Page 9

Lizzie—

I worked through lunch, so I take one now, pulling the paper bag out of my large purse, and stare at the sad bologna sandwich on white bread.

One bite and I set it aside, making a face, choosing instead to sip my drink and scan social media for something to cheer me up. I need cat videos, lots of them.

The door opens, and Darko sticks his head in.

“Want to go grab lunch? I don’t really feel like eating by myself.”

“I’ve already got food.” I hold up my white bread with bologna, and he steps inside the small room, curling his lip.

“That is not lunch. That’s prison food.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, that’s what I’ve got.”

He grabs it and chucks it in the wastebasket.

My mouth drops open. “Hey!”

“Come on. We’re getting lunch. I’ll buy.”

“Damn straight you will. How about you bring me back something?”

“Nope. Come on. Boss’s orders.”

I grab my purse and trudge behind him. The last thing I feel like doing is having lunch with my hot boss. Just the thought has my pulse racing. In my current mindset, I don’t do well in public.

We walk two blocks to Main and stop at a little Italian place called Nino’s. It’s dimly lit and small.

A hostess asks how many, and Darko holds up two fingers.

“Right this way,” she says, grabbing menus and retreating toward the rear of the deep, narrow building.

I feel Darko’s hand on the small of my back, but when I glance at him, he drops it.

We’re seated at a small table. There are maybe three other tables occupied in the entire restaurant, but it’s long after the lunch rush. The hostess leaves us with the menus.

“Have you ever been here before?” Darko asks, a sudden stark look on his face.

“You mean with my husband? No.” I study the menu, assuming he’s since talked to Kate or Utah about me.

“I’m sorry for your loss, and if I was insensitive earlier—”

“Can we not talk about it?” I cut him off.

“Sure.” He sets aside his menu, and my eyes lift.

“You know what you want?” I ask.

“Yeah. I come here a lot.”

“What’s good?”

“Everything.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“I’m a lasagna guy.”

“Lasagna it is, then.” I set my menu aside. A waiter approaches with a basket of bread and takes our orders.

“Want some wine?” Darko asks.

“We’re working.”

“One glass won’t hurt. Unless you’re on medication,” he hesitates.

I shake my head, and he turns to the waiter. “Bring us two glasses of the house red.”

“Of course, sir.” He takes the menus and leaves.

I fiddle with the silverware, and Darko folds his arms, leaning his elbows on the table. It only accentuates his muscles, and I study the ink that runs up his skin.

“You like ink?” he asks, noticing my interest. “I hear you got a tattoo of your own recently.”

Anger flairs inside me. “I see Kate can’t keep her mouth shut.”

“She just mentioned it. She didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Sure.” I drink some water.

“What’s the big deal? So, I know you’ve got a tattoo. Is it your first?”

I nod, and he grins.

“Virgin ink. How’d you like it?”

“Like it?”

“The needle, the pain… Some people get addicted.”

I lift my chin to his arms. “Is that what you are? Addicted?”

His grin gets bigger, revealing even white teeth. Lines around his eyes crinkle. The man has a damn good smile. He grabs one of the two small plates the waiter left with the bread and sets it in front of me, then tears off a piece of bread, drags it through the dipping oil, dropping it on my plate. “Try this.”

He avoids my question, but I let it go and taste the bread.

“It’s good, right?” he says, tearing off a piece of his own.

I nod, and the waiter returns with our wine.

“Your food should be out in a few minutes,” he says. “I’ll bring your salads.”

Darko lifts his glass in a toast. “To new ink and a new job.”

I raise my own and tap it to his, then take a sip.

The waiter returns with our salads.

I pick at mine, and Darko points his fork at me. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s good.” I take a forkful. “Sometimes I just get lost in my head.”

“I get that.” He studies me quietly.

I can’t help but notice little things about Darko, things that are different from Matt. Matt probably wouldn’t come to a place like this unless it was a fancy date night, and he would never order wine. He was totally a beer guy. Even if the entrée called for wine. I find it at odds with my preconceived notion of what kind of a man Darko really is.

The thoughts make me feel guilty for comparing Matt to him.

Darko circles his fingertip around the base of his glass. “So, I hear your husband was a firefighter.”

Even though I told him I didn’t want to talk about it, I guess it’s better to just get it out in the open, then I’ll never have to talk about it again. “Yes.”

