As Charlotte dried her hair while staring at the ocean through the enormous picture window, she decided she was going to take Lanelle some cookies. After all, she deserved it. In all her stubborn pride, Charlotte realized that she had been determined to resist Nate’s wealthy lifestyle with a self-punishing rebellion.

If she had arrived in Tampa with nothing but denim cut-offs and cheap t-shirts, she wouldn’t have been able to go to dinner with Nate. But thanks to Lanelle, she had two of the three designer dresses she had never sold out of sentiment. In the privacy of her room, she could admit being excited to go out with Nate.

She knew exactly the kind of restaurant they would likely go to. All tuxedoed waiters who moved like silken dancers and no prices on the menus. Everyone’s eyes would be assessing, sharp, and yet guarded. Rich people wanted your secrets as much as regular folks, but they held their own much more closely.

Running her fingers through her hair, Charlotte searched for the slightest sign of dampness, then turned off the dryer. She dropped it next to her on the bed and moved over to sit at the vanity where her hair products and curling wand were laid out. She sectioned her hair and began the arduous task of curling her thick, heavy hair. As she held the hot wand still, slowly counting the seconds until she could unroll it, she glanced down at the lacy bra she wore. Yes, Lanelle was right. It did give a woman confidence to wear something feminine. And she would need all she could get.

During the few years Daniel had dragged her out to fancy restaurants and clubs in designer clothes and jewelry, she had slowly figured out the depth of his insecurity. In upper circles, he barely had a toe in. He had money, and his parents had money, but not enough. Never enough. And because of that, appearances mattered to him more than anything. More than his marriage. More than his son. More than his own happiness if he could only have realized it. Before the misery and claustrophobia had swallowed her, going out on his arm had become a challenge Charlotte enjoyed—a world to conquer for her husband.

Her phone beeped and she put the curling wand down to glance at the screen. It was a text from Jill.

 

Made you a playlist of girl power songs. Go knock that man on his perfect behind.

 

Charlotte giggled and clicked on the link Jill sent. Her room, of course, had Bluetooth surround-sound in it, so she connected to it and laughed as “This Girl is on Fire” filled the room. She put on her makeup with steady, skillful hands, spritzed herself with the dregs of her Daisy perfume, and strode over to the cavernous walk-in closet. It looked so ridiculous with only her few pieces of clothing hanging in it, but the dress she would wear tonight looked like it deserved the space. The last designer dress she had purchased before the divorce, it had been almost a revenge purchase. It had cost more than the used car she currently drove, and she’d never worn it.

It was a floral chiffon, the fabric so filmy and sheer it floated at the slightest whisper. Cut by a master just for her, the fabric clung to her figure down to her hips where it flared like a flower’s petals to her knees, but sweeping down lower in the back. The pattern had muted coral roses and sprays of yellow rosebuds and pale green leaves, but the designer had taken care to cut the fabric so that the pattern flowed across the bodice, cap sleeves, and skirt as if painted on after the dress had been sewn. The hem was so narrow it barely existed. And with the golden sheen now tinting her skin, it looked amazing on her.

Glancing at the time, Charlotte carefully applied her lipstick and slipped on her yellow heels. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she turned from side to side, mostly because the skirt of her dress felt amazing swishing around her legs. A satisfied smile curled her lips. “Let’s do this,” she said.

She picked up her clutch from the end of the bed, slipped lip gloss and her phone inside, then walked out into the hall, closing the door behind her. With her chin lifted and a slight smile on her lips—amused at herself—Charlotte carefully descended the curving stairs down to the main hall below. Nate stood several yards away, talking on his phone. He was dressed in an immaculate black suit, and looked too perfect to be real. He was talking on the phone, but turned when her heels clicked onto the tile floor. Then his eyes widened and his jaw hardened in a way that buoyed Charlotte’s confidence still further.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” He put his phone in his pocket and stared at her. She glanced down, not quite sure how to react to the intensity of his eyes.

“Can we just hold onto this moment?” he finally asked.

Charlotte laughed and walked towards him, keeping her steps slow, playing with him. “What’s so special about this moment?”

His eyes lit with humor. “This is the first time you’ve ever set out to bewitch me.”

Tilting her head, Charlotte wondered how to respond to this. “You think so?”

“I’m pretty sure. Usually, you do it without trying.” He took a deep breath and reached out to softly run a finger down her cheek. “I never understood before just how dangerous you are.”

“Afraid?”

“No.” One word, but there was a world of meaning in his voice. “Shall we go?”

“Let me look in on Taylor first.”

Nate stepped back and Charlotte walked past him to the large sitting room across the hall. Sam worked at a table with his laptop in front of him while Taylor laid back on the couch playing a game on Sam’s tablet.

“Taylor, I want you to brush your teeth and get ready for bed in thirty minutes.”

“Thirty! Mom, come on.”

