“Oh my god, Ezra.”
His chin jerked to the side. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m just as much to blame. I’m hard to put up with. Especially back then. I… I can be closed off, hyper focused on work and you know, all those things that send women running to other men. She… we… I am better because of what happened. Thanks to Elena, I found my love for restaurants. I found a life I am passionate about and a pursuit that I am happy to spend my time chasing. I was angry for a while, but out of that dark time Lilou was born. I asked Killian to take the helm and the rest is history. That was ten years ago. Since then I’ve moved on and now with the three independent restaurants doing so well, it’s hard to be bitter at a time that pressed out so much good.”
“So, Elena still runs Quince?”
“She’s part owner, but she has little to do with the business side of things. She manages the restaurant and I’ve let her keep her menu choices and style. But I’m the reason it makes money.”
There was no arrogance to his tone. It was simple truth.
Our food appeared, carried over by an army of waiters. We moved apart, straightening in our seats and moving cutlery and glasses out of the way to accommodate all the food.
David, the same waiter that had taken our order, explained all of the dishes for my benefit and poured wine. We spent the next ten minutes tasting food, and sipping wine, and having our minds basically blown.
Or at least mine was blown. The food was just as good as when I’d shared that incredible meal with Vera at Lilou, or the extensive menu Wyatt had prepared for the engagement party, or any of the meals Vera had made for me to taste.
“This is incredible,” I moaned with a bite of medium rare steak and thin French fry doused in delicious sauce at the end of my fork. “I know you’re having chef problems, but I’m very sure your kitchen is not suffering.”
He smiled at his plate. When he looked up at me, his eyes were darkened and secretive again. “These are old recipes,” he explained. “The kitchen can serve these with one hand tied behind their back. But I haven’t had a menu change in months. I need someone to step in and take the reins. I need leadership. I need inspiration. I can only do so much.”
Now I understood. “What are you going to do?”
He held my gaze, his confidence never wavering. “I’m going to update my website, develop a kickass social media strategy and paint a fucking gorgeous mural on that wall.” He pointed at said wall. “I’m going to make Bianca irresistible.”
A piece of duck got lodged in my throat and for a second I was positive I was going to need the Heimlich. Which of course would have been too humiliating in front of Ezra and his dining room full of posh customers. The only alternative to having Ezra beat a hunk of poultry out of my windpipe was to just die.
So that’s how my life was going currently.
I reached for my water glass and made a total fool out of myself did what I could to save the situation from complete mortification.
It didn’t totally work. “Are you okay?”
I held up a finger to let him know I needed a minute and continued to gulp the life-saving liquid. It wasn’t my most graceful moment and I might have needed to wipe my mouth with a napkin as soon as it was over, but I survived.
I was a survivor.
“Fine,” I squeaked. “I just didn’t realize… that… I didn’t know that was what I was doing for you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “If you’d known would that have changed anything?”
Did he mean, would I have still demanded that he get out of my way? Obviously. I could only handle so many micromanaging men in my life. Instead, I decided sarcasm was the best policy. “Well, I probably would have tried harder.”
Half his mouth lifted, amused. “Is that so?”
“It is so. Oh, well, I guess we’ll just have to make do with what we have. Which is a not that great to be honest.”
“You’re so full of shit, Maverick.”
Good thing my mouth was empty. His cavalier teasing would have for sure made me choke again. “Yeah, but you like it, Baptiste. You need someone to give you hell lest you continue thinking you’re so special.”
He leaned forward again, his arm reaching to the center of the table. “Oh, so that’s what you’re doing? Driving me crazy to keep me humble?”
I found myself leaning forward too. “Obviously. Is it working?”
“Well, you’re definitely driving me crazy. I’ll get back to you on the humble part.”
“Maybe I need to try harder.”
His expression darkened, his voice dropped, and he became all things irresistible man. “Yes, please.”
Oh my god. Please. One simple, commonplace word, but oh, the power it had over my quivering libido. I might have accidentally orgasmed.
I pulled back, afraid I would start drooling all over the coq au vin. “You’re trouble, Ezra. So much trouble.”
He sat back too, diving his fork into the pot of mussels. “You’re one to talk, Molly the Maverick. You’ve been a hell-raiser since the moment I met you. I’m just trying to keep up.”
His accusation made me pause. That couldn’t be true. I mean, yes we’d fought the first time we met and most of the times we’d been forced to interact since then. But nobody had ever called me a hell-raiser before. Ever.
My senior class had voted me Most Likely to be a Kindergarten Teacher. In college, one of the guys I’d dated had broken up with me because we didn’t fight enough. He’d said I was boring.
I wasn’t a hell-raiser or trouble or difficult in any way. I was nice and easy to get along with. I was shy. I was a pushover.
I was the definition of the friend zone.
“Should we do dessert?” Ezra asked even though we hadn’t made it through half of the food he’d ordered.
“I want to,” I told him honestly. “But I have a ton of work to get to tonight.”
He glanced away and I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or just thoughtful. “Me too actually.”
“Thanks for dinner,” I told him sincerely. “This was so much better than the Hot Pocket I had been planning on.”
He laughed because he thought I had told a joke.
I hadn’t.
“Well, anytime, Molly. I’m happy to save you from Hot Pockets anytime.”
My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “I’ll be back here Saturday morning to start. Does nine work?”