Tempting Donovan Ford by Jennifer McKenzie Page B

yeah, at least three years. We started coming because we were friends with Alain, the original owner. But when Julia took over cooking from her mom, we started coming for the food.”
    “Her mom?” Donovan tapped a finger against the side of his coffee mug. What did her mother have to do with the restaurant?
    “Suzanne was the chef here before she got sick. When she couldn’t work any longer, Julia came back to Vancouver to help. I think she only intended to stay until her mom got better...” His voice trailed off.
    Donovan studied them, noting the sad tilt to their eyes. “But she didn’t.”
    “No.” The brunette shook his head. “She died. We thought Julia might leave then. Go back to Paris.”
    Donovan ignored the clamp of his own heart. His father had survived. According to the doctor, as long as he continued to take care of himself, Gus Ford would live a long life. “But she didn’t leave.”
    “No, she settled in.” The dark-haired man smiled. “I think it’s sort of a tribute to her mother.”
    Donovan could understand the desire. And felt as though maybe he knew Julia a little better than he had before.
    He chatted with the men until they finished their drinks and moved to their waiting table. Then he waited for Julia.
    * * *
    J ULIA REMAINED IN the kitchen until the last plate was served and she was sure there were no further orders coming in before she made her way back into the dining room. She knew Donovan was still there. Had been informed by the staff the moment he’d left the table and taken up a stool at the bar instead of leaving.
    The room was only a quarter full, which wasn’t terrible considering it had been only half-full this evening to begin with. She saw Donovan across the room, still sitting at the bar. He had a menu in his hand and was frowning. Even with twenty tables and about twenty-five feet between them, she could feel his magnetism. But that magnetism, that draw of attraction, wasn’t why she walked over. She was simply being polite, making nice with the new owner.
    Still, when he noticed her, putting down the menu and focusing all his attention on her, Julia felt the pull all the way to her toes.
    “Donovan.” She slid onto the stool beside him. “I didn’t expect you’d still be here.” A subtle hint that he shouldn’t be.
    He smiled, either ignoring or missing the gentle rebuke. “I thought we could talk.”
    “Oh?” The bartender, Stef, arrived to place a glass of water in front of her. Julia stilled the sudden fluttering in her chest with a sip of it and smiled at the woman who was working her way toward a law degree. “Thanks.”
    “The menu’s dated,” Donovan said.
    Julia stiffened. She knew the menu was dated. It hadn’t changed in thirty years. But her attempts to modernize it had fallen on deaf ears. First with Alain, who hadn’t wanted to change anything, and then with Jean-Paul, who’d refused to spend money.
    She reminded herself that she should be grateful Donovan saw the need, too—she wouldn’t have to convince him—but something about his tone put her on the defensive. As if he thought she was the one responsible for it.
    “I happen to agree. I hope this means you’re open to changing it.”
    He nodded, his eyes already scanning the room. At least the space was decent. It needed a bit of polishing, but nothing major. Julia had convinced Alain to repaint the walls so they were a crisp white, and the photos on the walls were full of charm. A mix of pictures from Alain’s childhood in Bordeaux and some from her mother’s personal collection of travels through France. Besides the one of Julia playing in the fountain, there was also one she’d taken during her first year living in Paris. In her opinion, they created a friendly, welcoming atmosphere. A personalization that let diners know the meal wasn’t just about eating but was an experience.
    The floor could use a good sanding and restaining to return it to its former golden glory and