“Trouble in paradise?”
“Not really. Jimmy and I just have different ideas about what’s best for my career. He thinks corporate sponsorships and media appearances are important. I don’t.”
“Oh, c’mon, Reyes,” I guffaw. “You’re a star quarterback with two Super Bowl rings. Magazine covers and endorsement deals come with the territory.”
“I know.”
I shake my head in amused disbelief. “Do you know how many pro athletes would kill to be featured in magazines and commercials? How can you be so blasé about it?”
“You sound like Jimmy.” He slants me an amused look. “Fame is a funny thing, Emerson. When you’re at the height of it, the money and stardom can make you feel pretty damn invincible. But one day the fans will stop cheering, and I think it’s important to be grounded enough to know when to take a bow and move on. My father taught me that.”
I smile quietly. “Your father is a very wise man. A lot of pro athletes struggle to adjust to life after retirement.”
Reyes nods. “I know several guys like that. I don’t want to end up in the same boat, clinging to glory days at the expense of enjoying a quality life with my loved ones.”
I stare at him. I know the day will eventually come when he’ll get married and start a family. The thought of him doing that with another woman sends a dagger of pain through my heart.
Soon we’re pulling into an upscale steakhouse on the outskirts of downtown. Reyes surrenders his luxury SUV to the valet and steers me inside the restaurant with a hand at the small of my back, setting off a riot of butterflies in my stomach.
The maître d’ takes one look at Reyes and starts gushing effusively. “Good evening, Mr. Malone. Welcome to our fine establishment. Will you and your lovely companion be dining outdoors this evening? The view from the veranda is spectacular and, dare I say, quite romantic.”
I bristle. “A table inside is fine.”
The maître d’ frowns and looks questioningly at Reyes.
With barely concealed laughter, Reyes overrides my request. “A table outdoors sounds great, thank you.”
The maître d’ beams with approval. “Excellent, sir. This way, please.”
As we follow him toward the wide French doors leading outside, I shoot Reyes a dirty look.
He chuckles and whispers in my ear, “Live a little.”
I scowl even as the warmth of his breath makes me shiver.
People stare and point excitedly at Reyes as the maître d’ escorts us across the sun-dappled veranda to a private table, where Reyes pulls out a chair for me before sitting down.
With a lavish sweep of his arms, the maître d’ places our menus and a separate wine list in front of us. “Your waitress will be with you shortly,” he says with an elegant bow. “Enjoy your meal, and please don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
As he glides away, Reyes grins at me. “Just as defiant as ever, I see.”
I lift my chin. “I have a problem with people assuming that a man and woman must be romantically involved if they arrive at a restaurant together. It’s sexist and insulting.”
Reyes just chuckles and shakes his head at me.
“Welcome, folks.” A waitress materializes with a beaming smile mostly directed at Reyes. “My name is Luanne and I’ll be your server this evening.” With practiced efficiency, she recites the specials for the day. “Can I start you off with some appetizers while you look over the menu?”
I shake my head. “I’m not that hungry.”
“What about something to drink? We have an excellent wine list.”
Before I can open my mouth to request sparkling water, Reyes orders an outrageously expensive bottle of pinot noir.
Luanne looks delighted. “I’ll be right back with your wine,” she says with a big smile before slipping away.
I glare across the white-clothed table at Reyes. “I didn’t want wine.”
“You don’t drink? I could have sworn I saw you drinking at the club.”
“I do drink, but that’s not the point. I wanted something else.”
“You can still get anything you want.”
“There’s no point now,” I huff in exasperation.
Reyes chuckles. “C’mon, Emerson. It’s St. Patrick’s Day. Let your hair down, have a drink and unwind with me.”
I swallow, staring at his insanely gorgeous face. As old memories threaten to surface, I pick up my menu and open it.
He does the same. “What’re you having?”
“I don’t know.” Nothing is grabbing me. Probably because I’m too anxious to eat. “What’s good?”
“Why are you asking me? I’ve never eaten here before.”
I shoot him a surprised look. “You mean you’ve never been here with your grandparents? I’ve heard this is one of their favorite haunts.”
“News to me. A business associate recommended this place when I mentioned I was taking an old friend to dinner.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “How did you know I’d agree to go out with you?”
He shrugs, casually perusing his menu. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
My face heats up. “You didn’t exactly give me a choice.”
He just smiles enigmatically and continues studying his menu.
Our waitress returns with the wine, uncorks the bottle and pours some into Reyes’s glass. He briefly noses the wine and takes a sip, then nods approvingly. “Perfect.”
The waitress beams with pleasure, then fills our glasses. “Are you ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?” She’s talking to both of us, but it’s clear that she only has eyes for Reyes.
He looks questioningly at me. “Know what you want?”
“I’ll have the seared scallops with the wild mushroom risotto.”
Luanne nods, scribbling in her pad. “And for you, sir?”
“Porterhouse steak, medium rare.”
“Excellent choice,” Luanne gushes. “It’s our house specialty.”
“Then I’m looking forward to it.” Reyes adds grilled asparagus and mashed potatoes to his entrée.
“Excellent,” Luanne says again.
