“So you’re not going to tell me where we’re going?” Merry asked as they made their way down the city sidewalk.
“It’s a surprise. Don’t you like surprises?”
“Usually.” She just wasn’t sure she wanted any from Xander.
“We’re almost there.” He glanced at her. “At least I didn’t insist on blindfolding you.”
She shook her head. “Not gonna happen.”
“Chicken.” He grinned and she thought again how she’d rarely seen him smile while at the office. Maybe he wasn’t all-around grumpy. He was just a work grump.
“Not chicken. Smart,” she said in response to his teasing.
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. We’re here.”
They’d reached Rockefeller Center where every December a massive freshly cut evergreen stood sentry as the Prometheus statue kept a watchful eye over the ice rink and tourists below.
This place, steeped in history, was quintessential NYC at Christmas and she felt her pulse speed with excitement.
Even now, when she technically lived here, the city caused an excitement within her just like when she’d been a child and the whole family would drive in from Cooperstown and spend a weekend, or sometimes a week, in the apartment in the Dakota, doing all the things that made New York so special this time of year.
Her eyes widened and she turned to him, gripping his arm. “Are we going ice skating?”
He frowned at the enthusiasm in her question. “No. We have reservations for dinner here. Did you want to go skating?” he asked, warily.
“Honestly, I prefer Wollman Rink. But yes, I do enjoy ice skating. Don’t tell me you do.”
“Why do you ask it like that?”
“You don’t seem like the type.”
His brows rose. “I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent skater. One day I’ll take you to Wollman Rink and prove it to you. I played ice hockey once upon a time.”
“That I really can’t picture.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Miss Merry Lee.”
She ignored his use of the name her annoying brother had shared with him and decided to change the subject.
“Which restaurant?” she asked, referring to the dinner he’d mentioned.
She could definitely eat. Shopping worked up an appetite and it had been a long time since lunch.
“Jupiter. We have a table rink level.” He opened the door of the restaurant.
She felt the blast of heat compared to the cold outdoors as she ducked past him and inside. “Really? Yay! I’ve been dying to eat there.”
He smirked. “Another yay. I guess I chose well. And dinner is on me. A thank you for your helping me shop.”
“Pfft. No thanks necessary. I loved every minute of it.”
“You did, didn’t you?”
“Loved shopping? Of course. What’s not to love?”
He laughed at that. “Where do I begin?”
Enticing aromas tickled her nose and had her empty stomach growling. Garlic mingled with the scent of seared steak. Garlic that was sure to give them both bad breath, not that they’d be kissing or anything.
That thought fled as a server carried past a basket of what she hoped was warm focaccia—warm bread was her weakness. It was delivered to a nearby table as her mouth watered.
Swallowing, she watched as Xander approached the podium. The din of diners made it impossible to hear but she assumed he’d given his name to the hostess, who gave him an appraising head-to-toe look in return.
Merry took note of a couple of women seated nearby also tracking Xander’s progress as he moved back to her.
There was no doubt about it. Alexander Barrington cut a dashing figure. He was like a modern-day Mr. Darcy. Aloof. Self-absorbed. But tempting none-the-less.
“Follow me,” the hostess said after an interested glance at Merry when she realized she was Xander’s dinner companion.
It was as if the woman was trying to decide how the two of them fit together. Him all in black in a long wool coat over a cashmere sweater. Her with her red puffy jacket over her colorfully embellished Christmas sweater.
“Ready?” He pressed his hand to her back as they followed a distance behind the hostess leading them. “She promised us the best table in the house. Rink side.”
Merry lifted her brow. “Because she thinks you’re hot.”
“Really?” His gaze remained fixed on Merry as he said, “The joke’s on her, because I’m not interested in fake dating anyone else besides you.”
He smiled as he laid his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close and pressed a surprising kiss to the top of her head.
Maybe not so aloof after all.
Her heart pounded out a staccato as they slipped between tables to reach their own, where he took her coat and held the chair for her.
Once they were both seated, the hostess and her judgmental eyebrows left them with two menus and a male server approached.
“Hello. My name is Fred. Can I get you something to drink to start?”
The server had the look of a man who’d been around for a while. Who’d seen the good, the bad and the ugly of waiting tables during Christmas in Manhattan and survived to serve another day, sticking it out because the money to be made was worth the hassle.
“Wine?” Xander asked, reaching for the wine list while glancing at her. “Perhaps a bottle of red?”
“Yes, please,” she said with relief.
She was going to need it because Xander was proving to have many sides to him. And this newest one he’d revealed tonight, the considerate romantic, was going to be impossible to resist.
They started with marinated olives and an order of focaccia. His suggestion with which she agreed whole heartedly even if his choosing the appetizers made her momentarily wonder if he was the kind of guy who liked to do all the ordering on a date.
Not that this was that. A date. Far from it. But still—she was ordering the main course for herself. She already knew what she wanted.
When the server looked to her she said, “The Pansotti di Zucca, please.”
Basically, that was a fancy name for pumpkin ravioli. As excited as she was anticipating the meal, the restaurant lost points for not just saying plainly what the dish was for the patrons who didn’t understand snooty-restaurant-menu-speak.
Xander ordered the seafood risotto then turned to her, smiling.
“Why do you look so pleased?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
“I’m pleased because, for the first time in possibly forever, I’m sitting in a restaurant across from a woman who eats carbs. And I am particularly pleased because I wanted to try the Pansotti so, fair warning, I’ll be stealing a taste.”
Her brows shot high. “We’ll see about that. And what are you saying? Six-foot-tall size zero supermodels don’t eat ravioli? I’m shocked.” She pressed a palm to her chest to further express her overt shock before leaning forward and shaking her head in commiseration. “It must have been so hard on you. How did you ever survive dating models for so many years?”
He rolled his eyes but couldn’t completely hide his smile. “Jealous?” he asked.
“Hungry,” she replied. “Where’s that focaccia? It’s been hours—hours, I say—since my last carb.”
“All right. I’m sorry I said anything.”
Her lips twitched. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease. I am a little jealous. I can’t use any of the upper cabinets in my apartment because I’m too short. Oh, to be six feet tall. Think of all the extra space for my Christmas coffee mug collection.”
His eyes flicked wider. “Good Lord. There’s a Christmas mug collection too?”
“There is.” She grinned proudly.
“Is it as extensive as the Christmas sweater collection?”
“Even bigger,” she told him.
He drew in a breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I might need to see that. Purely out of curiosity, of course.”
“Of course. And I’m happy to show you anytime. Just my little way of spreading Christmas cheer to the cheerless grinches of the world, such as yourself.”
“And you’re so good at it too,” he said, staring pointedly at her sweater.
“Thank you.” She accepted the compliment knowing full well it was at least equal parts insult. “But I will say, you’re getting better.”
“Am I? At what, exactly?”
“Christmas. You were patient today with the crowds and the shopping, even when I made you wait in line to see the windows.”
“I still say we could have gone back later tonight and seen them without waiting—”
“And,” she continued, cutting off his grumbled comment. “You were almost downright merry over the weekend upstate.”
This time there was no grumbling. Just a small smile as he reached out and covered her hand with his. “Maybe I just needed a bit of Merry to make me merry.”
There seemed to be something more—deeper—in the joke. Did he mean it to be? Whether he meant it as more or not, judging by the way her heart thundered, that’s how she took it.
And she shouldn’t.
Xander was basically a salesman. He charmed his clients with his good looks and his smooth talking, selling himself and Paragon. It was just second nature to him. That had to be what this was.
He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. Being charming.
She stared at the place where he touched her and swallowed as he started to trace small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.
And just like that, she was charmed.