Settling into her car, Charlie fastened her seat belt and plugged her iPod into the docking station. She pressed shuffle and hummed along to Florence and the Machine’s Howl. Just then, beeping from her phone startled her. A text from an unknown number flashed at her. She gave it a cursory glance and decided it must be from her blind date.
Unknown: Good Evening, Ms. Flynn. Your sister gave me your phone number. I look forward to dining with you this evening. I will see you at the restaurant shortly after eight. - D.
Charlie hesitated for a moment but responded.
Charlie: Great. Looking forward to it.
She cringed as she pushed the send button. He sounded like a stuffed shirt. This time “D” must mean “dud.” You so owe me, Mikki!
She traveled forty minutes into the heart of the north shore of Pittsburgh to Thirteen, a restaurant where she would meet this “D” guy. Charlie loved the city at night. Dusk was darkening into evening, and the office buildings speckled the horizon with lit windows. From the looks of the restaurant, she already knew this date would be a vast improvement over the clumsy affair at the pizzeria with Denny. She stepped inside, grateful for her sister’s expensive taste in clothing. Waiting for the host, Charlie scanned the dining space, and it was elegant but not ostentatious.
Mikki raved about this place all the time. It took months to get a booking, but Aaron knew the chef and had pulled some strings to get a reservation for the originally planned double date. It was one of the most popular spots in the Strip District on the cusp of downtown Pittsburgh. It boasted soaring two-story ceilings. The interior displayed an eclectic mixture of exposed brickwork, polished dark woods, and warm leather furnishings.
The friendly host interrupted the tour her gaze feasted on. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Miss. Do you have a reservation this evening?”
Charlie was at a loss; she didn’t even know whose name the reservations were under. What could I possibly be thinking? I don’t even know his last name! God, help me, my life is starting to sound like a country song! Charlie shook her head free of those thoughts. This was no time to channel Carrie Underwood.
Sensing her distress, the host politely inquired, “May I have your name, Miss?”
Charlie nervously offered, “Yes. Sorry. It is Charlotte. Charlotte Flynn. I am here on a blind date.” She bit the inside of her cheek and winced, making a mental note to stop offering up unnecessary details.
Oliver, as his nametag read, scanned the list and glanced up, smiling at her. “Yes, Ms. Flynn, we have you here. We have specific instructions to seat you and bring you some refreshments. Shall we?”
Oliver led Charlie to the second-story opera box that overlooked the bar area. It was a private dining section that normally looked to seat four people, but it was set for two. Oliver politely led her to a spot facing the scene at the bar unfolding below. Charlie graciously took her seat and watched the entertainment. She smiled and thanked the host, and he left her alone, but not for long.
Soon, a sharp looking waiter appeared with a drink and something that resembled a bite-sized appetizer.
“Here you are, Miss. Our Amuse Bouche for the evening is yellowtail, lemon mignonette, apple, and trout roe. Our chef’s pairing this evening is a glass of Laurent-Perrier champagne.” He set the flute in front of her.
Charlie’s eyes grew wide. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and champagne on an empty stomach might be trouble.
The waiter, sensing her hesitancy explained to her, “Chef Costa’s specialty is food and wine pairings. Each of your courses this evening pairs with a glass that complements and draws out the flavors of the dishes. Your dining partner requested the chef’s tasting menu. This is the first of several courses. Please enjoy.”
Charlie took a small sip and quickly decided it was delicious. It was crisp and fresh but well balanced and served with the yellowtail, it was the perfect combination.
She laughed, pondering whether she could land a job as a food critic penning reviews for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette if she couldn’t cut it in the publishing world. She took another sip, mesmerized by the two-story wine cellar she spotted behind the bar. She loved the location Oliver had placed them tonight; floating above the bar like a fly on the proverbial wall.
Charlie let the atmosphere of the restaurant wash away the stress of the day. She closed her eyes and savored the last morsel of the fish. When she opened them, she found Mr. Pearse parting the curtain to the opera box aside. What in the world? How did he track me down here? How dare he interrupt my night!
Charlie eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t look any different than he did at the office today. In fact, he looked sexier than hell. His ink black hair was its usual perfect mess, as though some woman had buried her hands in and tousled it during a moment of passion. Something in his demeanor had the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention. Tension gripped her body as she became acutely aware of the lace at the edge of her underwear. His eyes seared from across the room almost as if he heard her thoughts. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? He kept staring at her, and Charlie finally had to break the mutual stare. She found it impossible to keep up with the level of intensity coming at her from the opera box entrance.
The urge to flee kicked in first, but Charlie gulped another swallow from her glass. Suddenly the need to escape fizzled away like the champagne bubbles that floated to the surface of her flute, giving way to some semblance of courage. With her newfound bravery, she stood up, lifted her chin, and walked over to confront him. Why did he have to be so damned gorgeous?
“Mr. Pearse, if you are here about work, I slid those reports you requested into your mail slot before I left for the day. Didn’t you find them?”
His sapphire gaze pierced her brave front, but he offered no response.
Charlie started to speak again, her voice wavering. “What are you doing here, Mr.—”
And then it happened. She stopped midsentence; her breath caught in her throat. He walked toward her, grasped her hand in his, and looked into her eyes. “Good evening, Ms. Flynn, I don’t believe we have been properly introduced. My name is Declan Ryan Pearse, and I will be your date this evening.”
“Are you crazy?” Charlie seethed.
“Well, I had this reservation for a not so blind date. And I am fairly certain I am not mentally unstable. Sounds a bit better than crazy, don’t you think?” Declan kept hold of her hand and grinned.
Smart-ass. Charlie decided to play along. “Charlotte Flynn, but most people call me Charlie.”
Declan released her hand. “And now that we have been formally introduced—Charlotte, Declan—” he said, pointing first at Charlie and then to himself, “will you dine with me?” He motioned her to return to the cozy table set for two.
Charlie swallowed hard. “Why should I?”
“Because I promised Aaron that I would show you a good time. Because you look so lovely sipping that champagne, but I know you have had little, if anything to eat today.” His gaze flicked over her. “Because I want to enjoy a wonderful meal with an intelligent, intriguing, and yet infuriating woman. So many reasons, Ms. Flynn.”
“But I really don’t know you. Yes, I know you are Kellan’s brother, and you now have his job, but you could still be some stalker or psycho or something in your spare time.” Charlie bit her lower lip in nervous frustration.
Declan chuckled darkly. “I am very busy with my new position in the Pittsburgh office, Ms. Flynn. I have absolutely no time to pursue a second line of work as a peeping Tom or a serial killer, I assure you.”