Jack mumbled something I didn't quite catch, but that told me I shouldn't comment on the fancy hotel. Just accept it.
The "not commenting" part got harder when I walked into our room. The door opened into a living room with sofas, a full bar, and a massive window overlooking the gorgeous Chicago skyline. There was no way I couldn't not say something, so I settled for, "This is really nice," while walking to the window, giving him the chance to opt out of a reply, which he did.
"Got two bathrooms," he said after a moment. "Figured that would make things easy. Take the bedroom one. Probably bigger."
"All right."
I headed that way, and I was almost to the door when Jack got in front of me, so fast he startled me.
"Um, about the bedroom," he said. "Only one bed. Got a sofa bed, too. I'll take that. Wasn't a two-bed option. Just . . . wanted to let you know."
"Sounds good. I'll get ready then."
"Right," he said and stepped out of my path.
It took me a while. I might know how to do the dress-up thing, but I'm rusty. After thirty minutes, I realized I was putting our reservation in jeopardy and opened the door to tell Jack I was almost ready. The room was silent.
"Jack?"
No answer.
I slid from the bathroom to peek around the bedroom door. Yes, I was decent, but I wasn't quite done yet and didn't want to ruin that first impression.
"Jack?"
The room was empty. The other bathroom door was open and the inside light was off. I was looking around when I noticed a note on the table. I scampered over to it.
Bringing the car around. Just come down. Don't rush.
Of course I did rush. I took this as a subtle message that I was indeed late. So I finished getting ready and then hurried down.
Was I a little disappointed with the arrangement? Yes, I'll admit it. I'd taken some serious effort to make an impression, and his first sight of me was going to be as I dashed out the hotel front door while he waited in the car. Worse yet, when I got down to the lobby the car wasn't even there. Two vehicles idled out front--a BMW and a Jag.
Then the driver's door on the BMW opened and Jack stepped out. He started to come around. As he turned toward me, getting a full look for the first time, he stopped. He stared. Then he caught himself and continued striding over to meet me.
I was trying not to stare myself. I've seen Jack dressed up. He'd worn a tux for the opera during a stakeout. At the time, I'd wondered how he'd carry off the look--it didn't seem right for him. I'd been wrong. Jack looked as comfortable in a suit as he did in a biker outfit. It just brought out another side to that da
ngerous edge, making him look like he was ready to throw down in the boardroom rather than in a bar. Tonight he wore a sports coat and tie, but the effect was the same. Freshly shaven. Black hair gleaming. Wearing that suit like it came from his closet, not straight off a store rack. He looked good. Damned good.
"Something happened to our car," I said as he reached me. "It must have been sitting in that parking garage too long. The other vehicles rubbed off on it."
He smiled. He didn't say anything, though, just put a hand on the small of my back and guided me toward the car as he leaned over to open the door. He didn't say anything about my outfit, either. I didn't expect him to. Before the opera, it'd been Quinn who'd told me how good I looked--multiple times. With Jack, I hadn't even been sure he'd noticed. Now, he noticed. I could feel his gaze on me as I got into the car, and that was more flattering than anything he could have said.
When we reached the restaurant, I could see why he'd switched cars. If we'd driven our economy rental up to the valet, they'd probably have refused to park it. As it was, we fit right in. As we walked inside and through the restaurant, Jack's hand still resting at my back, we caught some glances. Mostly women, checking him out, as discreetly as possible, given the venue. I earned some looks, too, and held my head a little higher. Most of the time, I'm happy to blend. I want to blend. Every now and then, though, under the right circumstances, a little attention is nice.
I'd been worried dinner might be awkward with both of us out of our comfort zone, but as soon as we were seated, we started talking as we would over any other meal. Except it wasn't "any other meal." We both knew that. The car, the restaurant, the dress, the suit . . . it all said that this wasn't just dinner between friends.
We stayed at the restaurant until there was only one other table of diners left. When we finally stepped outside, the cool night air was as refreshing as any country breeze, and I paused a moment, drinking it in.
"Nice night," Jack said as the valet hurried over.
I smiled. "It is."
Jack motioned for the valet to wait. "You want to walk?" He shrugged off his jacket. "Saw a park over . . ." He glanced down at my shoes. "Something tells me those weren't made for strolling."
"Actually, on the scale of heels, these are as stroll-worthy as they come. I know my limits. I'd love a walk."
Jack gave me his coat. I didn't argue. As I put it over my shoulders, he spoke to the valet. He got the keys back and directions to the parking garage for later. Then he slipped the young man a tip and led me down the restaurant steps. When we reached the bottom, his hand brushed mine. I took it, and we headed out.