggs.
I didn’t think I was up for the strange parts of a duck tonight.
When I didn’t respond, Ezra added, “Or is there something you’d rather have that’s not on the menu? I can have them make you whatever you want. Just name what you’re hungry for.”
My cheeks heated at his generous offer. “Actually, I just can’t decide. Sorry. Usually Vera orders for me when we go out. Everything looks amazing. I don’t know what to get.”
“Ah.” He tugged on the menu and I easily gave it up. “Do you mind if I order for us then? Would you like to try a few things and we could share them?”
I let out a deep breath of relief. “I would love that.”
“How do you feel about mussels?”
“Go for it. Whatever you think is best.” And if I didn’t like any of it, I could always stop at Taco Bell on the way home. Just sayin’.
He motioned his wait staff over and a server popped up right away. “I’m going to put in an order, David.”
“Yes, sir,” David replied.
Ezra began rattling off a long list of dishes including the mussels, coq au vin and duck confit. Then he added words I recognized—cordon bleu and steak frites. He looked at me, a subtle smile hidden in his beautiful mouth. “Wine?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“And we’ll do a bottle of the Chateau-Grillet.”
David disappeared and I realized I was alone with Ezra Baptiste. In one of his restaurants. At one of his tables.
I didn’t even know how to feel about it. Or what to think! Just a couple months ago, I had been unbearably nervous around the man. I had hated him because that seemed like the safest emotion to feel.
He was Vera’s famous acquaintance. He was Killian’s successful friend. He was Wyatt’s boss.
But he was nothing to me.
And I was nothing to him. Just a person he would recognize in a police lineup should I rob a liquor store while he happened to be in it.
Except lately it didn’t feel like we were such strangers. And hating him didn’t feel safe anymore either. In fact none of the emotions I felt for Ezra felt safe.
But they didn’t necessarily feel wrong either.
Dangerous for sure. But not wrong or safe or comfortable.
“So, be honest, am I asking too much with the mural?”
I tipped my head back and laughed at his question. Was he asking too much? He was always asking too much. “Are you serious?”
He scrunched his guilty face. “I was inspired by that painting you did at Killian’s. I might have come on a little strong.”
Shaking my head at him, I ran my finger through the condensation on my water glass. “You came on strong for the engagement party. Then you came on really strong when you hired me at STS. By the time we got to the mural, I would have been more surprised if you’d have said please and let me say no.”
It was his turn to chuckle. “I’m not used to hearing no.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“Well, to be honest, that doesn’t paint the whole picture. I have heard no. I’ve heard it so many times that I‘m tired of hearing it. Now I do whatever it takes to get a yes.”
His eyes were sincere, lost in memories I could only guess at. Some of his enigmatic energy had settled, gentled. My icy walls continued to melt. The harsh words that always sat on the tip of my tongue when he was around dissolved. I wanted to hear more about him. I wanted to know more. See more.
I want to know all of you.
Maybe he wasn’t alone in that pursuit.
“With your restaurants?” I asked, probing.
He tilted his head back and forth. “Yes, absolutely. Lilou was a massive learning experience for me. Even after my first venture.” He paused and then added, “My ex-wife and I own a restaurant together. Quince. Have you heard of it?”
Ezra seemed calm, but I was suddenly buzzing with nervous energy. I had always remembered that he owned a fourth restaurant, but it was harder for me to remember that he had an ex-wife.
“Yes,” I told him. “I’ve heard of it. Although I haven’t ever been.”
He made a face. “It’s fine. It suits Elena and stays profitable. Nothing I would consider groundbreaking.”
“Elena is your ex-wife?”
He nodded once, but didn’t elaborate. So I should have let it drop and moved onto something else. With anybody else, I would have been too meek to ask direct questions. But with Ezra it was almost like I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know what had happened. I wanted to know everything, not just about his marriage, but about his entire life. I wanted to pry and poke and pester until he confessed it all.
Until I knew everything.
Until I knew him.
“But you still own the restaurant with her?” There, that was nosey as hell subtle.
His expression hardened, thunderclouds rolling in, lightning flashing, tornado sirens wailing. “When I met Elena she was in the process of developing the idea. She was passionate and fiery. She wanted to bring good Mexican food to Durham, but she wanted to do it with old world style. I fell in love with the idea immediately and almost just as quickly with her. We were married six months after we met and once she’d secured my last name and my money, we opened the restaurant together. A year after Quince opened, we divorced.”
The deep sadness in his eyes stabbed at my heart, breaking my chest open for this man and his past so it had room to hemorrhage for him. “It was too hard to run a business together?”
He looked up at me, hitting me with the entire force of his past grief. My breath caught in my throat when he said, “She had an affair with our head chef. They’re married now.” He looked away, thoughtful, subdued. “They have three kids together.”