He didn’t answer, but he did reach for my hand again and led me to the car.
I had missed this, having him close. Having him to lean on. And I was grateful that he had dropped everything to be there for me. “What were you doing when I called?”
“Running.”
I hadn’t expected that answer particularly since I detested the idea of running. “At seven at night?”
“Whenever I can fit it in.”
Green Berets had some serious training requirements; one such requirement was running two miles in something crazy like 12 minutes. That took some serious stamina; well at least it seemed so to me. I researched Green Berets after learning Damian was one. “And after your run what would you have done?”
“Catch the news then sleep.”
“Thank you for coming.”
We reached the car but instead of opening the door he turned into me and touched my chin with his thumb. “What happened to Mrs. Cooke wasn’t your fault.”
“I know.”
His eyes moved over my face and I really liked the way he looked at me. “I want your letters.”
My heart melted. “They’re yours, so absolutely.”
Mrs. Cooke was doing well. A week after her fall and she was home. She didn’t remember much from that night and seemed confused with what she did remember. I didn’t push for answers. I was just happy she was on the mend. Her friend Betty and I were taking turns staying with her so she wasn’t alone. We also thought it best to keep it to just one visitor at a time so we didn’t overwhelm her with us both doting. Betty was on tonight, so I was having dinner with Anton. It was something we started years ago and tried to manage at least once a month. We had agreed on Dahlia’s, and despite him offering to pick me up, I was right down the street. I did, at his insistence, take a cab. I was there before him, so I waited at the bar and ordered a glass of wine. The turning of heads a few minutes after seven meant he had arrived, his focus going around the restaurant until it landed on me. The smile was instant as he moved through the tables.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Only a few minutes.”
“I’ll see about our table.”
“Would you like me to order you a drink?”
“Please, Maker’s Mark, on the rocks.”
He walked to the hostess station and the women in the restaurant followed his every move. I chuckled before ordering his drink.
“Our table is ready.”
He reached for his glass while addressing the bartender. “Add these to our tab.”
He led me through the restaurant, his hand on the small of my back as he maneuvered us through the tables to ours, one tucked in a dark corner.
He held my chair before taking his seat. Gracefully was how he moved when he pulled out the chair and folded his large body into it.
“I’m finally eating at your favorite restaurant.” He looked around. “It suits you.”
He was right; it did suit me because it was quaint, eclectic and artsy.
“The food is amazing,” I added.
“Any suggestions?”
“Everything on the menu is delicious.”
For the next few minutes we looked over the options. The waitress approached, falling over herself to get to Anton. He didn’t even look at her when he placed our orders and requested a bottle of wine and two glasses. Based on her expression, the bottle was clearly an expensive one.
“How’s Mrs. Cooke?”
“She’s good, thank God. It’s so scary. I think she should get one of those alert bracelets. I don’t know how long she was like that and I was home and didn’t know she needed help.”
“That’s probably not a bad idea. I can help you look into it if you want.”
“I’d like that.”
The waitress returned and uncorked the bottle. After pouring a splash, Anton lifted the glass. He had elegant hands, which was deceiving since I knew those hands were capable of some very bad things. He brought the glass to his lips. Something I had seen countless times and yet when he did, it was an elegant motion. He swished the wine around his mouth for a second before lowering the glass.
“That will do.”
The waitress poured a glass for me before topping his off then left the bottle and hurried away.
“Try it. It’s quite good.” I lifted the glass and took a sip and then almost died and went to heaven. My appreciation was clearly seen on my face when Anton smiled. “You like it.”
“Like it? I’d have an affair with it.”
“Damian is looking into what happened to Mrs. Cooke.”
I parroted his comment because I had no idea where it came from. “Looking into what happened to her. What do you mean?”