Charlotte held up her hand to stop the onslaught of his argument. “I didn’t say you had to go to bed. But you have to get ready, because I bet you’ll crash right there before too long.”

“No, I won’t. I’m not even tired.”

“Taylor?” Charlotte’s voice was firm.

He sighed. “Fine.”

Nodding, Charlotte bent down and kissed the top of his head before ruffling his hair. “Be good for Sam.” Then she turned to the man himself and added, “And you should get off that thing and relax a bit too.”

Sam looked at her, his expression deadpan as always. “But I enjoy drafting contracts at all hours of the night.”

Charlotte grinned and turned back to Nate who had lowered his eyebrows in Sam’s direction.

“Don’t make it sound like it’s my fault,” Nate said. “I didn’t tell you to do anything of the sort.”

But Sam turned back to the computer, saying. “Of course not. You just expect to have them ready for signatures by nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Well, tell me to jump off a cliff.”

“Don’t think I haven’t wanted to.” Then Sam looked up and smiled at her. “Have a nice evening, Charlotte.”

“Thanks,” Charlotte said, thrilled to feel such a sense of belonging in Nate’s circle.

Nate beat her to the front door with his long stride, and he held it open for her to pass through. The bright, humid air scented by the gulf breezes blowing inland swept over her, stirring her dress and curls. A limousine waited in the driveway, and a chauffeur stood punctiliously at the open door.

Charlotte dipped down and entered, trying her best to match the elegance of her dress. When Nate settled next to her and the door was shut, she turned to him. “You set the bar pretty high with our first date. Think you can top Millie’s nachos?”

Nate grinned and took her hand in his. “No chance. But, hopefully, this dinner won’t be ruined by another one of my dark secrets being revealed.”

“How many do you have?”

“I think just the one.”

The limo drove smoothly like it was rolling on a glass road, and in no time, it drifted slowly to a stop. It was growing dark, but Charlotte thought from the tall buildings and lights that they were downtown. Before she could ask, the door opened and a white gloved hand was held out to help her out of the car. She emerged, smiling her thanks at the chauffeur, but stopped, surprised. A huge man stood almost directly in front of her with his back to her. He had a black suit on, and his shoulders were so broad, Charlotte couldn’t see around him. She felt Nate’s hand on her waist, gently nudging her to the side so he could get out of the car. As he stood beside her, he didn’t even glance at the man.

Charlotte’s brain finally solved the puzzle when the giant turned around and said, “We’re good, Mr. Haverton. Follow me.”

With his hand on the small of her back, Nate guided Charlotte across the street in the wake of the man who was obviously his bodyguard.

A camera flashed nearby, and Charlotte realized that a crowd was gathering on the sidewalks on both sides of the street as people gawked at them. But Nate didn’t even glance at them as he swept her into the dim entry of an old street-front restaurant.

“You have a bodyguard?” Charlotte asked as the door shut behind them. Her stomach tightened as she considered this new situation.

Nate nodded. “Yes. I have a whole team actually. I don’t worry as much in Chester, but anywhere else, I take the precaution. Especially here in Tampa where I’m so well known.” Then his smile glinted at her. “And especially when I have you with me. Now, let’s find Marco.”

She relaxed and looked around to see where they were. The room around them was clearly a dining room with no more than a dozen tables, all dressed with white linen, sparkling crystal, and gleaming silverware. The only thing missing were customers.

“You didn’t book the whole restaurant, did you?” Charlotte asked, appalled.

“Not exactly. I’ll explain after you meet Marco.”

Nate led her through the swinging metal doors at the back of the dining room, and into a brightly lit kitchen with immaculate counters and appliances. To her surprise, there was only one skinny sous chef busy with a knife and a pile of vegetables and one very fat man with red cheeks and a spotless white toque and double-breasted jacket. He stood with a tasting spoon an inch from his mouth, breathing in the aroma. Charlotte watched as he finally put the spoon in his mouth, made a smacking sound, and flung the spoon across the kitchen where it landed in the deep sink with a dinging thwack.

Nate chuckled. “Too lazy to walk across the room, Marco?”

The man spun quickly and smiled broadly. “Boss!”

The man waddled forward and hugged Nate. Nate glanced over Marco’s shoulder, and rolled his eyes for Charlotte to see.

She shook her head. “You own this place?”

“Yes,” Nate answered, pulling away from Marco. “A fact that surprises me every time I come here. But I don’t entertain enough to satisfy Marco’s need to feed people. He used to quit on me every other Thursday until we came up with this little enterprise.”

Marco nodded. “And when boss man comes into town, I cook just for him.” Marco’s eyes narrowed as he grinned. “Or for any beautiful lady he brings with him.”

Charlotte folded her arms across her chest and looked at Nate as she asked Marco, “Oh yeah? And does that happen often?”

“Oh no,” Marco said, going back to his saucepan. “Makes me wonder sometimes.”

