Page 12 of Sacrifice
They shake hands, and Doran leads us to a corner booth with a view of the kitchen. "The cook’s making something special tonight. I'll have her send some out."
"How is Revna?" I ask.
Runes' daughter doesn't come around the clubhouse much anymore since marrying into the Irish. Then again, they have an entire life in Jacksonville. I’m honestly surprised Doran is here tonight.
"Fierce as ever," Doran grins. "She’ll make a fabulous attorney once she graduates and passes the bar."
He winks and disappears into the kitchen.
"So you know the owner?" Brandon asks, scanning the menu.
"His wife's father is president of the motorcycle club my dad belongs to." I keep it simple, not mentioning anything else.
"Right. The wedding was... interesting."
There it is. The elephant on the table.
"About that," I start, but he waves me off.
"Water under the bridge. That Emil guy was drunk, you were stressed about the wedding. I get it."
If only he knew Emil was stone-cold sober when he did that.
That the only thing he was drunk on was possessiveness.
"Still, you deserved better," I say.
"Well, you're making up for it now." He reaches across the table, taking my hand. "Three dates in, I'd say we're doing pretty good."
His hand is soft, warm, gentle.
Nothing like Emil's calloused fingers that know exactly how to?—
Stop it.
"Yeah," I agree, forcing a smile. "Pretty good."
We order—salmon for me, steak for him.
The wine is good, the conversation flows.
Brandon tells me about a promotion he's up for, and asks about my work at the boutique downtown.
It's nice. Normal. Everything I should want.
So why do I keep checking the door?
"You seem distracted," Brandon observes as our entrees arrive.
"Sorry. Long day at work." I focus on my food, on him, on anything but the disappointment that
Emil hasn't shown up to ruin this like I expected.
"No problem. Actually, I wanted to ask you something."
My stomach drops.
Please don't let this be a DTR talk.
