Rascal (Rascals Book 1)(28)

After we cleared our tiny plates, Emerson glanced at his watch.

“Our reservation is in five minutes,” he said. “We should go.”

“Five minutes?” I grabbed my bag. “Is that enough time?”

He laughed. “We’re eating at another one of the places in the building,” he told me. “We’ll be fine.”

We headed upstairs, and when the doors opened, I found myself confronted with one of the most beautiful views of Chicago I’d ever seen. I had a perfect view of Millennium Park, with the Bean gleaming as the sun set on a gorgeous spring day.

“Wow,” I breathed. “It’s incredible.”

“Yeah,” Emerson said. “It really is.”

He was looking at me. The look in his eyes was so intense that I was extremely tempted to run back downstairs and see if the hotel that shared the building had any available rooms. Right now.

But I somehow managed to keep my hormones in check, and we followed the hostess to our table, which was right along the edge of the restaurant’s terrace. We’d be able to enjoy the view from our table.

“I’ve heard the food here is amazing,” Emerson told me.

I could only stare at the menu in agreement, my mouth watering. Somehow, I managed to choose from the multitude of delicious options, and soon Emerson and I were left alone with wine and the sun setting over Chicago.

“This is wonderful,” I said.

“Aren’t you glad I convinced you to go out with me?” Emerson teased.

My face got warm as I remembered exactly how he had convinced me to go out with him. Apparently, his brain went to the same place, since his grin widened at the expression on my face.

I played coy, taking a sip of my wine instead. Even though I was having a great time with Emerson, that didn’t change the fact that this date was going to have to be a one-time thing. Because I really didn’t have time to date right now, not with all the long hours and weekend shifts I was pulling. But I tried not to think about that. Instead, I did my best to try to enjoy the already enjoyable evening.

“So how did the five of you decide to open a bar?” I asked, still curious about the story behind Rascals.

Emerson smiled. “I’ve always loved the idea, having a place of our own—something that we made, that we were in charge of, that we could take control over. None of us felt like we had a lot of control in our lives, so we thought that owning a business together would provide that feeling. Let us make our mark.”

“But a bar?” I wanted to know more.

Emerson laughed. “We were twenty-somethings who liked to drink. And maybe I watched a few Cheers reruns growing up.”

I laughed.

“Any regrets?”

“Not one,” Emerson told me with a proud expression. “The hard work just confirms that it’s all worthwhile. It’s something that we made together. Something that we can call our own.”

“That’s really important to you,” I observed.

“Yeah,” Emerson said seriously. “It really is.”

“I get that,” I responded quietly. “That need to have something you can take ownership of.”

“Is that what you’re searching for with your job?” he wanted to know.

I thought about it for a moment. “I guess so,” I confirmed. “It also has a lot to do with proving myself.”

“To who?” Emerson asked. “Your parents?”

I shook my head. “My dad isn’t in the picture—he never really was. And my mom would be proud of me no matter what. I guess it’s more about proving it to myself.”

“What are you trying to prove?” Emerson’s gaze was intense, his voice quiet.

“That I’m good enough.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I took a breath, feeling strangely vulnerable. “We didn’t have a lot when I was a kid,” I confessed. “After my dad left, my mom struggled to make ends meet—did everything she could to make sure I was clothed and fed. I owe everything to her. And I want to be in a position to pay her back.”

“Has she asked you to?” Emerson interjected, his voice flat. Disapproving.

“No!” I said quickly. “No, she would never ask that of me. I want to pay her back. I want to show her that I appreciate everything she did for me.”

“I’m sure she knows,” Emerson said, his tone softening.

I shrugged. “Maybe,” I said. “But I’m still going to try. That’s why I need to get this associate’s position.”

“Do you like your job?” Emerson asked. “It seems like a lot of stress.”

“It is,” I told him. “It’s hard and challenging, but I like that about it. I like that I’m constantly being pushed to be better—to do better. And if I make it to associate, and one day, partner . . . that’s the kind of life I’ve always wanted. Something stable, solid. Paying my own way, really building a future for myself that nobody can take away.”

He smiled. “That’s how I feel about the bar. It’s not easy—not at all—but I don’t want easy. Easy is boring.”

“Exactly,” I said, feeling as if something had changed between us. Something had shifted, and the air crackled with tension.