Nate gave a long-suffering groan. “Not this again. Marco, I am not ashamed of you.”

Charlotte, who’d been interpreting Marco’s comment entirely differently, burst out laughing.

Shaking his head, Nate said, “Marco is too sensitive. He’s never happy unless I’m showing him off. It helps when the food critics rave about him, which is another reason this restaurant is good for him, but maybe he’ll finally believe me since I brought you here.”

He looked at Marco over his shoulder. “Because, Marco, my friend, this particular lady is not just some beautiful lady.” His voice softened. “She’s the beautiful lady.”

Charlotte’s breath caught, and she stared wide-eyed at Nate. His eyes bore into hers as Marco gave a whoop of joy and started yelling orders at his sous chef.

Nate laughed and put his hand on the small of her back, gently nudging her back to the dining room. “We’d better stay clear for a while. Where would you like to sit?”

Charlotte looked around, laughing at her previous expectations. There would be no snobby maître de, no intimidating waiters, no people to impress—just her and Nate and an eccentric Italian chef.

She stepped towards a table in the back with a round booth against the exposed brick wall. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect,” Nate said, smiling.

They each scooted in along the bench until they could sit close enough their knees brushed, but still be able to face each other across the round table. In no time, the sous chef appeared with their drinks, and then one by one, he presented his chef’s masterpieces. Each course was delicious. There was a creamy tomato bisque followed by a small salad of artisan greens and sweet tomatoes with a peppery citrus vinaigrette. Warm crusty bread came next with a small plate of crab stuffed ravioli in a divine sauce, and pan-seared flounder with a lemon caper sauce completed the meal.

As she at last laid her fork down, she looked across the table at Nate, who was still working on his bigger portion of flounder.

“That has to be the most incredible meal of my life.”

Nate met her eyes and smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“How could I not? And I love that it’s just the two of us.”

He reached across the table and held his open hand toward her. She rested hers in it, smiling across at him as he played with her fingers.

Marco came out then, drying his hands on a towel, which he draped over his shoulder. He pulled a chair across from them and sat down, grinning from ear to ear. “That was perfection, no?”

Charlotte laughed, enjoying his confidence. “It was. You’re a genius.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I was inspired by your loveliness.”

She blushed and looked across at Nate who was looking at Marco, shaking his head. “You know, my friend, telling a woman she inspired you to cook fish isn’t necessarily a compliment.”

Marco scowled. “What is wrong with the fish? It was moist with firm, creamy flesh, and—”

“Stop,” Nate said, holding up his hand. “Please…just stop.”

One look at Nate’s expression was enough for Charlotte to know how close he was to laughing, which completely set her off. And once she started laughing, Nate could no longer contain his own. Soon they were leaning against each other, laughing till their eyes streamed.

“What is funny?” Marco asked, looking lost.

This made them laugh even more, but soon, Charlotte forced herself to take slow, deep breaths and got herself under control. “Marco, you’re the best. I’m so glad Nate brought me to meet you.”

Marco smiled again and Charlotte was glad he wasn’t offended by their laughter.

The sous chef came out then with three servings of chocolate mousse with fresh whipped cream and a perfect strawberry perched on top.

“Ah. Here is dessert. It is simple, but that is best with sweets I think.”

Charlotte took one bite and nearly melted into bliss. “Okay. If I could make something like this, I would be happy.”

“I will give you the recipe,” Marco told her, smiling. “And there is some technique to learn, but I will teach you.”

“Oh no,” Charlotte said. “I couldn’t make this.”

“Why not?” Nate asked, his eyes glinting with humor. “You make excellent ramen noodles.”

She gasped and pushed on his arm. “I cook other things too. I’m not that hopeless.”

Marco was looking between them with a distraught expression. “Please tell me there is a joke?”

“No joke,” Nate said before eating his strawberry. Then he met Charlotte’s eyes. “It was one of my favorite dinners in a long time.”

She smiled, knowing he wasn’t talking about the food. “Personally, I thought the nachos were better.”

Marco stood up abruptly. “Bah. You must both come back often and let me show you what is good. But I see the look in your eyes now, so I will say good night.”

“Good night, Marco. Thank you for the amazing dinner,” Charlotte called after him.

Nate smiled at her. “Shall we get out of here?”

She nodded and scooted out of the bench, accepting his hand as he met her at the end to help her up. He kept hold of it as they walked out, and she leaned close so that their arms brushed each other.

Nate’s bodyguard stepped up from his post by the door and preceded them outside. Soon they were back in his car, heading back to his home.

Charlotte leaned her head against his shoulder and watched as the city lights flashed past them. And then she said, “Thank you, Nate.”

“For dinner?”

She tried to figure out how to say what she was really trying to thank him for—for not caring about image and making a big splash on the social scene. For his genuine enjoyment of the people around him. For the way he made her feel special. Maybe it was enough that she finally understood the kind of man he was. “Yes. And for being you.”