Page 68 of Beautiful Broken Love

“I shouldn’t have made a move on you,” he said. “That’s my fault.I’msorry.”

“No. It’s fine. Honestly. Like I told you, I wanted it.” It really was fine. What kind of person would I have been to regret beingdevouredby Deke Bishop? I loved every damn second of it. Hell, I couldn’t stop thinking about it since leaving the rooftop.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.

“It’s Sunday, so not much. I’ll probably clean, get groceries, and do a little laundry.”

He huffed a laugh. “You sound like my mama.”

“What? Sundays are my reset days.” I tugged at one of the drawstrings of my hoodie while biting a smile. “Why do you ask?”

“I wanna take you to brunch.”

“Brunch?”

“What? You don’t like brunch?” He chuckled.

“Oh, I love brunch. Tish and I go for it at least every other week.”

“Well, there’s this spot a friend of mine owns in Charlotte. Great food. Bottomless mimosas. It’s a pretty big deal. She has private spaces designated for people like me and my guests so we can park and eat in peace. I’ll drive to Charlotte early if you’ll join me.”

“Oh, um ...” I bit into my bottom lip.

“It’s just brunch, D,” he reminded me with a smooth laugh. “No rooftop cabanas. I promise.”

I laughed at that, then said, “Okay. We can do brunch.”

“Yeah?” There was a lilt to his voice. I could tell he was smiling.

“Yeah. I’ll be there. Just let me know the time and place.”

“All right, cool. I’ll text you the info. I love that I can say that now, by the way.”

I laughed again. “If you’re driving to Charlotte, you better get some sleep, then, Bishop.”

“My head is already hitting the pillow, D-Baby.”

I busted out laughing at yet another nickname created by him. “Good night, Deke. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Davina.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

DAVINA

Manhattan Rose was a gorgeous restaurant inspired by its first location in Manhattan, New York.

There were only four franchises across the United States thus far, and one just so happened to be located in Charlotte and owned by a culinary chef named Leticia Brent.

After checking in with the valet, I stood in front of the castle-like building, bringing the strap of my purse to my shoulder. The exterior was made of gray cement, and there were three levels, with the upper two having balconies. According to my research, there was also a rooftop with seating and a full bar. Hey, at least there were no cabanas.

When I walked inside, I was greeted with a rush of cool air. Crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling that seemed endless, and the roof was made of glass. Trees with leafy green tops were spread out like columns, and sofas were inside, occupied by waiting guests. It was like the outdoors had been brought indoors in elegant fashion.

Stairs with black railing led to the upper floors, and when I checked in with the hostess, she guided me to the second level and rounded a corner to a private area, and that’s when I saw him.

Dressed in a lavender linen shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of oxford shoes, Deke stood next to an older woman in a black chef’s uniform, who was laughing at something he was saying.

Two gold chains hung from his neck, per usual, and there was a small gold hoop earring in one ear and a diamond stud in the other. The lavender shirt was a soft color, but it took nothing away from the masculinity that practically leaked out of his pores. If anything, I found him evensexierfor wearing it. I knew a lot of men who were afraid of wearing pastels publicly, but not Deke Bishop. Of course he wasn’t.

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