Page 7 of About That One Night
“He kicked you out, just like that?” I ask, my jaw clenching. The thought of Tom putting her out on the streets, knowing she had tenants in her property and she’d be practically homeless, makes my blood boil. I’m going to obliterate him or at least make sure he can’t walk for the next few months. How dare he?
Zoe shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but I can see the hurt in her eyes. “Yeah, he did. It doesn’t matter, though. I’ll find something soon and leave my parents’ place.”
I nod, the gears in my mind already turning, wondering if there’s any apartment available in my building. If not, I’ll figure out something. I glance at her with concern. She looks fine now, but the weight of the breakup will hit her soon, and I don’t want her to be alone when it does. At least tonight, I’ll make sure she has a good meal and maybe figure out a schedule so I can keep her busy. I don’t want her to feel lonely anymore.
“Tonight, we’ll have dinner. We’ll enjoy the food and not think about him,” I suggest, offering her a chip with guacamole. “You deserve a break.”
Zoe smiles again, this time a bit more genuinely,and takes the chip. “Rain check? I really have to finish something before tomorrow.”
“Fine, I’ll bring the food to you again, but that’s your last excuse,” I say.
This is the least I can do for my best friend. Look after his sister-in-law so he can enjoy his newlywed life.
Chapter Four
Zoe
So much forrejecting Max’s invitation. The guy is insistent. After two days of him bringing dinner to my office, I realized he wouldn’t give up. There’s something to be said about a man who won’t take no for an answer when he’s trying to be charming—except when you’re trying to get rid of a telemarketer.
As we step into the bustling restaurant, the atmosphere envelops us. The air is thick with the aroma of gourmet dishes,jazz music, and the soft buzz of conversation. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the elegant dining room, where patrons in evening wear sip wine and lean in close over candlelit tables.
Despite the crowd of people waiting, their faces a mix of impatience and hunger, the maître d’ greets us with a polished smile. With a graceful gesture, he sweeps aside his tablet and steps out from behind his podium.
“Mr. McCallister,” he says with some sort of respect—or maybe even fear. Then he glances at me and gives me a bright smile. “Miss Harper, welcome to Beacon’s Table. Your table is ready. Please, follow me.”
Murmurs ripple through the waiting crowd as we pass the area. Max’s hand finds mine, his grip warm and secure. He leads the way, his confident stride and broad shoulders parting the sea of people like a ship’s prow through water. I follow in his wake, acutely aware of the eyes upon us.
We’re guided through the main dining area, where the gentle notes of a jazz quartet mingle with the clink of fine china and crystal. As we weave between tables, I catch glimpses of sumptuous dishes and hear snatches of animated conversation.
Max’s hand remains firmly clasped around mine, as if he’s afraid I might slip away in the crowd. This place is the epitome of luxury—high ceilings with intricate moldings, walls adorned with tasteful art, and an air of exclusivity that makes me feel both thrilled and slightly out of place.
We reach our table, a cozy nook by the windowthat offers a stunning view of the city lights twinkling in the distance. The table is set with crisp white linens, gleaming silverware, and a single purple rose in a slender vase. Max steps ahead, pulling out my chair with a flourish.
“Madame,” he says with a playful wink, gesturing for me to sit.
I settle into the plush seat, feeling a warmth spread through me at his gentlemanly gesture. As Max takes his seat across from me, his eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
Sure, he told me to dress fancy because he had scored us a table at one of the finest places in Beacon Hill, but this is just a nice dinner with a friend, right?
“You look absolutely radiant tonight, Zoe,” he says softly, his gaze never leaving mine.
I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks at his compliment. “So glad that you agreed to take the evening off from work—or your family’s nonsense.” Max leans in slightly, his voice low and reassuring.
“Of course, I can’t say no to a free fancy dinner with afriend,” I remark, making sure I’m not misreading him or the situation.
His eyebrow cocks in confusion, but then the maître d’ hands us two menus. “Your wine list should be here shortly, but you can check the entrées.” He nods toward the elegantly bound leather folder. “Every item can be modified according to your dietary restrictions. The chef is ensuring there’s no cross-contamination in the kitchen, as per Mr. McCallister’s request.”
I glance at Max, a wave of admiration washingover me. This level of consideration is something I’m not used to. With Tom, I’d always play it safe—grilled chicken and steamed veggies—while he indulged in more exciting fare. That’s been the story of my life: bland food and people assuming I’m just as boring. They take the whole “you are what you eat” thing far too seriously when it comes to me.
But here, with Max, it’s different. He’s taken the time to ensure I can enjoy the meal without worry, and it touches me deeply.
“Thank you,” I say softly, meeting his gaze. He shrugs it off as if it’s nothing, but the gesture means the world to me.
“Of course, Zoe. I want you to enjoy this evening as much as I do,” he replies, his eyes warm and sincere.
“You’re sure I can order anything and it’ll be safe?” I ask hesitantly. Part of me still expects the waiter to return with bad news, apologetically informing us that all the chef can manage is boiled green beans.
Max leans in, his eyes twinkling with a mix of flirtation and seriousness. “One of these days, you’ll learn to trust me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low and warm.
