Page 69 of Make My Heart Malt

“Tony,” I grit through my teeth. “Really. It’s fine.” Iturn to Kelly. “It’s fine. Whatever room you have will work.” Today is supposed to be a good day. I don’t want the bad karma of getting someone fired hanging over my head. Plus, this isn’t her fault. She’s only doing her job.

“I’m sorry. I swear I booked two rooms,” Tony says to me.

“Being a suite, the room does offer a pullout couch outside the bedroom,” Kelly offers.

“Great! Sounds perfect.” I’m trying to stay optimistic in this entire situation, but sharing a hotel room with Tony was not on my to-do list for the day.

“You take the bed, and I’ll take the couch,” Tony says.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I insist. This is my fault. I’ll take the couch.” He flashes me a sympathetic smile.

After checking in, we head to the twenty-fifth floor. When we enter our suite at the end of the hallway, the bright, natural sunlight shines in through the enormous wall of windows facing Lake Michigan. The view is absolutely breathtaking. The bellhop follows us inside and deposits our luggage in the bedroom. I almost correct him, but it’s not worth the hassle. We can move our suitcases later.

Tony plops down on the couch and throws his arms over the back. “We have a couple of hours until we need to meet Isabella?—”

“I have to get ready!”

“For the next hour and a half?”

“Yes! I need to freshen up, pick out my outfit, and make sure I have all my questions.” I spin around and dash into the bedroom. I move Tony’s suitcase to the other side of the door, then close it behind me.

I rummage through my entire suitcase and try on every different outfit combination imaginable. Once that’s done,I do the same with the shoes. I finally settle on black skinny jeans with gray wedge booties and a cream blouse. I style my hair in a half updo with loose curls. An hour later, I emerge from the bedroom, and Tony’s still sitting on the couch. His suitcase is sitting next to the armrest, and he’s looking at his phone. He’s changed into a fresh, black button-down shirt, but kept the same jeans.

The clacking of my boots on the tile floor draws his attention. He glances up, dropping his phone to his lap. “Wow. You look stunning.”

“Thank you. I need to make a good impression for Isabella.”

“Well, she won’t be the only one left speechless.” His gaze wanders down the length of my body and lands at my feet. “Shall we?”

Even though the restaurant is only two blocks away, we opt to request an Uber since it’s windy and twenty degrees outside. The car stops at the curb in front of a large, dark brown building with floor-to-ceiling windows. Back lit letters stick out from the side of the building spelling out Poco Grande. Tony holds the front door open for me, and we walk inside. The dark brown flooring matches elegantly with the cream drapes. The maître d’ greets us and checks our coats before showing us to the private bar section where Isabella is waiting.

My heart pounds in my chest as my palms grow clammy. No matter how many times I wipe them on my jeans, it’s futile. I’m a giant ball of anxiety, nervousness, and excitement all rolled into one. I pray I don’t make a giant ass out of myself.

When we reach the bar, Isabella is standing on the other side pouring a drink into two glasses. My hands shake as spots dot my vision. I inhale a deep breath, willing myself not to pass out. When she notices us, she looks upand smiles. Oh god, she smiled at me. I give her what I think is a bright, beautiful smile, but if I had to guess, it resembles a Chandler Bing smile.

“Hi. Welcome to Poco Grande.” She slides the two glasses in front of us. “Tony. Always a pleasure to see you.”

Tony nods. “Likewise.”

Isabella turns to me. “You must be Dessa?” She holds out her hand.

My cheeks grow warm. She knows my name! “Hi! Yes!” I say entirely too cheerfully. Tone it down, Dessa. Discreetly, I wipe my palm on my jeans before reaching up to shake her hand.

“Please take a seat. I’m so happy you two could come.” She gestures to the two stools in front of her.

Tony pulls out my stool, and I take a seat. “I am a huge fan.” Let the fangirling commence. “I have all your books. Your show is always on my TV. I even have your mixology set.”

She rests a hand on her chest as pink tints her cheeks. “Thank you so much. I’m so honored.”

I made Isabella Rossi blush. “No. Thank you. Would it be weird if I asked you to sign my arm so I can get it tattooed later?”

She laughs as if I’m joking. I’m not, but I play along and laugh as well so she doesn’t think I’m a stalker on the brink of tracking down her phone number and home address.

“I do have a brand-new book that comes out next week, and I’d be happy to give you a signed copy.”

I’ve died and gone to cocktail heaven. Best. Day. Ever. “That would be amazing! Thank you!” I glance at Tony with the widest smile on my face. He’s watching me intently with a half smile of his own. I turn my attentionback to Isabella. “What is this drink?” I point at the glass in front of us.

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