Me: No, you’ll be safer with Henry (my driver) and I don’t want to have to worry about you. See you tonight, baby.

Emmy: See you soon.

As soon as I shoved the phone back into my bag, Fiona approached.

“They’re just about ready for you, love. I asked them to adjust the lights so they wouldn’t be in your eyes too much.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“You look perfect,” she said softly.

I was spray-tanned and my chest and abs were freshly waxed. I’d hit the weight room extra hard the entire month Emmy was gone. I knew I was ready for swim season, which the fashion industry featured during the fall and winter, but I couldn’t help but feel the desperation rolling off Fiona in waves. “Should we do it?” I nodded toward the set, rather than acknowledge her compliment.

She led the way, and I trailed behind.

I knew I should tell her about me and Emmy and figured now was a good time. I wouldn’t have to see the pain in her eyes. I didn’t want to hurt her. “I’m back with Emmy.” Best to keep it simple and to the point.

Her head whipped in my direction, her mouth dropping open. “Oh?”

“Yes.” So much for not hurting her. Her eyes welled with tears, which she quickly blinked away. She didn’t say anything else, just went and sat alone beside the set in a rusty metal folding chair while I got in position for the photographer and tried to act like everything was fine.

Emmy

I wasn’t sure where Ben was taking me for dinner but knowing him, it’d be someplace upscale. He didn’t strike me as a sandwich-shop kind of guy. It was November in New York, which meant it was colder than Antarctica, or at least Tennessee, which was what my body was used to.

I wasn’t sure what to wear so I dressed in leggings with a super-soft cream-colored sweater that was long enough to cover my butt and my tall brown Audrey Boone boots that I’d gotten on sale. I added my navy pea coat then watched the street from our living room window.

Soon a sleek black sedan rolled to a stop at the sidewalk in front of our building. Henry. I didn’t know anything about this guy but if Ben trusted him, I guessed it was fine.

When I approached the car, he exited and opened the back passenger door for me. I didn’t know if I should sit up front since there were just two of us, but I stayed quiet and slid into the backseat.

“Good evening, Miss Clarke,” he said.

“Hi. It’s Henry, right?”

“Yes ma’am. Ben’s asked me to bring you to him at Prime Bistro. I’ve heard the food is great there.”

“Thank you, Henry.”

We rode in silence the reminder of the way while soft classical music played in the background. I watched the city come into view from the window, the skyline rising up in front of me, taking my breath away. The high-rises cast glittering reflections on the river while the sun sunk from view in the background. Coupled with the calming music in the otherwise quiet interior, the car was relaxing.

When we arrived at Prime Bistro Henry helped me from the car and I spotted Ben right away, waiting for me just inside the restaurant’s entrance.

He was dressed in gray dress pants and a white button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves, a wool jacket resting over his arm. I wondered if he’d worked today and if he’d seen Fiona, but all thoughts of her dissipated when he pulled me snuggly into his arms and pressed a kiss to my mouth.

“Hi, baby.” He smiled down at me and all was right with the world.

“Hi,” I returned, breathless from his tender and sweet kiss.

Ben took my hand, lacing his fingers between mine, and led me to our waiting table.

The restaurant was small and intimate, with a glowing stone fireplace at its center; creaky wood-plank floors were dotted with linen-covered tables. The aroma of fresh-baked bread and roasted meats permeated the air. A mouthwatering combination, if my reaction was any indication.

“This place is nice,” I commented as Ben helped me into an oversized red leather booth in the back.

“It’s great. I take my mom here anytime she comes to New York. She and I used to come here when I was a kid.” Ben spread his arms across the back of the booth, looking quite comfortable and happy to show me a place from his childhood.

It was nothing like the kid-friendly restaurants my parents had taken me and my brother, Porter, when we were kids. This wasn’t a peanut-shells-on-the-floor-with-a-play-set-in-the-back kind of place. The kind of place with those horribly sticky vinyl plastic tablecloths and grubby plastic menus, where you could be confident kids wouldn’t mess up anything. I was often reminded of how different Ben’s upbringing was from mine.

When the server appeared, we ordered drinks, a glass of red wine for me and a gin and tonic for him.

“How was your day? Did you work?”

He squeezed the wedge of lime into his drink and took a sip. “Yeah, swimsuit shoot. Went well, but it took longer than expected and I’m starving.”

Warm bread was delivered to our table and I buttered a slice for Ben, sliding the saucer toward him. “Here. Eat.”

“Food pusher,” he murmured under his breath, but one side of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

I buttered a slice for myself next and took a bite. I had to physically suppress my moan, the bread was so good. Crusty on the outside and warm and soft in the center. I hadn’t had bread like this since Paris. Ben’s eyes lifted and locked on mine. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. We’d shared so many amazing times together in Paris and I didn’t want those memories to be overshadowed by the bitter way things had ended, with Fiona sending me packing in an attempt to keep Ben all to herself.