Page 27 of The Encore Effect

A giggle bubbled past her lips in the first truly free laugh he’d heard from her in years. The sound unlocked something inside him, clockwork gears, rusty with disuse, whirring to life, slowly, slowly, as though they’d forgotten how to spin but grasped at the memory.

“What is this place?” she asked in an awe-tinged whisper.

“Welcome to the Prickly Pear.” A young woman with wide cheekbones and gold-blonde hair twisted into a high bun filled their water goblets, flashing a gap-toothed smile. “I understand you’ve ordered the chef’s tasting menu for the evening.”

Kat’s attention snapped to him, the charm of the restaurant dimming in her surprise. “You did?”

He gave a tight nod, wanting to see the joy flit across her face again, the sparkle he used to know so well.

“Your first course will be right out,” the server said, excusing herself.

“You ordered for me?” Kat asked.

“For us.”

She huffed. “That was presumptuous.”

“I know what you like.”

She pressed her lips together and busied herself with unfolding her linen napkin, spreading it in her lap. “This is not a date.”

It was Beckett’s turn to be surprised. “Didn’t say it was.”

“You made reservations.”

“We both need to eat.”

“How did you know I wouldn’t eat before the photo shoot?”

As if on cue, her stomach gave another loud gurgle. Beckett arched a knowing eyebrow at her. “You don’t eat when you’re nervous.”

She scoffed. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Because you don’t like people looking at you.”

She shook her head, smoothing her hands over the napkin again. “No one’s going to be looking at me. They’re all going to be looking at you.”

“I was looking at you.” His statement hung in the air between them, a fine mist of a confession with nowhere to settle. He tilted his chin to indicate her outfit. “Looking like that… they’ll all be looking at you.”

Her nostrils flared, and she shook her head, avoiding meeting his eyes. “That sounded very date-like.”

“Just an observation.”

“Here we are,” the server practically sang as she reappeared at their table, setting down a series of plates, explaining the menu as she went. An artful arrangement of cheese and crackers, dried fruits and nuts, all drizzled with sticky, sweet honey. A whorl of white, yogurt or cheese or some kind of sauce, topped with jewel-tone roasted beets and bright pickled onions, perfectly toasted crumbles of bread, a sprinkle of fragrant herbs. Two thick rounds of fried corn masa topped with flaky white fish, pumpkin seeds, and some kind of chunky green salsa. Slices of perfectly cooked steak atop a dark eggplant puree, topped with radishes, crisp white ringed with pink, and a dusting of finely chopped nuts.

Kat’s eyes grew wide as she examined the dishes, each more beautiful than the last. He thanked the server, giving her a smile he hoped was friendly, then picked up his fork and speared one of the golden beets. “Dig in,” he said before popping it into his mouth.

He watched as she carefully assembled the perfect bite—a bit of seeded cracker, a smear of soft cheese, a honey-dipped almond. Her red lips closed around it as her lashes lowered to half mast, a low guttural moan slipping free. The sound dragged along his skin, twined around his ribs and tugged. He wanted to hear it again and again, to watch her savor every last bite if it meant watching that pleasure bloom on her face, the swipe of pink appearing on her cheekbones as she realized the sound she’d just made.

“Good?” he asked, his mouth dry.

Her tongue shot out to lick the honey from her lips, but the loose, languid pleasure melted from her face, replaced by the all-too-familiar tension she carried whenever he was near.

“Look, Beckett, I think we need to establish some rules.”

“What kind of rules?”

“If we’re going to do this for the next month—”