This is a risk, but one I’m not willing to walk away from out of fear.
I’ve never seen Caitlin so upset before and I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind all day. Eventually, I gave up at work and called Tucker in for a favor to cover for me. He’s got an eight o’clock class tomorrow and it’s going to kick his ass but thankfully, he’s a good enough guy to do it for me.
Earlier, when I offered to come over tonight and hang with her, I’d wanted to slap myself.
Then I saw her cheeks turn pink, like she knew exactly what could possibly happen if we spent time alone together again.
Which is exactly what I want her thinking of, even if it’s not the reason I offered.
Don’t get me wrong…I want it, too. I most definitely want to spend more time reacquainting the palms of my hands and my lips with Caitlin’s curves and the way she tastes. Yet, with her looking so cute right now, it’s taking all my self-control to remember my long-term goal.
I want to win her heart, not only her body.
Her red hair is a frazzled mess, curly and kinky, which means she’s had it in one of her sloppy buns she likes so much at some point during the day or night. Her lips are parted, and her green eyes are bright with surprise.
“What are you doing here?” she asks again.
I’ve already answered, but I step closer to the doorway and raise the bottle of wine in my hands. It’s a Cabernet, one of her favorites. “You had a hard day, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” When she doesn’t respond, I take another small step forward. I’m still far enough out she can slam the door in my face, but while I’m not a betting man, I know Caitlin.
She might love her martinis, but when she’s at home, wine is her weakness.
She steps back, bringing the door with her. “Come in. I’m sorry, I’m just surprised to see you is all.” Her brows pull in. “How did you get in anyway?”
“I stopped at the security desk to call up, but Maurice waved me ahead. Is that okay?”
Technically, she should be bothered by this. Maurice hasn’t seen me in months, and he should do his job better, but I’ve had a handful of conversations with the guy over the years so I assume he figures I’m no large security threat. Still, he’s supposed to announce all visitors.
“Um. Yeah.” She shakes her head in that cute way of hers she has and finally, finally, she smiles at me. It feels like I’ve been waiting hours for it. I have. Months, really. “It’s good.”
She’s still uncertain. I don’t blame her. “Relax, Caitlin. I’m just a friend tonight, wanting to make sure you’re okay and have a couple drinks. Maybe watch a movie or two. It doesn’t have to be strange.”
“Right. A friend.” There’s an odd tone in her voice, but she closes the door behind me, and her smile returns. Brushing a chunk of hair behind her ear, she heads toward the kitchen. I follow her, unable to stop my gaze from dipping to the sway of her slim hips. They’re covered by an overlarge sweatshirt and plaid leggings the colors of Christmas.
A flashback of her dressed in my sweatshirts on chilly mornings hits me hard and fast. Damn, I always loved it when she’d help herself to my closet, my dresser, for T-shirts or pants or sweatshirts like she had the right to scavenge through anything of mine.
She did. She still would. What’s mine is Caitlin’s. Everything I own and everything I am.
“Sorry,” she says, and I jerk my eyes up as she turns around at the kitchen counter. “You’ve thrown me, obviously. I have some beer if you’d like one. I know wine isn’t your favorite.”
It’s not, but fortunately, since Caitlin has good taste in alcohol, the bottle I brought isn’t too bad.
“I’ll share this with you.” I set it down on the counter and grab her electric opener from the corner. Making quick work of the cork, I open the bottle only to realize Caitlin’s standing there, watching me, a glazed expression in her eyes I can’t name.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She blinks like I’ve surprised her, and how that can be I’m completely unsure. I’m standing right in front of her.
“Oh. Nothing, it’s just…nothing.” She waves her hand in the air and spins on her heels, grabbing two wineglasses from the glass cupboard. I’ve teased her relentlessly about this cupboard. It has a glass-paned front, and everything inside of it is glasses. Every single type of drinking glass you can imagine is stocked inside Caitlin’s cupboards. Highball, champagne, red wine not only for Pinot, but also for Cabernet. She has three different kinds of white-wine glasses, some stemless, some with long, thin stems that I could snap in half with my fingers.
Her kitchen drinking cupboard is almost as well stocked as my bar, and I’ve more than once suggested she should get a job at Dirty’s, working with me as a sommelier, if she were to take a few classes to earn the registered title. It’d open up another specialized market, and I think it could be a great hit with the current popularity of wine. I’ve gone so far as to offer to pay for her to attend the courses and take the exams. Each time she’s looked at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Perhaps offering to pay and hire the woman you’re sleeping with isn’t the smoothest thing I’ve ever done.
She’s more than once declined, declaring I’d have to change the entire name of the bar.
We’ve spent hours discussing this before, scribbling down new names, and so far, the winner in my mind is still Dirty Drinks.
She thinks it reminds her of the time she was a kid and made mud pies.
I think it would up the male customer base tenfold.
“Where’d you go?” Caitlin asks, and this time it’s my turn to clear my head. She’s already filled both wineglasses, mine a stemless and hers with the dainty long stem. Her drink is at her lips.
I smirk, unable to help it. We’re friends, right? “I was wondering if you’ve given any more thought to becoming a sommelier.”
Her eyes flash, and she grins. Shaking her head, she says, “I think Dirty Martini’s is doing just fine without my contribution.”
She’s not wrong. Ever since I bought the place from the former owner and manager, I’ve been making a hefty profit. Still, one of the buildings next door might become available, and I like the idea of enlarging the space and expanding it to include wines from the most affordable to the kind reserved for elegant celebrations for people with the deepest pockets.
I drop it. Now’s not the time.
“I think we’re doing okay,” I say instead and gesture toward the living room. “Want to watch a movie?”