“And when that fire engine rode past earlier…”

I fiddle with my napkin. “I guess I never know when something is going to trigger the pain.”

“I get that.” He cocks his head. “The hair. It looks good on you.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, really. I like it.”

Rather than saying thank you, I feel agitated and stare around the restaurant. “So, you like Italian food, huh?”

“You’re not comfortable with compliments, are you?”

I shrug. “I haven’t had many lately.”

Someone trips out on the street, and they dance around, trying to keep their coffee from spilling. The spectacle is hilarious, and Darko chuckles.

I try not to, but I can’t help grinning.

“There’s the smile I remember,” he says quietly.

My gaze flicks toward him. “You remember my smile?”

“Sure. You came to a couple of our parties right after Kate and Utah got together. You don’t remember me, do you?” he asks.

I shrug, revealing the truth.

He puts a hand over his heart and grins. “My ego.”

I smile again. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay, as long as I can get a smile out of you.”

Our food is delivered, and the aroma hits my nose.

“God, that smells good.”

“You and Kate been friends long?” Darko asks, moving the conversation to a safer topic.

“Since grade school.”

“Kate was quite the badass when Utah met her.”

“Well, she was a bounty hunter.” I take a sip of wine and arch a brow over the rim.

“Sort of,” he adds.

“Not sort of . She had a badge and everything,” I argue.

“You, though…” He points a finger at me. “You were quiet and girly, and always quick with a smile.”

“Yeah, well, that girl is gone.” I stab my lasagna with my fork.

He speaks softly, tilting his head. “Maybe not gone. Maybe just taking a time out.”

“No. That girl doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You watch much TV?” he asks out of the blue.

I shrug, glad for a change of topic. “I like crime shows, but I hate horror movies. Is that odd?”

“Not at all.”

“How about you?”

“I like the show about the guy who tracks down missing people.”

“That’s a good one, but I’ve only seen a few episodes. What else?”

“I love the one about the guy who builds those treehouses for people.”

My eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, me too. Wouldn’t that be cool to have a treehouse?”

“It would be awesome.”

“I bet you like car shows, huh?”

“Guilty.”

“I used to like the one where Jerry Seinfeld would ride around in cool cars with famous people.”

Darko points his fork at me. “I loved that one, and the one with Jay Leno.”

“I bet you’re a Gasmonkey Garage fan,” I say.

He waggles his hand. “Eh. He gets on my nerves.”

I giggle. “I can see that.”

We talk about movies and books and states we’ve been to while we finish eating, and soon the waiter brings the check.

I set my hand on my belly. “I’m stuffed.”

Darko chuckles. “Mission accomplished, then.”

“Thanks for this. I enjoyed the food and the company,” I say as he stands, pulls a money clip out of his hip pocket, and peels enough for the meal and a large tip.

Matt never tipped that much.

Again, I feel guilty for making the comparison.

I stand, and we walk to the garage. It’s after three now. “How late do you stay open?”

Darko shoves his hands in his pockets. “You can leave at four, but me and Rob will probably hang around until five or six. Sometimes later, depending on the project.”

“So, Eli…”

“Eli. Right. That’s a recent event.”

“Why wasn’t he in school today?”

“He got in a fight Friday. He got suspended for the day, so I brought him to work with me.”

“I get the feeling cars aren’t his thing.”

“You may be right, but I’m hoping I can change that.”

I frown. “And your wife… Does she work all day?”

“There is no wife. His mother and I didn’t have a relationship. I met her in Sturgis. I guess you could say it was a one-night stand.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t even know about Eli until a couple of weeks ago. His mother died of cancer. The attorney tracked me down.”

“Oh, wow.” I frown and stare at the ground.

“So, the two of you have that in common. You’ve both lost someone recently.”

“He must be crushed. Completely devastated,” I murmur.

“And angry. He doesn’t want to be here.”

“Where did he live before?”

“Nebraska. Talk about a change, huh?”

“Yeah. I feel bad for him.” I stop. “Where is he now? Why didn’t he come to lunch with us?”

“Rob took him to eat, then he was taking him with to run some errands, pick up some parts, that sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe you could talk to him sometime,” he suggests as we reach the garage and he holds the door for me.

“I don’t know about that. I can barely help myself.”

“It was just a thought.”

Now I feel bad. “I’ll think about it.”