my place. It was kind of scary, putting a fine dining establishment away from everything, kind of like the whole Field of Dreams thing.”
Great. A baseball analogy. Thanks to Adam, I knew all the great baseball movies and all the key lines. “If you build it, they will come.”
“Yes, and they have. There’s a lot of money around the Copper Mountain area, big cattle ranches, farms, and a pretty healthy tourist industry.”
The road was familiar, we were close to Beck’s house. “So are we headed to your restaurant?”
“Nope. We’re closed tonight.”
“On a Wednesday?”
“It’s my place, I get to decide. So I closed it.”
Okay. Maybe this was a date.
I glanced at my cell phone as we pulled into the courtyard. No calls, no texts.
“You ever get tired of checking that thing?” Full on grin, teasing me.
“This is the world we live in, Beck. I’m no different than anybody else.”
He raised his eyebrows like maybe he disagreed. “I get tired of that world. Too many distractions. I can leave mine turned off for hours, even days sometimes,” he shrugged as the car came to a stop in front of his home. “But I’ve watched you with that hot pink phone… unless you’re starving, I don’t imagine that’s possible. So are you? Starving?”
I narrowed my eyes and tossed it in the cup holder, fully intent on leaving it in the car.
“I guess that answers that question. Are you’re ready for a drink?” he asked.
“I’d really like to see your restaurant.” I wanted to know what was behind that big dark leafy screen, what he’d built when he came home from his adventure. “If that’s okay.”
“I’d love to show it to you. You’re sure you’re not too tired to walk over?” He pointed to the cute four-inch wedges I was wearing the day he saved me.
“I’m a tough girl, remember?” Who has a boyfriend who is very pissed at her, but Adam is still my boyfriend. At least I hoped he was.
From the outside, the restaurant looked fancy and expensive. It was called Beck’s Place and had the same French country, log cabin thing going on like his home, only on a grander scale. It looked awfully big to be away from the tourist trade. No surprise it was successful, I’d only had Beck’s grilled cheese and I was sold. He held a key fob up to a security panel and the thick wooden double doors clicked and then opened.
The reception area was small but tasteful, the bar was off to the right with the obligatory big screen TVs on the wall and cool rustic high -top tables made out of what looked like big logs polished to a glossy sheen.
“It’s beautiful, Beck.”
He grinned. “Thanks. It’s pretty much your average restaurant. Bar, dining area, wine cellar, kitchen.”
“I don’t believe you. I’ve had your food. You don’t do average.” Not by a long shot.
The dining room had maybe thirty tables of various sizes draped in white cloths. The brown tones of the burled wooden floors and the thick woven straps on the buckskin leather chairs were the perfect complement to the cowboy-chic setting. But the best part of the restaurant, besides the food I am sure, was the view of the mountains from the floor-to-ceiling windows framed with thick honey-colored beams.
I followed him through the dining room and into a large dimly lit room, the wine cellar. “We have a good list,” he said, “a lot of people fly in just for the wine.”
“They’re fools if they leave without eating.”
He smiled and didn’t argue with me. “Why don’t you pick a bottle for dinner. Any bottle.”
“I don’t know much about wine except that I like it white and cold.”
“Ever had a really good cab before?” He ran his hands over a row of bottles, like he was just itching to pick one for me, or hoping I chose wisely. But I knew more about lampshade origami than I knew about wine.
“Probably not. I might like them better if I had.”
He grabbed a bottle off of the rack. “This Scarecrow is
Great. A baseball analogy. Thanks to Adam, I knew all the great baseball movies and all the key lines. “If you build it, they will come.”
“Yes, and they have. There’s a lot of money around the Copper Mountain area, big cattle ranches, farms, and a pretty healthy tourist industry.”
The road was familiar, we were close to Beck’s house. “So are we headed to your restaurant?”
“Nope. We’re closed tonight.”
“On a Wednesday?”
“It’s my place, I get to decide. So I closed it.”
Okay. Maybe this was a date.
I glanced at my cell phone as we pulled into the courtyard. No calls, no texts.
“You ever get tired of checking that thing?” Full on grin, teasing me.
“This is the world we live in, Beck. I’m no different than anybody else.”
He raised his eyebrows like maybe he disagreed. “I get tired of that world. Too many distractions. I can leave mine turned off for hours, even days sometimes,” he shrugged as the car came to a stop in front of his home. “But I’ve watched you with that hot pink phone… unless you’re starving, I don’t imagine that’s possible. So are you? Starving?”
I narrowed my eyes and tossed it in the cup holder, fully intent on leaving it in the car.
“I guess that answers that question. Are you’re ready for a drink?” he asked.
“I’d really like to see your restaurant.” I wanted to know what was behind that big dark leafy screen, what he’d built when he came home from his adventure. “If that’s okay.”
“I’d love to show it to you. You’re sure you’re not too tired to walk over?” He pointed to the cute four-inch wedges I was wearing the day he saved me.
“I’m a tough girl, remember?” Who has a boyfriend who is very pissed at her, but Adam is still my boyfriend. At least I hoped he was.
From the outside, the restaurant looked fancy and expensive. It was called Beck’s Place and had the same French country, log cabin thing going on like his home, only on a grander scale. It looked awfully big to be away from the tourist trade. No surprise it was successful, I’d only had Beck’s grilled cheese and I was sold. He held a key fob up to a security panel and the thick wooden double doors clicked and then opened.
The reception area was small but tasteful, the bar was off to the right with the obligatory big screen TVs on the wall and cool rustic high -top tables made out of what looked like big logs polished to a glossy sheen.
“It’s beautiful, Beck.”
He grinned. “Thanks. It’s pretty much your average restaurant. Bar, dining area, wine cellar, kitchen.”
“I don’t believe you. I’ve had your food. You don’t do average.” Not by a long shot.
The dining room had maybe thirty tables of various sizes draped in white cloths. The brown tones of the burled wooden floors and the thick woven straps on the buckskin leather chairs were the perfect complement to the cowboy-chic setting. But the best part of the restaurant, besides the food I am sure, was the view of the mountains from the floor-to-ceiling windows framed with thick honey-colored beams.
I followed him through the dining room and into a large dimly lit room, the wine cellar. “We have a good list,” he said, “a lot of people fly in just for the wine.”
“They’re fools if they leave without eating.”
He smiled and didn’t argue with me. “Why don’t you pick a bottle for dinner. Any bottle.”
“I don’t know much about wine except that I like it white and cold.”
“Ever had a really good cab before?” He ran his hands over a row of bottles, like he was just itching to pick one for me, or hoping I chose wisely. But I knew more about lampshade origami than I knew about wine.
“Probably not. I might like them better if I had.”
He grabbed a bottle off of the rack. “This Scarecrow is
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