“Money can do that. It can make people forget where they came from. But, on a lighter note, we're here.”
My eyes expand as he pulls up to Melisse. “You're you kidding me, right? Do you have a reservation?”
“Nope,” he says casually as he unbuckles his seat belt.
“We'll never get in here. You know that, right? No one gets in without a reservation.”
“It doesn't hurt to try, does it?”
“Hardin, my father has been trying to get a reservation here forever, and he knows people. We might as well go around back and hope someone throws us some scraps.”
“What, are we Lady and the Tramp now?” He chuckles as he shuts off the truck and pulls out the keys.
“I'm just saying, maybe we should go someplace we have a chance. You said you were starving.”
“There's that word again—chance.” He flashes me a big smile as he opens his door. Hardin walks to my door and opens it for me. Holding out his hand, he bows slightly. “This way,” he says.
“All right, but I'm telling you, we're never getting in.”
“Well, we'll have to see. But I'm not a man who just gives up on anything.” Hardin pulls me out of the truck and leads us to the door.
The doorman opens it up, letting us in. There's a young woman standing behind a sleek podium. Her short brown hair bounces against her shoulders as she fiddles with a pen in her hand.
“Hello,” she says, giving us a pleasant smile. “Name?”
“Actually, we don't have reservations,” Hardin says.
“Oh, I'm sorry, sir, we don't have any open tables.”
“Right, I figured that. Can you do me a favor, can you tell François that Hardin Farron is here?”
She gives him an awkward, thin lipped smile, and nods softly. The girl steps away from the podium, walking through the dining area, and heading into the kitchen.
“What are you doing? This is never going to work. Let's just go someplace else.”
“We're taking a risk here, Millie. Let's see where it goes.”
“Do you even know François Delacorte? Or is this some game you're playing here?”
“Just wait a second,” he says, holding up his hand, and patting the air calmly.
The girl returns, taking two menus and holding them to her chest. “Right this way, Mr. Farron.”
My jaw drops instantly as we follow the girl to an open table tucked in the back. Hardin pulls out my seat for me, helping to push me in.
“Your server is named James, and he'll be with you shortly.”
I wait for her to leave before staring at Hardin with wide open eyes. “How in the world do you know François Delacorte?”
“I might have done some work for him in the restaurant. See that bar over there?” I nod. “I built it. Well, Oliver and I built it a couple years ago. He was so happy with it, he gave us both an open invitation. He also had us come back to do the recessed ceiling for the chandelier, and all the woodwork against the back wall.”
“This is crazy. You've got to be kidding me right now. I can't believe I'm even sitting here. My father is going to be so jealous.”
“Hey, maybe you can use this as leverage?” He arches a brow and shrugs.
“Yeah, maybe.” Giggling, I pick up my menu and start reading it.
“So, do you think you're ever actually going to tell him about us?”
“Us?” I ask, looking up him. He says it as if we're already a couple.
“What would you call it? Me, you, together. . . That's us, right?”
“I suppose so,” I answer playfully. “I'll tell him eventually. I guess it depends on where this goes.”
Hardin nods in agreement. “Of course.”
The way he said us makes my stomach twist up tight. I like the sound of it, the thought of it, and everything about us. I'm just not sure how we would ever make it work. I can't sneak around with him forever, but I know my parents will never accept him.
The waiter comes over and we order drinks and dinner.
“I've always loved this place,” I say, looking around in awe.
“How can you love something you've never been too?”
“Well, this restaurant is a bit different. The owner buys a lot of his ingredients from the local farmers’ markets. He gives back to the community, and that just gives this place something special.”
“Makes sense.” Hardin sips his drink, his eyes staring at me from behind the rim of the glass.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?” I wipe around my mouth with the napkin.
“No, you look perfect. Can't I just admire the most beautiful woman I've ever seen?”
“I suppose you can,” I say with a bashful grin.
Dinner is amazing. Everything is cooked beautifully. But it's not the dinner that is making this night incredible. It's Hardin.