Page 88 of Pity Play

“Definitely keeping the molding,” he says. “My husband Bob loves all of those touches and he’d murder me if I even suggested changing them. But I still want to hear what you think we can do with the place to make it a little less feminine.”

I spend the next three hours talking ideas with Chip. I fantasize that he’ll give me a credit card like my dad did and tell me to go nuts, but I don’t want to be greedy. I’m just happy to have anything to do with conceptualizing a future for this beautiful home.

After we discuss all of the possibilities, including turning the butler’s pantry into a serviceable bar, and reconfiguring a smaller bedroom upstairs to be used as the master closet, Chip announces, “I’m starving. How would you like to join me for dinner?”

“I don’t want to put you out,” I tell him. I like Chip so much and am really enjoying spending time with him.

I know he’s a kindred spirit when he says, “I’m not cooking. I’m suggesting we go out and eat like civilized people.”

“Then I’m in,” I say happily.

Chip escorts me to the living room sofa. “I’ll just go change and call a car.”

Several minutes later, he comes back and announces, “Bob has a late meeting but said to tell you that he can’t wait to meet you.” He accurately reads the questioning expression on my face, because he adds, “That’s if you’ll take the job.”

I’m about to blurt out that I’ll do it for free, but I manage to keep that information to myself. I’m still going to need money for design school.

Chip leads the way out the front door and down to the waiting Uber. He opens the back door for me before running around and getting in on the other side. Once he’s settled, he gives the driver an address. Then he asks me, “How long are you planning on being in the city?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I tell him. “I have an interview tomorrow.” I don’t tell him it’s at the design school because I don’t want to jinx my chances of getting in. “But I will definitely be here long enough to help you and Bob out.”

He reaches over and takes my hand. “You’re a doll! Trina told us you did amazing work at your parents’ house, and I just know you’re the right fit for us.”

The driver turns onto State Street, and I feel a rush of excitement. When I was little, my mom used to bring me and Noah to Marshall Field’s to meet Santa and to have brunch. It’s a wonderful core memory.

When the car pulls over, Chip says, “I hope you’re in the mood for the best meal of your life.”

“I’m always in the mood for that,” I laugh.

“Good, because as far as I’m concerned, Capon has the best food in town.”

“Capon?” I nearly choke on my own spit.

“Have you heard of it?” He leads the way down the river front path.

“I, um ... have. In fact, the owner is my brother’s best friend.”

“You’ll have to introduce me if he’s there!” Chip gushes. “Bob is going to be so jealous that I met Luke Phillips before him.”

I subconsciously start to walk slower. I have no idea how to act around Luke. The last time I saw him, he refused to so much as let me show him around the Elk Lake Lodge. I mean, he bolted out of there like someone had set fire to his socks.

Chip slows his stride down to the near crawl I’m moving at and asks, “Would you prefer eating somewhere else?”

That’s when I realize that I want to see Luke. I want to show him that I’m in Chicago and I’m doing well. Great, in fact! “No, no,” I say. “Let’s go.”

As we near Capon, I realize that Luke’s restaurant is every bit as impressive as he said it was. There’s no outdoor dining at this time of year, but I immediately know that I’d love to eat here sometime in the summer. You simply can’t beat the river view.

Chip holds the door for me and I walk in. The inside is as gorgeous as the outside. It feels wide open and airy while still giving you the sense that you’ve walked into an intimate setting. I’m going to have to study all the details so I can learn how they’ve managed such a feat.

The hostess is a tall blonde woman that I’m guessing was a super model in her last incarnation. She’s slender and absolutely stunning. I’m instantly jealous.

“Hello,” she greets us with a blinding smile, showcasing her perfect Chiclet teeth. “May I have a name for your reservation?”

“Chip Greenberg,” Chip says.

She looks at her book before picking up two menus. “Please follow me.” She seats us at a table in front of the window. “Your waiter will be right with you. Enjoy your meal.”

Before she can walk away, Chip says, “My friend here knows Luke Phillips. We were hoping we might be able to say hello to him.”

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