“Your car is here, Mr. Jones,” the concierge said as we headed to the door. “Your reservation is confirmed.”
“Goodness. Such service.” I felt like a princess.
Wyatt helped me in the car and we drove the few blocks to the restaurant. It looked upscale and for a moment I wondered if my dress was nice enough.
“Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Your table is ready,” the host said when Wyatt gave his name. I followed him through the dimly-lit restaurant to a corner table.
“Here is our wine list,” the host said, handing Wyatt the wine menu. He went through the specials of the night as he gave us the food menu.
“Oh my god, Wyatt. I’m overwhelmed.” It was a reminder that I was a small-town girl. I’d gone away to college, but not far. I had been to Lincoln only a handful of times. I’d never left the state.
“I want you to feel special tonight, Sinclair.”
“You’re taking my breath away.”
He took my hand, kissing the back of it. “Good.”
He ordered wine and then did that sniff and taste thing I always saw done on TV. Then he okayed the wine and the waiter poured it.
“Do they teach about wine in Special Ops?” I asked him.
He laughed and leaned forward. “I have no clue what I’m doing. But it tastes good.”
It made me feel better that he wasn’t completely in his element either. I sipped the wine and had to agree that it was good.
Over dinner we settled into a comfortable conversation.
“I bet you’ve seen so much of the world,” I said as I dug into the scallops I ordered.
“I’ve traveled, but much of it isn’t on any tourist map. There’s a lot in the world that isn’t that interesting. Most places I went to were downright dangerous.”
I wanted to ask him about the scars on his chest, but worried it would bring up unpleasant memories for him.
“So, no Louvre or Eiffel Tower?” I asked.
“Not Paris. I’ve been to London. And Amsterdam.”
“Is it true they have pot in everything?” I asked, intrigued.
“You can buy it pretty easily.”
I leaned forward. “Did you?”
He laughed. “No. Booze is my one vice. Everything else I avoid.”
I remembered him saying that his father was an alcoholic. I noticed that Wyatt drank, but he seemed to control it. A couple of drinks was his limit. I wondered if that was to avoid being like his father.
“Sometimes I think it would be nice to travel. At the same time, I really like Salvation. It’s home. Is that dumb?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t appreciate just how much Salvation was a part of me until I returned home. Stark and your boss notwithstanding, it’s filled with good, hard-working people. You don’t find that everywhere.”
I smiled, glad he didn’t see Salvation as being small and insignificant after his travels.
“I am sorry about Mo. He’s just… Well…”
“I can’t blame him. He has good taste in women.” Wyatt poured me more wine. I’d only had one glass, but already I could feel it going to my head. Or maybe it was the man that was intoxicating.
“Did the military teach you to be romantic too? I don’t remember this part of you.”