Page 173 of Tangled with the Tight End

He smiles at me. Then he lowers his voice so his words are just between us. “One of the things I love about you is how you see the world. You’re not asking for more than it can give. You just show up and find the good. Not many people do that the way you do.”

“Thank you,” I say, my mind tripping over one word.

He said love. It isn’t lost on me.

It’s a turn of phrase, like, You know what I love? French fries.

But he didn’t say it like that. He said what I love about you.

“Do you know what I love about you?” I ask him quietly.

“My shriveled calf?” he teases.

“While that is close to the top of my list … no. I love your thoughtfulness—the way you watch people and really see them. You’re a patient and generous man, Declan.”

That’s just the tip of the iceberg of what I love about him. But it’s all I’m saying for now.

This outfit makes me feel like I ought to restrain myself just a little. For one night, I can be an elegant woman on the arm of a gorgeous man who flew her to another town for dinner. I’m not pretending to be something I’m not. I’m simply aware that my limo will turn into a pumpkin at midnight.

Declan smiles over at me. He holds my hand, running his thumb gently over my knuckles. We steal glances at one another the rest of the flight, smiling and occasionally saying something, but mostly just absorbing this unexpected sweetness between us.

We land at John C. Tune Airport and walk down the stairs to an awaiting car with a different driver.

Declan hired all these people just for tonight. I put all that out of my mind. I don’t like thinking about Declan’s money. I know he has it. He knows it too. But that has nothing to do with why he’s special to me. I’d be just as happy eating pizza on his couch as I am right now.

On the drive to wherever we’re going, I reach over and grab Declan’s hand.

“You went to a lot of trouble for this date.”

“We needed this,” he says. “Especially after being cooped in the house for so long.”

“Sometimes I forget how cooped up you’ve been,” I admit. “I’m running from job to job. By the time I get to your house, it’s a relief—a place to unwind and to see you. But you’re there against your will.”

“Waiting for the moment you show up,” he says.

We both know he’s waiting for much more than that. His return to football is getting closer every day.

We pull up on a main downtown street in front of a historic three-story, dark-red brick town house. The window frames and cornice are black with gold detailing. Two gold lions flank the low gate leading to a black awning that reads The Standard.

When the driver opens my door, I step out and take in the whole area surrounding this almost misplaced townhouse. It’s tucked shoulder to shoulder with a grand limestone building whose towering columns make it resemble a courthouse.

Across the street, a sleek limestone-and-glass civic building is set back on a broad lawn, while farther down the block, century-old painted-brick warehouses and modern glass towers share the skyline.

It's a mishmash of buildings, but somehow, it all works.

Declan reaches me on the sidewalk, placing a careful kiss on my cheek and wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

He smiles down at me. "Ready? Our reservation's at six thirty. We're right on time."

We step inside the old home turned restaurant and social club. My eyes run up the broad carpeted staircase that rises from the entry. I picture someone’s children getting yelled at for sliding down the polished chunky wooden banister toward the foyer a century ago. They would have carried their toys through the framed doorways into a parlor or living room to play at their mother’s feet. Now those rooms are filled with soft lighting over tastefully spaced dining tables covered in white linen.

My heels click across the hardwood floors as the hostess leads us to our table. She takes our coats and hands us menus.

Declan waits for me to take my seat and then he sits in the chair across from me.

I glance over the menu, stiff white embossed cardstock in a leather binding. One side has standard signature dishes. The other is labeled exotic.

“Turtle meat soup?” I say, quietly.