Her lips press together into a sly grin. Like she knows what I’m thinking, what I’m dreaming of, and like Caitlin, she doesn’t let it go.
She curls into a corner of the couch, pulling a blanket over her bare feet. I take the chair next to it so I can see the television but also her. It’s safer than curling on the couch next to her like I really want to do. But I’m here for her friendship.
Acting like a friend is paramount.
“You’re seriously considering it, aren’t you?” she asks. On the coffee table, the remotes are forgotten and her cellphone is facedown.
Did she toss it there, frustrated after I sent her that message earlier? It was a risk for sure, but I want to be able to talk to her via that messaging app without the pressure of revealing who I am too soon.
“The bar?” I take a sip of my drink. Get control of yourself. “Honestly, yes. Someday I’d like to expand.”
“But you’ve built such a perfect niche with the martinis and local beers. Even your food plates are incredible.”
Pride alights in my chest. Knowing she’s proud of me, what I’ve done, what I’m building and working for is everything. My family didn’t come from a lot of money even if we had a lot of love. My dad worked for a factory his entire life, and my mom was a receptionist at a dental office. We were slammed right at middle class if not below. I took off right after high school, bound and determined to make my own way without wasting years going to college and ending up six figures deep in student loan debt.
Some might not think a loser with only a high school diploma has any business owning a restaurant, but I’ve worked my ass off to learn everything I can about the restaurant business hands-on, and not sitting in a lecture hall. Frankly, I think I’m better for it. There’s only so much book smarts can teach you, but life experience trumps it every time.
Still, Caitlin has never looked down at me even though I know she comes from a hugely financially successful family. And from the small amount she’s said about her family, it’s not as if they’ve given her anything meaningful.
She tucks the blanket tighter around her feet, and I fight a smile. Her feet are always ice cubes and yet she refuses to wear socks. I don’t call her on it, instead, I think of the plans I have sketched in my office. Piles of scrap and graph paper where I’ve doodled designs, either completely remodeling the space I currently have or what it would look like if I can expand into the space next door. Plus there are budgets and estimates on start-up costs, construction, salaries, as well as the potential for losses. Either option is a huge financial risk, but I’ve been saving away for this since before I took over Dirty’s. And now that I know the business next door is in trouble, the potential for my dream to become a reality is closer than ever.
I pull out my phone and swipe a few pictures. While I’m looking for my favorite scribbled design so far, I tell her, “I’m looking into it. Not fully sure yet I have the capital, but you know that consignment store next door?”
“Sweet Seconds? Yeah, of course I know it.”
I find the picture and grin at her. “I think they’re closing. The landlord of the building has made more than one comment to me about how he doesn’t think they’re going to be able to re-up their lease.”
Thin, red brows rise, and she sets her drink down next to mine. “And you want it?”
“Yeah. It’s the perfect space. Small and it doesn’t have a kitchen, but it wouldn’t need one. But I could have a small stage up front for open mic nights or something. I could either open it all up together or keep a wall separating the bars with a walkway, but it’d keep the newer part quieter. It’d be separated but still one place.” I hand her the phone. “That’s my most recent idea.”
Her fingers brush mine as she takes my phone. That familiar spark of chemistry hits my finger and slides up my arm, straight to my chest.
It quickens as she zooms in on the photo. I take a sip of my drink to calm my nerves. Her opinion of me has always been far more important than I’ve ever showed her, but watching her study my dream rattles me.
I might have been joking about there being a sommelier, sort of—I’d love to work with her, side by side—but expanding Dirty’s…it’s been something I’ve always dreamed of.
She’s literally holding my dreams in the palm of her hand. Her tongue is poking out at the corner of her lips, the corners of those turned up. Brows are pulled together as she examines the drawing. She might need my help in explaining it to her. This particular one isn’t done on graph paper, and my handwriting has been compared to a doctor’s signature more than once or a thousand times.
“Do you get it?” I ask.
She raises a finger in the air. “Shh.”
She turns the phone. I take a larger sip of my wine. Her fingers pinch together on the screen and separate, expanding something. She pulls it closer to her face, eyes narrowing. I drain the rest of my glass.
“Caitlin?” It’s a small photo. It can’t take this long to examine. I assumed she’d glance, smile, and hand my phone back to me and give me an “Atta boy. Looks good.” I didn’t expect her to spend more time looking at it than I have since I drew it.
“Hold on a sec,” she says. She turns the phone again and frowns, reaching for her wineglass and taking a sip. Her glass wobbles on the table as she sets it back down, and I grab it before it spills over. Her head pops up, and that tongue in the corner of her lips disappears. “I need some paper. I have an idea.”
What? She sets down my phone and scurries off the couch. “Don’t go anywhere,” she calls out when she disappears down the hall. “I’ll be right back!”
Like I can move. I’m paralyzed. What is she doing? My mind scrambles. I truly didn’t think my night over to see if she was doing okay would spiral so quickly into my plans for Dirty Martini’s, but hell if I’m not enjoying her excitement over my business.
I come unglued from shock and go into the kitchen. Grabbing the bottle of wine, I bring it back to the living room and set it on the coffee table. I’m setting the bottle down after freshly refilling my own glass when Caitlin returns, file folder in one hand and a handful of colored markers in another.
She points the hand filled with markers at the wine bottle. “Excellent idea. Now, I love what you’re thinking for Dirty’s, but I have some questions and a couple ideas came to my mind to make it even more awesome.” She waves her hands in the air. Papers swish and markers wiggle while her smile lights up the room. “So, how about it? Want to plan your future with me?”
Excitement bubbles off her so much it’s contagious, and I doubt she realizes what she just asked me.
Do I want to plan my future with her?
Hell fucking yes I do.