Sophia

 

 

"What the hell is this?" I look around the small restaurant eyeing every patron as I search for my best friend. "This doesn't make sense."

Nicholas is standing next to the table. The very same table that the hostess directed me to after I told her I was meeting someone for lunch. I specifically gave her the name the reservation was booked under. Sutton.

Since Cadence has been after me for weeks to try out this new vegan sandwich place, I agreed this morning through text. She told me to meet her here at noon sharp and that the reservation, for two, would be under her name.

It's been more than a week since I heard a peep from Nicholas. I thought he'd finally given up and although a small part of me wished he hadn't, I accepted it as fate.  I had jotted down a note in my phone to find my own tech guy next week if I hadn't heard from Joe by then.

Now, I guess I can ask for Joe's number myself since Nicholas is my lunch date and not my best friend.

"Where's Cadence?" I cross my arms over my chest. "And why are you here?"

"Sit, Sophia." He rounds the table to pull on the back of the empty chair. "Please sit down and let me explain."

I catch a whiff of his cologne when he leans in to touch my arm. It's sophisticated and masculine and matches the way he looks today. He's dressed less casually, and more business-like in dark pants and a light blue sweater.  "Don't touch me. I'm not sitting because I have no intention of staying. What have you done with Cadence? She's pregnant you know."

"You make it sound like I did something sinister to her." He wiggles his brows, his face mere inches from mine. "Cadence suggested I come. I met her this morning and she offered for me to take her place to have lunch with you."

"Cadence wouldn't do that to me," I say even though I know she would. Every day for the past week she's told me to reach out to Nicholas. I've complained about my schedule being too full and not having time to date, but her persistence hasn't waned.

Just this morning she told me that she'd force me to text him during lunch. It seems she decided to take action on her own.

"How did you meet her?" I take a deep breath to steady my pulse. "Did she call your publicist to get your number?"

His voice is even as he studies my face. "No, why would she do that?"

I purse my lips. "She's a fan of your work and I told her last week that we met."

"So you thought she was looking for an autograph or maybe another advance copy of Action's Cause?"

Or maybe she just wanted me to see him again.

Since we're running in a circle of confusion with no end in sight, I step on the brake and go for the truth. "No, Nicholas. Cadence thinks I should go out with you. I thought she contacted you to arrange this lunch."

"Really?" His cerulean blue eyes shine when he smiles. "I liked her the moment I met her. Now, I like her even more."

"You said you met her today?" I leave the question open-ended on purpose.

"I was uptown doing a pre-taped interview. Cadence happened to be in the same building in a different studio. The woman who interviewed me made the introduction."

I finally sit and wait for him to do the same before I speak. "You're telling me that you just happened to be at the Rise and Shine studios this morning?"

"Pamela, the host of the show I did the interview for, used to work with Cadence."

"I've met Pamela," I say in a soft voice. "It's a small world."

"Manhattan is a small place," he affirms. "I was glad to meet her. Chef Sutton is very talented."

I nod, my eyes flicking to his face. "She is. She's an incredible cook."

"It was her idea for me to meet you here for lunch, Sophia." He waves the approaching server away with a dismissive hand. "If you'd rather I leave, I will, but I'd prefer to stay."

Cadence set me up. She put me in the very same position I put Mr. Foster in. The glaring difference is that I know why she did it and I'm grateful. "Stay. It's not every day I get to eat vegan with the one and only Nicholas Wolf."

 

***

 

"How does a person realize they can write novels about police detectives?" I ask after I swallow the last bite of the salad I ordered.

Nicholas had finished his grilled vegetable and pesto sandwich before I was half done. Since then he's sat and watched me eat while asking generic questions about my time spent in Florida.

"My father is retired NYPD. My brother works in homicide. It fit for me to write about it."

I lean my elbows on the table on either side of my plate. "Do you base your books on actual cases?"

He motions for the server standing nearby to clear our plates. "I go to my dad or my brother if I have a general question but neither has ever offered specifics about a case. I don't ask. It's understood that what happens at work stays there."

That's the reply I expected. When I was a child, the man who lived next door to us was a police officer. His job and his family were his life. He was a hero to me and whenever I saw him come home from work dressed in his uniform, I'd feel enormous respect and reverence. I might not have completely understood the sacrifices police officers make back then, but I did know that he was special.

"Is it hard writing about death?" I blurt that out just as the server reaches for my plate. He hesitates briefly before he clears all the dishes.

"Death is only the beginning of the story. Understanding why the death happened is the part that can be challenging."

"You're the author." I look down at my watch. "If you don't know why the death happened, who does?"

"You have eight minutes before you need to be back." He points at the large silver watch on his wrist. "Your office is three minutes away if you walk briskly that means I have exactly five more minutes with you."

"Eight if you walk me back to the office."

His smile is cocky. "At least thirty if I come up with you and say hello to Gabe."

"Gabriel," I say curtly. "He hates it when anyone calls him Gabe. His brother does it and it never ends well."

"Gabe it is." He stands and reaches for my coat that I'd slung over the back of an empty chair next to us. "I'll bet you dinner tomorrow evening that if I call him Gabe, he'll just nod and smile."

"Dinner tomorrow?" I stand and turn my back to him so he can help me with my coat. "As in, we have dinner if he nods and smiles and we don't have dinner if he gets pissed?"

"No." His fingertips brush the skin at the back of my neck as he gently tugs my hair out from beneath the collar of my coat. "If he nods and smiles, you'll let me cook for you and if he gets pissed, you'll cook for me."

A shiver of excitement races up my spine when I turn sharply to face him. "That's a serious wager."

"If you're not sure you can win, I understand."

Cadence's words about giving him a chance echo through my mind. I know I'll lose the bet. Mr. Foster will likely adopt the nickname Gabe if his favorite novelist calls him that. He won't get pissed, that I know for sure.

"You have a bet." I hold out my hand. "Dinner tomorrow it is."

He wraps his hand around mine and raises it to his mouth. His soft lips trace a path over my palm just as he leans in and whispers, "I can't wait to cook for you tomorrow."