Page 15 of Unforgiven in Cheshire Bay

I’d hoped I kept my eye rolling internal. “Maybe.”

Her voice pitched in curiosity, as she slowly hesitated in asking, “Are you Erin, by chance?”

“Yes.” My eyes narrowed.

“Perfect. He’s already waiting for you.”

Really? Wow. Guess that ruled out a date-date, didn’t it? Shouldn’t the guy be standing at the front, and escort the lady through the place? Perhaps it had been a long time since I’d been out there.

“This way please.”

The Harbour Chophouse was a small, cozy restaurant with a killer view as it sat perched on a little outlet with a 310° view of the ocean. Three-quarters of the dining area was flanked by huge windows, and beyond a set of French doors leading to an outdoor seating area, there was a scattering of tables, a few to give the illusion of total privacy.

That’s where the hostess led me.

She stopped in front of a table for two, one that was pushed against the bank of windows, where only a slight ocean breeze circulated, and above was a pergola, with a roll-out shade, although tonight it was open to the clear skies above.

“Ah, my apologies.” David, dressed in a fine dress shirt with his cuffs rolled back, set down his phone, rose, and stretched out his hand.

I shook it and took the only other seat across from him. Tucking my dress under me, I sat, and David did the same.

The hostess handed me my leather-bound menu. “May I grab you a drink from the bar?”

“I’m fine with a chamomile tea.”

David tapped his glass. “I’m having a beer.”

It looked so good too; a dark amber, slight head. “Sure, I’ll have what he’s having.”

A faint smile warmed his façade. “My apologies for not meeting you at the front. I had a quick staff issue to deal with, and the hostess promised she’d bring you back.”

“It’s all good.”

“Please don’t think me a rude host, being that I invited you and all.”

“Honestly, it’s all good. It’s not like it was a date-date. It’s a business date.” I shut my mouth before it could run away and say something even stupider. “Anyway, it was no big deal. I likely would’ve done the same.”

“Good.” He took a sip of his drink, and a splash of foam hung on the tip of his whiskers. “Good.” He pushed the menu off to the side. “I’m a creature of habit, and I always order the same thing. I don’t know why Ruby always insists on bringing me a menu.”

“You come here often?”

He leaned closer and whispered. “Is it weird that I do?”

I shook my head, even if it was a little unusual.

“At my place, the staff are always brown-nosing and trying to be perfect, even though I’ve seen them on the floor. I hate them waiting on me, and I’d rather not meander through the kitchen getting in anyone’s way.” He rested back against his chair. “I even bring my own lunch on occasion to eat at my desk.”

Not that I blamed him. I certainly hadn’t eaten there in seven years. The cook needed to brush up on what was an acceptable level for cooking meat and should definitely invest in a meat thermometer because eye-balling it didn’t work.

“What are you going to have?” David took another drink of his beer.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s so rare for me to go out.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

I searched his face, waiting to see a sign of dominance or misogyny or anything that would send up a red flag. There was nothing.

“Do you like seafood? The Pistachio Crusted Salmon is to die for.” He nodded.

---