Page 18 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
“Yeah, hi—I have a reservation for two. Morrissey.”
She taps at a tablet, and then smiles a little too brightly. “Ah, yes, hi, Mr. Morrissey. Your table is ready. Right this way, please.” She leads us to the back of the restaurant, threading a path between tables and booths—I notice, too, that she’s putting a little too much sway in her step, for Franco’s benefit I imagine.
Bitch.
I mentally rear back at my own unexpected vitriol—this isn’t a date, I said so myself. I have no reason to react like that. For god’s sake, let her steal him from me, see if I care. He probably bangs twenty-one-year-old hostesses all the time. Good for him.
She seats us in a booth in the back corner, promises us that our server will be right with us, and then sway/prances away, with only one wistful backward glance.
“That hostess couldn’t take her eyes off you,” I hear myself remarking.
Gahh—stupid. Obvious.
Franco’s eyebrow arches. “Hadn’t noticed. And so what, anyway? She’s barely twenty if she’s a day, and I’m not here for her.”
I shrug. “She was putting a hell of a lot of bounce in her step for your sake. Wouldn’t be surprised if she slipped you her number while I’m in the bathroom.”
“Again, hadn’t noticed.” He stares me down. “I did notice the way your ass looks in those jeans, though.”
I can’t help a grin, which I quickly stomp down. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I definitely noticed that.”
“What was it you noticed?”
“Fishing for compliments, Audra?” he asks with another of those annoyingly sexy, knowing smirks.
“Yep.” I match his smirk with my own, determined to reset the equilibrium between us.
He laughs. “I noticed that your ass is the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen.” He pauses for effect. “Or felt.”
“Thank you.” I’m glad it’s dark in here so he won’t notice my pleased, flattered, aroused blush. “I appreciate that. I do work really hard to keep my ass looking the way it does.”
“Your hard work has definitely paid off.”
At that moment, an older gentleman in a suit appears at our table, greeting Franco by name and with an effusive handshake. “Mr. Morrissey—how wonderful to see you again!” He reaches behind him to take a bottle of wine proffered by a server. “May I offer you and your lovely companion a bottle of our finest wine, on the house?”
“That’s not necessary, Harry, but I’ll take it if you’re offering.”
The man, clearly either the owner or manager, or both, laughs. “I’m not just offering, Franco, I’m insisting. I can’t tell you how many compliments we’ve received on our woodwork after the restoration. Consider it a token of eternal gratitude for a job impeccably well-executed.”
After Harry goes through the bottle opening and tasting ceremony and pours us each a glass of a deep, rich, expensive red wine, he leaves us with the server, who takes our order—two ribeye steaks, medium, extra veggies, no potatoes, and side salads to start.
When we’re alone, I take a sip of the wine. “Wow. This is amazing. He wasn’t kidding when he said it was a bottle of his finest.” I eye Franco. “So what was that about?”
Franco takes a sip and nods appreciatively. “That wine is really good.” He runs a hand down the side of the half-wall separating one booth from the other. “I did all of the woodwork in this place. An employee accidentally set a fire a few years ago, and the place basically burned down. They took the opportunity to totally remodel, and that included having me custom make all the booths, tables, chairs, wine racks, doorframes, everything.”
I take a long look around, whistling. “Wow. Everything?”
“Every last scrap of wood in here was handcrafted exclusively by me.” He says this with no small amount of pride.
As with the wine rack, everything is not just functional, but a work of art. The more I look around, the more impressed I am. “This had to have been an absolutely enormous job.”
He nods. “Sure was. Over a year of working nights and weekends.”
I boggle. “Wait, nights and weekends?”
He nods. “I do jobs like this on the side—my main job, obviously, is working for James. This was a really massive order, obviously, and well beyond what I usually do.”
“You did all this in your spare time?”
He nods. “Yep. It’s all reclaimed wood, too. There was an old hospital just outside downtown Chicago being torn down a few years ago and I claimed all the wood. I’ve got a big backyard, and I dumped it back there to use on future projects. The booths all came from old doors, the tables from old desks…the doorframes are from old floorboards, and the wine racks I pieced together from all over the place. Harry, the owner and manager, takes a lot of pride in being able to say each booth and table is totally unique.” He shrugs. “It was a hell of a fun project, and it paid off my mortgage ten years early.”
