What the Heart Wants (What the Heart Wants, #1)(66)

Out of the corner of his eye, Jase saw Ray’s wife cast a pleading look at her husband and pull at his hand.

Ray spread his face into a big, false smile. “Uh, Jase, Mr. Sawyer, guess we gotta be gettin’ along. On a tight schedule, ya know. Rebecca’s sister is babysittin’, and we promised her we’d be back early.”

Jase gave him a nod. “See ya later, man.”

What was going on? There was more to their hurried departure than babysitting—Rebecca was purposely avoiding eye contact with Laurel. Why?

Sawyer watched Ray leave. “That’s another young man on the way up. Ray and his father have done great things for themselves and this community. Wouldn’t be surprised to see him mayor one of these days.”

Grover reappeared and approached the tabloid editor. “Sir, you have a phone call in the office upstairs.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there in a second.” He shook hands with Jase. “See you tomorrow, boy.” He looked at Laurel and dipped his head formally. “Miss Harlow.”

Jase sat back down with on the couch, a bemused smile on his face. “I think I’ve just gotten a promotion. From throwing the Retriever to being featured in it. How ironic can it get?”

Laurel laughed. “All this and dinner too.”

“Speaking of dinner, do I need to reserve a table?” He looked toward what seemed to be the dining area.

“Not unless there’s a crowd.” She glanced around at the half-empty room. “Doesn’t look like it will be a problem tonight.”

“Then, are you ready to dine, milady?” He stood up and offered her his arm.

Fluttering her lashes at him, she played along. “I’m looking forward to it, kind sir.”

An impressively impassive ma?tre d’h?tel took charge of them as they entered the dining room, and showed them to a white-clothed table in a secluded corner. Laurel recognized him immediately. Augustus had been with the club ever since she could remember, but not by so much as a blink of an eye did he acknowledge that he knew her now. Apparently it had slipped his mind that Daddy had been the one to recommend him for the job because he was some kind of relative of Mrs. January’s.

Before they could open the menus, a slight, bright-haired man waved at Jase from across the room, then left his table to come join them, pulling out a chair for himself.

“Jase, didn’t realize you were here!”

“Good to see you, Craig. Laurel, this is Craig Freiberg. He’s been helping me set up some local operations.”

Freiberg nodded at her politely. “Mrs. Redlander.”

Laurel’s heart jumped a beat, but she didn’t correct him.

Jase didn’t either, which made her heart beat double.

The ma?tre d’ approached the table again. One of Augustus’s duties, Laurel remembered, was to discourage table-hopping.

“Mr. Freiberg, please return to your table. Your dinner will be served presently.”

Freiberg stood up. “Oops, guess I’d better get back where I belong. Jase, I’ll check in with you tomorrow.” He pushed his chair back under the table and nodded at Laurel, all his teeth gleaming. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Redlander.”

Laurel watched him hurry back across the room. Craig Freiberg was one of those people who seemed to have speed built into their DNA.

Jase lifted her left hand and touched her ring finger. “Mrs. Redlander,” he repeated. “It sounded good. Maybe we should consider it.”

“Maybe,” Laurel echoed, smiling at him, all the time knowing it was impossible. Their relationship was living on borrowed time. If only things were different, if she weren’t her father’s daughter, she’d marry Jase in an instant, leave Bosque Bend behind, and start a new life. But that wasn’t about to happen. If Jase did actually want to “make it legal,” she’d have to tell him everything, which she absolutely could not do. Not only would it destroy their relationship, but it would destroy him. He’d built his life on Daddy.

No, better to let this affair run its course and have Jase ride off into the sunset when it was over.

In the far corner of the room, the pianist serenaded the diners with a random mix of slow, soulful blues. Sometimes Mrs. Atherton, who’d been Laurel’s piano teacher from when Laurel was four till when she went off to college, would present a whole program of ragtime, but tonight was apparently one of her more contemplative evenings.

After Jase gave their dinner orders to the waiter, he led Laurel from the table to join another couple on the small parquet dance square. The club had always featured live music, but only in the past couple of years, since the year before Daddy’s fall from grace, had a few tables been cleared for dancing. The Baptists and Church of Christers had protested, of course, so out of respect for his fellow clergy, Daddy had asked Laurel to limit her dancing to other venues, but she figured his death made her promise moot.

She laid her head against Jase’s shoulder and closed her eyes. It didn’t matter whether he was a good dancer or not. All she wanted was an excuse to be close to him. And, with her head buried in his shoulder, no one would recognize her.

At some point Augustus discreetly informed them that their dinner was served, and they returned to their table. For all Laurel knew, she could have eaten meatloaf—she was with Jase, and that was all that mattered. Afterward they meandered back into yet another one of the club rooms, this one decorated in oyster and aqua, and Grover brought them coffee.