The Lion's Den(54)

I pop a mint in my mouth as we exit the ladies’ room, grateful I’m finally beginning to crave a piece of the fresh-baked bread I saw at other people’s tables.

“You know who that was that saved your ass?” Wendy whispers as we stride arm in arm up the pathway that connects the restrooms to the restaurant. “Tamara von Klein. Duchess of Austria? I think it’s Austria. But she was raised in England, clearly.”

“How on earth did you know that?”

“I know these things.”

“But we didn’t even see her.”

She shrugs. “I saw her go in the bathroom ahead of us and noticed her nails.”

I push open the heavy door to the bar, blinking as my eyes adjust to the dimness of the wood-paneled room. Velvet drapes block most of the light, and lurid oil paintings of wild animals tearing one another to shreds hang on the dark-green wallpaper. “Why is it so dark in here?” I ask.

I meant it as a rhetorical question, but of course Wendy knows the answer. “This restaurant has been here a hundred years, and the bar has always been the same. It’s famous.”

My eyes land on John, standing at the elaborately carved mahogany bar, in conversation with a tall, dark-haired man. Both have their backs to us.

As we approach, John slaps the man on the back and walks away without spotting us. The man turns. My heart stops.

It’s Dylan.

I haven’t seen him in more than a year, but he looks just the same: rakishly handsome in an impeccably wrinkled white button-down and faded red shorts, his skin sun-kissed, his dark hair tousled. He gives the air of belonging in this place and seems relaxed—far more relaxed than I’d have assumed someone who’d just lost his brother might be.

Neither of us moves for a moment, both caught off guard. And then he breaks into a smile and approaches, his arms outstretched. He wraps me up in a hug as Wendy looks on, amused.

“I didn’t think I was going to get to see you,” he says as we separate.

“Yeah. Small world,” I agree, my surprise robbing me of anything more interesting to say. “This is Dylan,” I explain to Wendy.

“I remember.” She smiles. “Sort of. Thank you for rescuing me at that fairy party.”

“No problem.”

“What brings you here?” I ask.

A wry smile plays around his lips. “Same thing as you, I suppose.”

“Lunch!” Wendy interjects brightly.

He seems less excited to see me than I might have expected, the easy rapport we had last time we met now strained. But then, he’s been through hell since the last time I saw him.

“How do you know John?” Wendy asks him.

He shifts his weight and runs his fingers through his hair, clearing his throat. “We—uh, we work together.”

Interesting. His eyes flicker toward me to gauge my reaction, but Wendy plows ahead. “And what do you do, Dylan?” she pipes up.

He glances over his shoulder as though looking for someone. “Future site research and development.”

“That sounds cool,” she says, laying a hand lightly on his biceps. “What does it mean?”

He crosses his arms, his eyes scanning the restaurant behind us. “I create viability reports on potential locations for commercial development.”

Why is he acting so odd?

“Cool,” she says. “Summer mentioned John’s building a resort around here—are you working on that with him?”

He furrows his brow, but before he can answer, a waiter approaches and bows slightly to Dylan, who looks decidedly relieved by his appearance. “Monsieur, votre compagnon est arrivé.”

His companion, ah. He’s on a date. Of course. So that explains it.

He nods. “Merci.”

The waiter continues to hover. I force a smile, wishing I had more time with him and that Wendy weren’t beside me. “Don’t let us keep you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s my grandmother. She’s ninety-one. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“Of course,” I say. “It was good to see you.”

“I’m so sorry about your brother,” Wendy says with sincerity.

He nods, his countenance for the first time showing signs of melancholy. “Thank you.”

I see my opportunity and speak up. “Is there any news?”

He quickly shakes his head. “Please do call me if you get a few hours while you’re here,” he says. “I’d love to catch up properly.”

He leans in and plants a dry kiss on my cheek, then follows the waiter from the room.

Wendy sighs as she watches him leave. “So sad.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She squeezes my hand and smiles. “I forgot he’s such an eyeful.”

“Yeah.”

“Seems to like you, too,” she adds.

“I don’t know. I didn’t really get that feeling.”

“I’m sure he was just surprised to see you, and after everything with Eric, he can’t feel great knowing Summer’s around…would just be so hard…”

“Yeah,” I agree, unsettled.

“And he knows John…He must know about him and Summer, then,” she prattles on. “I wonder if he’s upset about it. I mean, he’s probably upset, right? To see her here all happy with John when his brother was, like, crazy in love with her and now he’s—God, it’s so awful. Poor Summer…” Her voice trails off as our eyes land on Vinny, who has appeared in the doorway that leads to the restaurant.