When he rewards her with a tiny wink, she titters and giggles before scooping up our menus and sashaying away.
As I roll my eyes in annoyance, Reyes chuckles and sips his wine, watching me over the rim of his glass.
“So why haven’t you ever eaten here before?” he asks. “You’ve lived in Piedmont Bay for several years.”
I shrug. “I generally prefer a less . . . ostentatious dining experience.”
“Like the sports bar you and your coworkers go to?” His tone is casual, but I detect something that makes me wonder if he’s jealous.
“Yes,” I say. “Like McCray’s.”
He drinks more wine, holding my gaze until I look away.
Although I balked at dining on the veranda, I can’t deny that the view is spectacular with blooming spring foliage splashed across the manicured garden. A gentle breeze carries the scent of magnolias, sweet and lemony.
I turn my head to find Reyes still watching me. The smoldering intensity in his eyes sends a rush of melting warmth into the pit of my stomach.
I swallow hard before plunging on brightly, “So tell me about your association. I’ve heard such good things about the work you do.”
He lowers his gaze to his glass, his thumb tracing the rim. “It’s a membership association dedicated to cancer research.”
“SACRET, right?”
He nods. “Society for the Advancement of Cancer Research and Testing. The proceeds from our conferences go to various nonprofits that fund research, promote cancer awareness and serve affected families. Our members include healthcare professionals, students and academics, public health organizations, federal agencies and corporations that support our mission.” He pauses to sip his wine. “The association was divided into eastern and western regions, and now we’ve established a southern
region that’s headquartered here in North Carolina. Thanks, Luanne,” he says as our waitress places a basket of fresh rolls between us.
He takes one and offers it to me, our fingers brushing in the exchange. My pulse skitters, pinpricks of heat shooting up my arm.
As he picks up another roll, I manage to keep the thread of the conversation. “I’m really impressed, Reyes. You’re doing such meaningful work and impacting millions of lives. But I can’t help wondering . . .” I trail off for a moment, nibbling on my warm roll as I study him.
“Wondering what?” he prompts.
“Do you ever regret choosing football over becoming a doctor?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’ve been fortunate, Emerson. Unlike most people, I have only two regrets in my life. One is losing my mother to cancer. The other,” he says, watching me intently, “has nothing to do with my decision to play football.”
I stare at him, my heart thudding against my sternum. I’m more than relieved when Luanne interrupts with our meals.
We’re silent for the next few minutes as we focus on eating.
“How’s your food?” I ask.
“Delicious. What about yours?”
“Surprisingly good.”
Reyes lifts an eyebrow. “Surprisingly?”
“Yeah. Not all restaurants can make a good risotto.” I chuckle, shaking my head at him. “I know you’re a big, strapping athlete—”
His eyes glimmer.
“—but I can’t believe you’re gonna eat that whole steak. I could barely manage a third of it.”
“Wimp,” he teases. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”
I laugh. “There was a time I could eat circles around you.”
He snorts. “In your dreams.”
“I could!”
“Never.” He smiles, watching me fork up a scallop. “I still remember the time you petitioned our middle school to allow girls to play football.”
I laugh. “Hey, it was worth a shot, right?”
His eyes twinkle. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“Exactly.” I smile and take a sip of my wine. “So how’s your family? What’s Mireia doing with herself these days?” As if I don’t already know.
“She’s in Italy working for a major fashion house. She organized her first fashion show last spring.”
“Oh, wow, that’s awesome. She must have been so excited.”
“She was. The show was a big hit. We’re very proud of her.” Reyes’s voice softens. “She looks more and more like our mother every time I see her.”
I smile gently. “Then she must be very beautiful.”
“She is.” His poignant expression plucks at my heartstrings.
“And how’s your father?” I ask.
“He’s good. When he’s not at the ranch, he’s traveling around the world giving lectures on organic agriculture and farming.”
“The eternal professor,” I say fondly.
Growing up, I used to wish my father could be more like Brooks Malone. He’d embraced me as his own, letting me tag along with him and Reyes on errands. Sandwiched between them in their dusty old pickup, I’d rattled off questions about cattle ranching while Reyes rolled his eyes above my head.
I drink more wine, forcing back bittersweet childhood memories.
Reyes watches me quietly. “When was the last time you heard from your father?”
My stomach clenches, fingers tightening around my glass.
He reads the answer in my eyes and frowns.
“Last I heard he’s still wheeling and dealing on Wall Street, living the life he always dreamed of.” I set my glass down with a sharp clink. “My mother doesn’t talk about him, and I don’t care enough to ask.”
Reyes silently nods, watching my fingers crumple the linen napkin by my plate.
Slowly he reaches over and covers my hand with his.
Seeing the gentle compassion in his eyes, I don’t pull away. As his thumb gently rubs my knuckles, I stare at him, little tingles shooting down my spine and curling my toes.
“Why, is that who I think it is?” a deep, rustic voice booms across the veranda.
Reyes and I look around to see a tall, rangy man sauntering toward our table, a delighted grin creasing his weathered face beneath a white Stetson.
“Well, I’ll be damned! It is you!” the man exclaims, causing heads to turn. “Little Reyes Malone, all grown up and back in Piedmont Bay!”
