Page 76 of Butcher & Blackbird
“No, Sloane,” he says. “I’m taking you home. To Boston.”
19
RESERVATIONS
SLOANE
“Oh my God. It’syou.”
I look to my right where Lark stands at my side, expecting that this is probably a fangirl moment. Lark might be signed with a smaller indie record label, but she still has a significant following and it wouldn’t be the first time she was recognized while we were out together.
But when I return my gaze to Meg the Hostess, she’s staring straight back at me.
Flame engulfs my cheeks. “Umm…hi…?”
“I’m so sorry. When you came the last time, I totally got sidetracked and forgot to tell Rowan.” Meg’s pretty blue eyes widen as she shakes her head. “I still feel terrible.”
“Well, I hadn’t made a reservation, so you have nothing to apologize for.”
“But you have a standing reservation at3 In Coach,” Meg says with a sweet, knowing smile. She pulls a thumbtack from her podium and passes me a sheet of paper.
Table twelve is PERMANENTLY RESERVED for:
- any reservation under the name Sloane Sutherland
- a beautiful, black-haired woman with hazel eyes and freckles, 5’8”, probably alone, shy, looks like she wants to run
Inform Rowan immediately of any reservations under this name or any guests fitting this description.
And then, in red text as though it was added at a later date:
IMMEDIATELY. I AM NOT FUCKING AROUND.
The word ‘IMMEDIATELY’ is underlined six times.
“That’s so cute,” Lark says as she lays her chin on my shoulder and reads the note, pointing to the red text. “It sounds like he’s going to cut people up for you. That’s so Keanu-mantic.”
I snort a laugh as I pass the paper back to Meg. “First of all, Keanu–mantic is so not a word. Secondly, Keanu doesn’t cut people up in a red-flag romantic kind of way.”
“He does in John Wick.”
“Sure. For adog. I wouldn’t call that romance, Lark.”
Lark shrugs before she beams a smile at Meg. “Table for two, please, for Sloane Sutherland, black-haired, freckled, 5’8” beauty who looks like she wants to run.”
Meg takes two menus from her podium and grins as she motions us forward. “Follow me. I’ll let the Chef know you’re here as soon as you’re seated.”
Lark squeaks and grips my wrist as we follow Meg to the booth I sat in the last time I was here over a year ago. She can probably feel my pulse hammering into her hand. I stayed with Rowan for two weeks after extending my time off from work as Fionn had recommended. And those two weeks with Rowan just weren’t enough.
My body was still bruised and sore when I left for Raleigh to pack up my things and rent out my furnished house. I made arrangements at work to go fully home-based, and spent my evenings and weekends dismantling my storage container kill room that I’ve barely used since we started this game. It’s been three weeks since I saw Rowan, and my heart is nearly ready to burst through my chest as the seconds tick down to the end of our separation.
I don’t know if this is going to work—living with him, working from home every day, being in a new city, trying to build this foundation we’ve made into something more. But I’m going to try.
“You’re hella excited,” I say to Lark, trying to divert attention from my own blistering anticipation as we weave through the busy restaurant. The lunch rush has passed, but there are still more full tables than empty ones, even if many of the patrons have finished main courses and have moved on to desserts.
“Of course I am. My bestie is in l-o-v-e and I get to meet her man for the first time.”
I snort. “I never said anything aboutlove.”
