“Good evening, Miss Clarke,” he said.
“Hi. It’s Henry, right?”
“Yes ma’am. Ben’s asked me to bring you to him at Prime Bistro. I’ve heard the food is great there.”
“Thank you, Henry.”
We rode in silence the reminder of the way while soft classical music played in the background. I watched the city come into view from the window, the skyline rising up in front of me, taking my breath away. The high-rises cast glittering reflections on the river while the sun sunk from view in the background. Coupled with the calming music in the otherwise quiet interior, the car was relaxing.
When we arrived at Prime Bistro Henry helped me from the car and I spotted Ben right away, waiting for me just inside the restaurant’s entrance.
He was dressed in gray dress pants and a white button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves, a wool jacket resting over his arm. I wondered if he’d worked today and if he’d seen Fiona, but all thoughts of her dissipated when he pulled me snuggly into his arms and pressed a kiss to my mouth.
“Hi, baby.” He smiled down at me and all was right with the world.
“Hi,” I returned, breathless from his tender and sweet kiss.
Ben took my hand, lacing his fingers between mine, and led me to our waiting table.
The restaurant was small and intimate, with a glowing stone fireplace at its center; creaky wood-plank floors were dotted with linen-covered tables. The aroma of fresh-baked bread and roasted meats permeated the air. A mouthwatering combination, if my reaction was any indication.
“This place is nice,” I commented as Ben helped me into an oversized red leather booth in the back.
“It’s great. I take my mom here anytime she comes to New York. She and I used to come here when I was a kid.” Ben spread his arms across the back of the booth, looking quite comfortable and happy to show me a place from his childhood.
It was nothing like the kid-friendly restaurants my parents had taken me and my brother, Porter, when we were kids. This wasn’t a peanut-shells-on-the-floor-with-a-play-set-in-the-back kind of place. The kind of place with those horribly sticky vinyl plastic tablecloths and grubby plastic menus, where you could be confident kids wouldn’t mess up anything. I was often reminded of how different Ben’s upbringing was from mine.
When the server appeared, we ordered drinks, a glass of red wine for me and a gin and tonic for him.
“How was your day? Did you work?”
He squeezed the wedge of lime into his drink and took a sip. “Yeah, swimsuit shoot. Went well, but it took longer than expected and I’m starving.”
Warm bread was delivered to our table and I buttered a slice for Ben, sliding the saucer toward him. “Here. Eat.”
“Food pusher,” he murmured under his breath, but one side of his mouth quirked up in a smile.
I buttered a slice for myself next and took a bite. I had to physically suppress my moan, the bread was so good. Crusty on the outside and warm and soft in the center. I hadn’t had bread like this since Paris. Ben’s eyes lifted and locked on mine. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. We’d shared so many amazing times together in Paris and I didn’t want those memories to be overshadowed by the bitter way things had ended, with Fiona sending me packing in an attempt to keep Ben all to herself.
“What did you do today?” he asked, taking another sip of his drink.
“I looked for jobs all day. Applied to a couple of assistant positions for firms downtown.” I’d packed Ellie’s lunch before she’d left for work, too, a small sort of peace offering for all my erratic behavior lately. But I knew that’d just earn me another chuckle from him for being a food pusher.
“Any modeling agencies?” he asked, helping himself to a second slice of bread.
I nibbled on the bread in front of me, wondering if that was a twinge of jealousy I’d heard in his voice. He couldn’t possibly think that other male models would be interested in me. “No,” I confirmed. My adventures in the modeling world were done. I couldn’t handle the egos, the cattiness. “Investment banks, advertising agencies, places like that.”
He nodded, looking mildly relieved.
The server came by and we placed our order. Grilled salmon for Ben and a chicken Caesar salad for me.
I couldn’t help the burning questions still in my head. I wanted to move forward with him, but before I fully could, I knew I needed more answers. I took a sip of my wine for fortification. “Ben . . .”
“Hmm?”
“Was that the only, uh . . . time that Fiona spent the night with you in Paris?”
He reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb rubbing the back of my knuckles. “Yeah, baby. It was just that one time. She was sobbing and upset, so I couldn’t turn her away. I promise you, it wasn’t a regular occurrence.”