Reyes rises to greet the boisterous newcomer. “Howdy, Mr. Tucker.”
The man grabs him in a bear hug, rumbling with gritty laughter before he draws back to wag a finger at him.
“Don’t you ‘Mr. Tucker’ me, boy. How many times have I told you to call me Cal?” He shakes his head and gives Reyes an amazed once-over. “Look at you. How tall are you now?”
“Six-five.”
Cal whistles. “Good Lord! You’re even taller than me now! A lot handsomer, too,” he adds with a conspiratorial wink at me. “You look just like your pa. But don’t tell your grandfather that. He likes to think your good looks came solely from him.” He laughs, clapping Reyes on the shoulder. “How is your father? Still in the cattle business, I hear.”
“Yes, sir,” Reyes confirms.
“I’m not surprised. He always had a real knack for ranching. Didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, unlike that other pretty boy Boone raised.” With his pressed gray suit and well-manicured hands, Cal Tucker wears his wealth like a comfortable pair of old boots. A hugely successful land developer, he’s one of the most powerful men in North Carolina. He’s also Reyes’s grandfather’s best friend—a friendship spanning the decades since the Vietnam War.
Cal turns his attention to me, his broad smile oozing southern warmth and charm. “Who’s this lovely young lady with you, Reyes? Wait, don’t tell me. I recognize her from TV. Miss Emerson Sartori, Piedmont Bay’s voice of grit and gumption.”
I smile at the description. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Tucker.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Cal drawls, lowering his head to kiss my extended hand while sliding a roguish grin at Reyes. “Back in town less than two weeks and you’re already courting our finest. You work fast, don’t you, son?”
Reyes grins crookedly. “Emerson and I are old friends, Cal.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say.” Cal laughs and then winks at me. “I’m teasing, of course. I know exactly who you are. Reyes used to talk about you all the time.”
“Did he?” I’m ridiculously pleased to hear this.
Reyes just gives me a tiny smile.
Cal nudges him with an elbow. “So your uncle’s gonna be the next governor, huh?”
Reyes chuckles dryly. “That’s what they’re saying.”
Cal grins. “If I didn’t know better, I’d reckon you Malone boys were plotting to take over the state of North Carolina, what with Brigham headed to the governor’s mansion and his nephew at the helm of our Renegades. Which reminds me. I’ve been a season ticket holder for a long time, and I’ve never seen these fans as excited as they were when they found out the legendary kid with the explosive arm was coming to town.” He chuckles. “You’ve got a lot of pressure riding on these shoulders, son. Think you’re up for it?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” Reyes drawls.
Cal rumbles with approving laughter, tousling Reyes’s hair. “That’s my boy, rising to the challenge. He’s always been that way, you know,” he boasts to me. “Ever since he was yay high, he never backed down from a fight. Tough as nails, just like his grandpa Boone, who saved my life in the war. But I won’t bore you kids with an old man’s war stories. Matter of fact, I need to get back over to my table. I’ve got a client waiting for me and, judging by the look on his face, he’s gettin’ good and ready to leave.”
“C’mon now,” Reyes guffaws. “You know damn well nobody walks out on the mighty Cal Tucker.”
Cal chuckles. “There’s a first time for everything, son. Just ask
my first wife.” He grins as he turns and raises my hand to his lips again. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Sartori. I hope this won’t be the last time.”
I smile. “I’ll be around.”
“Glad to hear it.” He winks at me and claps Reyes on the shoulder, then tips his Stetson to us before sauntering off.
Reyes chuckles, settling back in his chair and smoothing his ruffled hair. “Good ol’ Cal Tucker. Never a dull moment.”
I grin. “I can tell. He’s quite a character, isn’t he?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Reyes smiles reminiscently. “Like my father, I spent many summer afternoons accompanying Cal to various jobsites, wearing a hard hat and learning how to operate a forklift.”
“I know. I remember your stories about him.” I smile, sipping my wine. “Good memories.”
“Definitely,” Reyes agrees.
A companionable silence lapses between us as the evening sun descends, a radiating glow on the horizon.
“Look at that sunset,” Reyes murmurs appreciatively, gazing up at the sky. “It’s almost as beautiful as the ones back home in Santa Fe.”
“Almost,” I say quietly.
He smiles. “Next to Cal and Greer,” he says, referring to his childhood friend, “these sunsets were the best thing about summers in Piedmont Bay.” A faraway expression softens his features. “I used to sit outside on the porch catching lightning bugs and watching the sunset, wondering what you were doing and missing you like crazy.”
My throat tightens around a painful knot. I can’t do this. Not now.
He looks at me, his expression edged with accusation. “Why—”
“I’d better use the bathroom before we hit the road.” I’m on my feet and hurrying away like a coward before he can say another word.
Chapter Seven
REYES
By the time emerson returns to the table, I’ve settled the bill and am signing autographs for Luanne and another gushing waitress. They bat their eyelashes and thank me breathlessly before flitting away, giggling with their heads close together.
I rise to my feet as Emerson approaches, my eyes narrowing on her pale face. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “Just a little tired. It’s been a long day.”
Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1) Page 7
