Truth or Date by Susan Hatler Page B

grateful whoosh at its perfect fit and when Kathia approved it, I thought things might finally be going my way until I received the following text from Chris: Hi, honey. If your plans change or you get done early, come join John and me for dinner at The Boat House. Heard on the radio they have an awesome reggae band playing there tonight.  
    That’s right. At THE BOAT HOUSE.
    Why in the world did Chris have to choose the very same restaurant where I’d be meeting Ethan when I, myself, hadn’t been here in years? Since it required more than jeans and a tee shirt, it had never made George’s list of where we should eat out. So what if the radio says the band’s supposed to be cool? I needed to get to know Ethan in peace without a very hot temptation there distracting me.
    Instead of responding to Chris, I called Ethan to beg and plead that we eat somewhere else, anywhere else, and got his voicemail each of the five (count them, five ) times I called. I mean, really, how could I date a man who turns his cell phone off when I might need to contact him in emergencies such as these?
    Determined to enjoy my time with Ethan and not let Chris’s probable presence at the restaurant divert my attention, I strode into The Boat House wearing a white dress that hugged the new curves I’d decided to embrace. I’d splurged on two dresses last Sunday while shopping for the rehearsal dinner and this was one of them. True, white isn’t slimming but whatever. With my dark hair and light skin, Rach said it gave me a Greek goddess kind of look. Who would argue with that kind of compliment? The expression on Ethan’s face when he saw me made it worth the small fortune it cost.
    “Gina.” Ethan planted a quick kiss on my cheek, then his dark eyes moved up and down my body. “Wow.”
    “Thanks.” I reveled in the attention since I’d never had that reaction from George. Not even when we’d first started dating. “You look nice yourself.”
    And he did. His black blazer stretched across his broad chest perfectly and complimented his dark and stunning features.
    “Shall we get seated?” He looked thrown for a moment—guess seeing me dressed up differed a tad from the business suit I’d worn to lunch—and I took that as a good sign. He approached the podium, greeted the man in the suit behind it, and gave his last name.
    As the host led us to a table inside by the fireplace, he tossed a very obvious second glance my way and I made a mental note to take Rach with me clothes shopping from now on. Windows along the back wall allowed an easy view of the river beyond the deck where the band had already begun playing. The thrumming beat and soothing vibrations made me wish we’d been seated outside.
    “Cozy in here by the fire.” Ethan lifted the leather bound wine menu. “This is my favorite table so I reserved it for us.”
    Impressed by his thoughtfulness, I tilted my head. “How sweet of you.”
    Ethan perused the wine list. “Should we order a bottle?”
    I checked my watch. Less than two hours until I needed to be home and I had to drive. “Actually, I’m meeting a friend later. So, just one glass for me.”
    He stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “Tonight? I thought you were free.”
    “Free until seven forty-five.” I kept my voice cheery since he seemed a little irritated. “We’ll have to plan a full evening out soon.”
    His gaze flicked back to the list. “Funny. I thought we had.”
    Make that very irritated.
    My stomach clenched. Why had I said yes to drinks with Chris? The sound of Ms. H.R.’s husky laugh echoed through my mind. Oh, right. That’s why. “The seafood linguini looks good . . .”
    I’d considered asking about Italian history but things hadn’t plummeted that low. Yet.  
    “The seafood linguini is excellent.” He nodded, but kept his eyes glued to the menu as if to express I was still in the doghouse. “I’ve had it before. The Cajun Jambalaya’s good as well.”
    On the