Page 30 of Saving Stella
“Where are we going?” Stella asked as he pulled out of his spot.
“Dinner,” he replied.
“Will Devon and Charley be joining us? That was them who called you, right?”
“Yeah, and no, sorry. They’re still trapped at home, but they’re working on a statement. They said we should go to dinner as the chef is already expecting us.”
“I see.”
If she was disappointed that it was just them, she didn’t show it. In fact, though the ride downtown was silent, it wasn’t awkward like it had been the last time he drove her. He found himself glancing over at her a few times—and caught her staring at him, which made her quickly turn away.
Was she checking him out?
The very idea that she might find him attractive made his mouth go dry. While he was aware that he was good-looking, Stella always acted like she couldn’t wait to get away from him.
Perhaps he was just imagining it, but he did sit up straighter and flex his forearms more as he drove through the streets of Manhattan.
The traffic had built up along the way, but thankfully they quickly found parking a few blocks away and arrived at Petite Louve just on time. The hostess greeted them right away and led them to a private room upstairs, with a table set up for two. The room looked cozy, but Cliff was glad that the lighting was bright to match the modern decor.
“Chef Dominic has taken care of the menu for tonight,” the young woman said as she gestured for them to sit. “But if you want anything else or have any special requests, just ask your servers, and they’ll be glad to accommodate your needs.”
“Thank you,” he said before the hostess left.
“Have you eaten here before?” Stella asked.
“A couple times. The food here is excellent, and unlike the fancy fine dining places in New York, they don’t serve teeny-tiny portions.” He grinned at her. “And if the chef prepared the menu for us, I’m sure it’ll be a treat, plus the service is superb.”
They had barely settled in and unfolded their napkins when a server came and served them each a glass of kir along with an amuse bouche, which looked like a small dessert macaron but actually had smoked salmon mouse inside.
“Oh, my Lord, that’s amazing,” she said. “If that’s just the beginning, then we really are in for a treat.”
Once the plates and glasses were cleared, the servers came back with a few classic French appetizers—foie gras, onion soup, and a light salad, plus a glass of white wine.
“I realized I haven’t thanked you for saving my life,” she said out of the blue.
Cliff’s fork stopped halfway between the plate and his mouth. “It was my job.” He didn’t miss her flinch—or the way his wolf swiped at him with its claws. “But I could have been nicer to you too,” he added quickly. “I’m sorry for being rude.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“So quickly?” He couldn’t help but tease her, especially when her cheeks pinkened so prettily. “Most women would prefer men grovel.”
“Your apology was sincere, there’s no need to grovel,” she said with a quiet chuckle.
“You’re nicer than me.” Maybe even nicer than most people he knew.
“It takes up much less energy to be kind and think the best of people, rather than the worst.” She took a sip of her water. “Though I’m afraid I haven’t been practicing what I preach either.”
“No?”
“I think I’ve been a bit unfair and rude to you too.” She put her water glass down, then peered up at him with those shining blue eyes. “Like you said, it was your job to look after me. If I didn’t like it, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, so … I’m sorry.”
The apology had taken him aback, it took him a few seconds to respond. “It’s all right. I guess I’d be angry and creeped out too if someone were following me around without my knowledge.”
“Truce, then?”
The corner of his lips tugged up on its own. “Truce.”
Before they could say anything else, the server came back with their main course—a sampling of all the restaurant’s best dishes—duck confit, strip steak with Béarnaise butter, seared pork loin, and crispy monkfish, plus a bottle of red wine.