Page 159 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 1

MORGAN

Morgan glanced at his watch, noted that it had been less than a minute since the last time he checked, then picked up his phone to see if he’d received a text or call in the previous sixty seconds. Nothing. He took a sip of his whisky and glanced around the restaurant while he considered the very real possibility that he’d been stood up. No one in the restaurant looked as if they were waiting for someone, no one caught his eye with a relieved “there you are!” expression.

So, yeah, another glance at his watch. Fifteen minutes late with no communication? Sounded like his date was a no-show, although maybe his date had shown up, taken one look at him, and took off. That might be plausible, Morgan thought as he tugged at his sleeves. The suit he was wearing was one he’d had to purchase at the last minute after a client had spilled soup on him at lunch. The Saville Row suit was now at the cleaners, and he’d dipped into Neiman Marcus and been lucky enough to find a Zegna suit that was as close to bespoke as he could expect. Still, it didn’t fit correctly, and was just one more reason, as Morgan scanned the restaurant again, that he hoped his date was a no-show.

The problem was Morgan had no idea what his date looked like or even what his name was. It was a blind date set up by his brother’s girlfriend because she thought Morgan and her best friend’s brother would be perfect together, and she was all heart-eyes emojis since Joe had proposed. After a year of fending off her matchmaking attempts, Morgan finally succumbed to her plea that it would be great for Morgan to have a date at their wedding on Valentine’s Day.

Even Joe hadn’t been able to deliver that message without rolling his eyes, but whatever Delia wanted Delia got. So here Morgan was, and the only thing he knew was that he was supposed to meet this guy at Boulevard at eight.

I think you’ll really like him , Joe had texted that afternoon, confirming that Morgan wasn’t going to be the no-show. Not all guys are grade A douche-nozzles like your ex.

Sure , Morgan had texted back, but you haven’t told me anything about him. How will I know who he is?

You’ll know him when you see him , because he’ll definitely have your number .

Whatever that meant, Morgan had no clue, and he was reaching for his phone to text Joe that apparently he hadn’t been the one to worry about as a no-show when he caught sight of a very attractive man standing by the hostess stand. Definitely his type, Morgan thought. Probably about six-two, with wavy, dark hair and a closely trimmed beard, intense dark eyes, black-framed glasses, merlot-stained lips that looked full and plush. Boulevard was an upscale restaurant, but in San Francisco most restaurants were business casual. This guy was dressed like he’d just come from work in one of the downtown high-rises: a slim cut gray suit that looked like it had been tailor-made for his body, a light blue button-up, and a multi-colored tie with a paisley pattern in blues and pinks.

Please be my date, Morgan prayed as he sat up straighter. Please. Please. Please.

The guy was looking at his phone, a frown on his face, and shook his head before tapping out a message. He paused and glanced around the restaurant just as Morgan’s phone buzzed.

Morgan suppressed a shiver as their gazes met…and held. This had to be his date. It just had to be. He raised his chin, his heart pounding in his chest until the guy nodded, waved off the hostess as she approached and made his way to Morgan’s table. As he got closer, Morgan saw the buttery, cognac-colored belt and matching shoes, what looked like it might be a Rolex on his wrist, and a single, tasteful gold ring with channel cut diamonds on his right hand.

He let out a mental sigh of relief as the man reached his table. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, his deep voice making Morgan want to sink to his knees on the spot. The man was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous and could have walked right out of a fashion shoot. Unless he turned out to be a complete asshole, Morgan was hooked and already thinking of ways to thank Joe and Delia for making him take a chance.

Rising to his feet, Morgan shrugged. “But you made it. That’s all that matters.” He paused, suddenly awkward because he didn’t know what to do. Did they hug? Shake hands? Morgan settled for gesturing to the chair opposite him. “Please sit. I already ordered a drink. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” the handsome man said as he pulled out his chair and sat. “I’m actually more of a wine drinker.” He leaned closer as if imparting a great secret that only Morgan was allowed to hear. “I hope you’ll allow me to choose a bottle for our dinner.”

“Absolutely,” Morgan said. He lifted his glass. “I’m a complete dolt when it comes to wine, but whisky is another story. And that’s whisky without the ‘e,’ in case you were wondering.”

“That’s good to know.”

They both picked up their menus, and the first thing Morgan noticed was the lack of prices on the menu.

“Order whatever you like,” the man across from him said. “This is my treat.”

“Thank you…” Morgan paused, then laughed. “You know, I wasn’t even told your name.”

The man smiled, and Morgan was captivated by the way the dark bristles above his top lip seemed to ripple with the movement. He’d never dated someone who had a beard before, and this man’s was so sleek, Morgan knew it would feel more like plush than porcupine. Totally captivated by thoughts of stroking that beard with his fingers, he nearly missed when the man said his name.

“You can call me Dmitri,” he repeated when Morgan shook his head to indicate he hadn’t been listening, but he didn’t offer up a last name. “And you?”

“Morgan.”

“Ah.”

Dmitri didn’t say anything else, simply watched him until Morgan turned his attention back to the menu. It all sounded delicious to him. “I can’t decide,” he said. In truth, he was afraid he’d order something outrageously expensive.

“Will you let me then?”

“Of course.” There was something very sexy about the idea of a handsome man ordering for him.

“Is there anything you don’t eat?”

Morgan shook his head and closed his menu. When the waiter returned, Dmitri ordered them an apple and fig salad and fried blue crabs to start with sea scallops and white asparagus risotto for their mains.

“Very good,” the waiter said. “If I might make a recommendation for wine pairings…”

Dmitri nodded and the waiter listed off a couple of suggestions until Dmitri made his choice, a lovely bottle of Albarino. Morgan was impressed. The selection was an unusual one, and also not the most expensive wine on the list. If Dmitri had been solely interested in impressing Morgan with his wallet, he’d have chosen something far flashier and more expensive. When the waiter returned to their table and poured their glasses, Morgan’s first sip told him it was exactly perfect.

Staring at the man sitting across the table from him, Morgan realized that described Dmitri and this date so far.