Page 37 of Taking A Chance

“Here we are,” he says. He brings us to a small two-person booth, and motions with his hand for me to sit on one side. He sits on the other and adjusts his jacket.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“Do you like blues?”

“Yes,” I whisper, not wanting to be louder than the rest of the noise in the room, which isn’t very loud at all.

“Good,” he says. “This is a speakeasy. It was renovated a while back, expanded to include more seating and a stage.”

“What’s the name of it?”

“It doesn’t have one. I mean, technically I guess it has one somewhere on paper for tax purposes, but it doesn’t have one as far as people know. You either know about this place or you don’t. It’s not advertised anywhere. Total word of mouth,” he whispers.

“Wow.” I pick up the small menu in front of us. It only has a few options. I imagine, like most upscale places, the limited menu aids in making sure quality is the most important thing. Too many items to worry about and it becomes something else entirely.

A waiter comes by to take our drink orders and Declan insists on ordering for me. Somehow, it doesn’t come off as domineering or alpha, which I appreciate. He’s sweet about it. Cute, even.

I agree and then sit back, listening to him speak with the younger guy taking our order. He chooses a vodka-based signature cocktail for me and a steak dish, and I have zero complaints. He also asks for a basket of bread for the table and again, no objections from me.

“Sorry, I just love the bread here. They bake it fresh,” he says.

“I love bread too,” I say, jokingly pinching my side. “As you can see.”

Declan narrows his eyes, clearly not amused by my self-deprecating joke. “Um, you’re beautiful.” He clasps his hands over mine on top of the table, leaning in much closer. “And, if you like bread, you should eat the fucking bread.” His voice is low and playful. Then he winks.

Oh shit.A man after my own heart.Wait. Heart? No, probably not.I shake away the thought, feeling it hit all too seriously, which is insane.It’s just bread, Cora. Calm down.

The waiter delivers said bread and our drinks just as a three-person band takes the small stage and plays the first few notes. The music is sad and passionate. A man with a deep gritty voice sings of heartbreak. I feel the emotion deep in my soul as I take a sip of my drink, and then I reach for a slice of the bread in the basket.

Declan turns in his seat toward the band for a few minutes and then back to me, studying my face.

“They’re very talented,” I remark, still keeping my voice low.

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t like to brag, but I know all the best places in the city for this kind of experience.”

“Oh you do, huh?” I bite into my bread again. It’s warm and soft, and possibly the best restaurant bread I’ve ever had.

“My clients tend to be upscale people. They want to meet in upscale places. I have the privilege of holding onto a few luxuries from their universe.” He takes a sip of his bourbon, the amber colored liquid hitting his lips and leaving a wet trail behind when he sets his glass back down. I don’t even drink bourbon, but I find myself tempted to have a taste, to lick the remnants from his mouth. Good god, woman. Get a grip.

“I’ll have to remember that for when I need to lay it on thick with one of my own clients,” I say, attempting to get back on track from my distracted and quite frankly terrifying thoughts.

“I’ll definitely help you out if you ever need it,” he says, lending a wide smile with his response.

The waiter comes with our food, and everything looks like it’s ready to be photographed for a damn culinary magazine. “Wow,” I exclaim, when he walks away. “This looks amazing.”

“It tastes better than it looks if you can believe it,” he says.

I cut through my steak and it’s like butter. So soft and perfectly red in the center. Even if this is a terrible date, I will forever be grateful I know about this place now.

Several bites in, Declan breaks the silence. “When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?’

I stop mid-bite, thrown off for a moment by his random question. But then I think about it, searching back to my childhood years. “For me, it changed a lot, but what I remember most is wanting to live on a farm. I wanted to raise chickens and goats, maybe even a cow.”

Declan studies my face, appearing to be surprised by my admission. “That’s not what I expected you to say but I like it.”

“What did you want to be?” I ask, as I cut another bite from my steak before eating it.

“An astronaut,” he replies. “I think like, half of all boys dream about being one at some point so it’s not exactly original.”

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