Ooh La La by Doreen Alsen

Author:Doreen Alsen [Alsen, Doreen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary, Holiday, Women's Fiction
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2015-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Esmeralda’s was one of Veronica’s favorite restaurants, with a calm atmosphere and good French bistro style food. The speakers poured out Debussy as the hostess seated them in a corner of the dining room.

It was snowing outside but Esmeralda’s dining room was warm and cozy with flickering candles, an antique wood stove cranking out heat, and the seductive aroma of comfort food.

Simon smiled from across the table. “Thanks for coming with me.”

She smiled back while her heart jackhammered in her chest. “A girl’s got to eat.”

He laughed. “Thanks for eating with me.”

“Thanks for asking.” She took a sip from the glass of Riesling the waitress brought for her.

“So, what’s this Ballet Gala all about?”

Lord, his eyes were so blue. “It’s an annual fundraiser for the Addington Ballet. We usually have a theme or some kind of twist.”

“Oh, yeah? What kinds of twists?” Simon took a sip of his beer.

“Well, one year local artisans made mirrors and we had a silent auction. It had a fairy tale theme and everyone had to come in costume.” She grinned. “We called it the Mirror, Mirror on the Wall Ball. Last year we connected the Gala with a cooking competition called Addington’s Tables. Again artists donated tables for a silent auction.”

“Now, that one I’ve heard of. Everyone at The End Zone was really upset when Bobby didn’t win.”

“I can imagine. Hope Monahan is a good friend so I was glad when she did.”

“I’ve never eaten at Hope’s.”

“Lucky for you, she caters the food for the Gala. I tasted some sample pastries the other night at a Gala committee meeting. They were awesome.”

He raised his eyebrows. “First year on the committee?”

“Yes.”

“You must be connected.”

Veronica sighed. “I’m not. I won’t lie. My family is, but I’m just an accountant.”

“Just an accountant? No such thing, especially when it comes to you.”

Oh, dear. The look in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that hot a look since…well, since forever. She should say something, she knew she should, but…

“Veronica? You didn’t tell me you’d be here tonight.”

She closed her eyes and prayed for death. Here she was, having dinner with a fascinating man who might or might not be a stripper, and who should come along to kill the buzz? As Humphrey Bogart said, “In all the gin joints, in all the town, in all the world, she walks into mine.”

She stood. “Mother. Hello.”

Simon slipped his napkin off his lap, laid it on the table, and stood. “Mrs. Cooke.”

Veronica’s mother sniffed. “Please, Veronica, introduce me to your friend.”

Veronica resisted the impulse to turn and run. “Mother, this is Simon West, a dance instructor at Barrett. Simon, please meet my mother, Mrs. Priscilla Cooke.”

Simon extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cooke.”

Veronica half expected her mother to extend her hand so Simon could kiss her ring and say “charmed, I’m sure”.

And in the worst of all possible worlds, her mother refused to take Simon’s hand.

Simon pretended not to notice. “Won’t you join us?” he asked.

The corners of Veronica’s mother turned down even more.

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