Page 62 of Honor

“Same to you, asshole,” she whispers.

Her voice is so soft that I’m the only one who can hear it, but I like it. “You tell him, Evie.”

She flashes me a grin before she grabs my hand to yank me out of the truck’s path and back onto the sidewalk across the street.

My hand is dropped before I can enjoy touching her.

“We’re going to Pickled Dish, aren’t we?” A light, breezy laugh accompanies those words. “It’s just around the corner.”

“Busted.” I raise both hands as if I’m surrendering. “I thought you might enjoy sampling their offerings.”

“Oh, I will.” Her eyes widen. “I’m going to order exactly what you did when you sent me here to get hotdogs.”

“I’ll order the same,” I tell her as we round the corner to find a line running outside the door of the popular eatery.

“Oh, shit,” she curses again under her breath. “It looks like we’ll have to wait.”

I don’t mention that the founder of Pickled Dish was a close friend of my grandfather. Back then, the restaurant had a different name, and the menu selection was limited to ten items, but the quality of the food was second to none.

Ownership has passed from one generation to another since, and along with the name change to Pickled Dish, the menu has expanded so it not only satisfies the long time regulars but it attracts new diners.

I could easily cut the line by sending a quick text message to the current owner, who happens to be the founder’s grandson. Pulling strings in this city is easy for me because I’ve built countless relationships from the ground up. Many of them were forged by my grandfather’s connection to the dozens of New Yorkers he met daily.

“I guess the bright side is that we can talk about Randall and Lottie’s wedding gift while we wait.”

And I can stare at her while we do that, so it’s a win-win for everyone.

“We have all the time in the world,” I lie since I have a meeting back at the office in less than an hour.

She stares at my face. “Are you really you, sir?”

I can’t contain a laugh, so I let it out. It’s loud enough to turn the heads of the people waiting in line with us.

She playfully slaps my shoulder. “You know what I mean. The last few days have been nice. Seeing you outside of the office has been eye-opening for me.”

I won’t tempt fate by asking her what the hell that means. I’ll take it as a compliment.

“You do have a meeting at one,” she reminds me. “Do you want me to push it back a bit?”

I don’t want her attention to leave me, but if she does reschedule it, it means more time like this with her. “See if they’re free at two.”

“On it,” she answers as she tugs her phone out of her purse.

She has the client on the phone in no time flat. As they speak, she gives me the thumbs-up, signaling I get an extra hour to spend just with her.

This day just got a hell of a lot better.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Evie

We exit PickledDish at fifteen minutes to two with the intention of parting ways. My boss has a meeting in the financial district, and I’m heading back to the office to carry on with the list of tasks he emailed me this morning.

Surprisingly, not one of them involves me racing around the city finding items for him. Most days, I feel like I’m on a timed scavenger hunt, so this is a welcome break.

“I should be back at the office before you leave for the day,” he says, but his gaze is stuck on something over my left shoulder. “If this meeting runs long, I’ll touch base before quitting time.”

“Quitting time” is a fleeting concept in my world. My contract doesn’t specify a time that my workday ends. That’s always been at Mr. Hunt’s discretion.

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