Page 60 of The Contractor's Rose
The restaurant smelled like garlic,grilled lemon, and warm fresh pita. That low, ever-present hum of conversation echoed through the dining room, overpowered by the occasional burst of laughter or clink of cutlery.
The decor and vibes the restaurant gave off should’ve felt homey—comforting. Instead, my stomach was in knots. Tight, anxious, twisted knots that no amount of ouzo or tzatziki could untangle.
I’d been through a lot of tense dinners in my life—property or renovation negotiations, the night I told Vanessa’s parents I wanted to marry her, the night I told Teagan that Vanessa was not coming home. But this? Also right up there, because this dinner had me sweating through my damn undershirt.
Rose had teased me earlier when we were walking in, calling me “calm as a cucumber.”And I laughed, playing it off with some line about how we were all adults and it’d be fine.
But inside? I was seventeen again, aboutto ask a girl’s father if I could take her to prom—except in this case, the girl was the same age as MY daughter, and I wasn’t just taking her out. I was already hopelessly in love with her and ready to change both our lives if she’d let me.
Harry and Stella were already at the restaurant when we walked in, sitting in a wraparound booth in the far back corner. Private and far enough from the bar and main dining area that, if Harry decided to cuss me out or throw his drink in my face, there’d be minimal witnesses.
They’d claimed the left side of the booth, Harry lounging like a man who owned the place—arm draped casually across the top of the booth behind his wife. Stella, poised as ever, was sipping a white wine and scrolling through something on her phone.
The middle and right side were open. Teagan slid in first, probably sensing that Rose needed a buffer. I followed Teagan, and Rose came in last, sliding in beside me and directly across from her parents. Strategically positioned. She was bracing for impact, and I think she assumed that they’d want to do most of the talking. Or interrogating.
“Hey,” I offered as I settled in, giving Stella a polite nod and Harry a tight smile that was more clenched teeth than friendly.
“Evening, Gavin,” Stella said warmly, then turned her gaze to Rose and Teagan. “Rosie, you look lovely. Teagan, I got your email earlier today about that flip in Grandview? The new branding looks fantastic. Looks like you’re settling into your dad’s office well!”
“Thank you,” Teagan said, flashing one of her signature grins. “Had to clean up the grumble of a Word doc Dad sent. The font alone was criminal.”
“Easy,” I muttered, smirking. Although truthfully, I wouldhave let her change just about anything to keep seeing her at the office or on sites like I had the past week. “Roboto has a certain elegance.”
Teagan made a face. “Yeah, if you’re trying to impress a fax machine.”
I grunted a quiet laugh. Stella chuckled. Even Harry cracked a faint smile. It was easy banter. Normal. Comfortable. I could almost forget why we were here.
Talk shifted to the business—upcoming permits, difficult clients, vendors who needed “a little push.” I let the others take the lead, chiming in when needed. Careful not to dominate. Careful not to call attention to myself.
Rose, though … She was silent. She sat perfectly still, smile faint and polite. The only words her parents had said to her so far were “hello” and Harry’s joke of “Is it laundry day?” when he noticed her not-so-typical dress style. It wasn’t meant as a compliment, and I saw the way her spine straightened at the dig.
She looked beautiful. Rose had that kind of quiet strength that made me want to both kiss her and punch a wall for how often people failed to see it.
Chancing it, I slid my hand under the table, resting my palm gently on her thigh. She stiffened immediately, her head turning toward me with a small, startled look. But she didn’t pull away.
I kept my eyes forward. Kept the conversation moving with Teagan and Stella—about details on some garage rebuild—like nothing was different. Like my fingers weren’t wrapped around the soft cotton of her dress, grounding her. Or maybe grounding myself.
The waiter appeared with a pad and a faintly bored expression. “Are we ready to order?”
We went in turn around the table—Stella and Harry ordering first, then Teagan, then me. I kept it simple—souvlaki with fresh pita.
“I will have the choriatiki, please,” Rose requested.
The waiter nodded and began to clear the menus—then, without thinking, I said, “No tomatoes on hers, please.”
A half-second pause—but I felt it. The air shifted, just slightly. Like someone had held a note on the piano too long and everyone was waiting to see if it was a mistake.
Shit.
I looked up in time to catch Stella’s eyebrows raise—not dramatic, but pointed. Teagan’s mouth twitched, her eyes flicking to me, then to Rose. And Rose ... She didn’t look mad. She looked surprised. Maybe even touched.
“Thank you,” she said softly, not quite looking at me.
Stella arched a brow, her gaze bouncing between the two of us like a tennis match. A slow, knowing smile curled on her lips. And then, bless her, Teagan jumped in to break the moment.
She turned toward Rose. “So—how’s the shop coming?”
I owe my daughter whatever she wants,I thought, grateful as hell. She knew exactly what she was doing—giving Rose’s parents a distraction, buying us cover. Letting me off the hook from the inevitable “how do you know she doesn’t like raw tomatoes but will eat her weight in marinara sauce with her mozzarella sticks.”
