Page 104 of Love Me Tomorrow

With the lights turned down to set the atmosphere, it’s tough for me to make out everything. The color of Savannah’s dress melds with the hue of her hair, and my brother’s suit and tie combo appear to be a wash of a singular shade, giving his head a bit of a floating appearance. The Headless Horseman effect in the middle of July.

Good times.

Clearing my throat, I grab the leather-bound menu and slide it open with my thumb. Savannah wasn’t wrong—everything sounds great. And, honestly, it makes me wonder if the new ERRG hotel opening next door to Inked will end up having a restaurant like this one. Best to hope not, since I’d probably find myself heading over there for lunch and dinner, maybe both.

When the server comes around to take our drink and appetizer order, we settle on a bottle of red wine for the table and a virgin margarita for Lizzie. The wine comes a few minutes later, and no surprise there, it looks brown.

My version of red.

I drain half from my glass and try to rule with my head and not my heart. I’m nervous as fuck, yeah, but Savannah is right: Gage is my brother, my only family, and he’s not going to judge me for something that I can’t change.

And even if I could miraculously fix my vision now, at the age of thirty-six, I’m not sure that I would. A decade ago, my answer probably would have been different, I’m sure, with a resoundinghell yesloud enough so all the folks in the back of the room could hear me. If I weren’t colorblind, I wouldn’t have had to teach myself everything I know about tattooing; I could have trusted people to have my back instead of looking at me as a lawsuit in the making if they took me on.

Then again, would I have been so determined to succeed—to be better than everyone else—had I been justlikeeveryone else? I’m not so sure that would have been the case, and I’m not willing to rewrite history and give it a go.

Like I told Savannah, there is never a sliding scale when it comes to memories or life experiences. And with things as are they are now, I would never risk all that I’ve gained for the chance atwhat if.

The appetizers come, and the four of us pounce on them like it’s the last supper. The boudin ballsareorgasmic, and I go for a fried, green tomato with so much vigor, I nearly scald my tongue.

“It’s delicious,” I tell Savannah, once they’ve taken away our empty appetizer plates. “Seriously, I’ve never tasted anything better.”

She reaches out across the table, breaking Debutante Protocol, I’m sure, to grip my hand in hers. A satisfied smile curls her lips. “Thank you. This is the menu that Dufrene—he’s the chef who made the crawfish dumplings that you tried—and I have worked on the hardest. When a restaurant is 131 years old, it’s hard to keep it modern while still maintaining a sense of heritage and tradition.”

I stare at her, aware that Gage and Lizzie are listening in, but unable to stop myself from murmuring, “You love it.”

She lifts one bare shoulder, and there’s just enough light for me to tell that she’s wearing some sort of lotion. It glows with a subtle sheen, making her skin look dewy. “I do.” For a moment, she drops her gaze to the table before looking at me again. “I used to love being in the restaurants, especially this one. Rose & Thorn has always been my favorite. You canfeelthe history when you walk in. Upstairs, in one of the old offices, we have menus going as far back as 1922.1922!” Her eyes brighten with unrestrained excitement. “Back in high school, I spent a single month organizing all of them. I wanted to put them on display, somewhere that patrons could stop by and see them too. I-I felt so much pride, so much happiness, at knowing I was making someone’s day a little better by stopping by and telling them our story. The Rose story, I mean.”

“And you stopped telling that story?” I prod, digging for more information.

“The pitfalls of climbing the corporate ladder, I guess. I spend more time behind my desk than mingling with guests nowadays.”

I squeeze her hand. “Then maybe you need to get back to what makesyouhappy. Watching you, listening to you just now—this place has your passion. It might not be your only passion, but it clearly has it still in spades.”

A contemplative look sweeps over her face before the servers come back around with our entrees. We feast like kings, and my waistband protests every step of the way. By the time we’re done, and Lizzie is commenting on how she can’t afford to outgrow her current maternity clothes so close to the birth, we look like stuffed turkeys ready for Thanksgiving dinner.

“Chloe told me you were here, but I didn’t believe her.”

I start at the heavy masculine voice booming from behind me, then watch as a guy wearing a chef’s coat dips low to kiss Savannah’s cheek. I mostly remember his face from when I burst into ERRG’s conference room, and when he turns my way, it’s clear he’s recalling the same moment.

He sticks out a hand. “Harvey, right? The one who made Savannah blush.”

The woman in question darts out an arm to punch the chef in the side. “Dufrene, don’t embarrass me.”

“Can’t have that,” he says, grinning, “or you’d fire me and this whole enterprise would come crumbling down. ERRG wouldn’t survive without me.” His gaze sweeps over the rest of the table, stopping on Gage. “Jesus, there are two of you.”

Gage throws his head back at that, sticking out a hand for the chef to shake. “Gage. I’m the better-looking one.”

Dufrene’s expression doesn’t even budge. “I’d dispute that but y’all don’t have the necessary downstairs equipment for me to be making those sorts of judgment calls.” He turns to Lizzie. “I’m assuming you belong to the alleged better-looking twin?”

Lizzie’s smile is all female satisfaction. “I think it’s safe to say that he belongs to me.”

Gage reaches for her hand. “Damn right I do.”

Standing up, Savannah pushes her chair back. She cuts a sharp glance my way, and my heart—lulled by the good wine and the even better tasting food—trips over itself. Guess that means it’s show time. “Dufrene, care to give Lizzie and me a tour of the Hummingbird Room?” To Lizzie, she adds, “You’ll love it. Rose & Thorn has twelve dining rooms in total, not including this one, but the Hummingbird Room is my absolute favorite. When news of D-Day hit N’Orleans, my grandfather decided to close its doors in commemoration of the fallen soldiers. We haven’t used it since, so it’s a bit of a walk back in time. Everything is exactly the same as it was then, from the utensils set on the table to the crystal ware.”

I note Gage’s brows shooting up with interest. “I’d love to see that. I’m a huge military history buff.”

Eyes wide, Savannah clears her throat. “Next time, maybe? We only let a few people in at once.”

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