He nodded. “They’re around,” he said non-committedly.
Clearly they weren’t a topic of conversation he was interested in pursuing.
“Your sister too?” I remembered that he had seemed very fond of her.
I had remembered correctly as the tension that had scrunched up his shoulders when I asked about his folks seemed to disappear as he talked about his sister.
“Hayley lives in the Loop too,” he said. “Still trying to figure out what she wants to do with her life, but she’s a good kid.”
“Kid?” I asked, my eyebrow raised. “She looked like an adult to me.”
Emerson laughed. “She’ll always be my little sister, therefore she’ll always be a kid to me.”
“I’m sure she loves that,” I said, teasing him.
“She totally does,” Emerson confirmed. “She’s like a little sister to everyone in the crew—and we all spoil her rotten. No one can say no to her. Except Dante. He’s immune to her charms.”
“What does Dante do for the bar?” I wanted to know.
“He’s one of the investors,” Emerson said. “He’s a busy guy, so he’s not as involved in the day-to-day work like Chase, Sawyer, and I are, but he’s just as important to the success of the bar as anyone.”
“Chase, Sawyer, Dante, you,” I counted off my fingers. “There are five of you, though, right?”
Emerson nodded. “Liam’s our fifth. He’s our financial mastermind, but has a demanding day job so we don’t see him as much as the others. The bar is a full-time job for me and Chase, while the other guys are juggling additional work.”
“Must be nice to have so many people backing Rascals,” I observed.
“It is,” Emerson said. “We have a really good team.”
“So, you guys met when you were in college?” I asked, thinking of the photo I had seen hanging on the wall at the bar.
“Yup.” Emerson bent over the table and this time I was the one who got to check out his butt. It was a great view. “I was rooming with Chase in the dorms for a while, and at some point during the semester, he found out about this top secret poker ring that some townie was operating near the college. It was supposed to be the best game in town, so of course we wanted in. That’s where we met the other guys. Dante was the one running the game and hustling all the rich kids out of their allowances,” he added with a grin.
“He’s . . . well, let’s just say he has a colorful background. He’s from the other side of the tracks, so to speak. He’s all grit and attitude. Scary as hell if you don’t know him. One night, some frat bros started causing trouble. One of them lost, big-time, and they started throwing their weight around, threatening to bust the place, demanding their money back. We all ended up brawling, and someone called the cops. We all wound up spending the night in jail together. You could say we’ve been tight ever since.”
“That’s some bonding experience,” I laughed.
“The start of a beautiful friendship,” Emerson agreed.
We finished our game—with me losing embarrassingly—and headed back to our table to try the appetizers that had been delivered. All the food was delicious, but somehow, I couldn’t stop thinking about the grilled cheese sandwich that Emerson had made me the previous week. For whatever reason, that’s what I was craving. Or maybe it was just Emerson himself.
After we cleared our tiny plates, Emerson glanced at his watch.
“Our reservation is in five minutes,” he said. “We should go.”
“Five minutes?” I grabbed my bag. “Is that enough time?”
He laughed. “We’re eating at another one of the places in the building,” he told me. “We’ll be fine.”
We headed upstairs, and when the doors opened, I found myself confronted with one of the most beautiful views of Chicago I’d ever seen. I had a perfect view of Millennium Park, with the Bean gleaming as the sun set on a gorgeous spring day.
“Wow,” I breathed. “It’s incredible.”
“Yeah,” Emerson said. “It really is.”
He was looking at me. The look in his eyes was so intense that I was extremely tempted to run back downstairs and see if the hotel that shared the building had any available rooms. Right now.
But I somehow managed to keep my hormones in check, and we followed the hostess to our table, which was right along the edge of the restaurant’s terrace. We’d be able to enjoy the view from our table.
“I’ve heard the food here is amazing,” Emerson told me.
I could only stare at the menu in agreement, my mouth watering. Somehow, I managed to choose from the multitude of delicious options, and soon Emerson and I were left alone with wine and the sun setting over Chicago.
“This is wonderful,” I said.
“Aren’t you glad I convinced you to go out with me?” Emerson teased.
My face got warm as I remembered exactly how he had convinced me to go out with him. Apparently, his brain went to the same place, since his grin widened at the expression on my face.
I played coy, taking a sip of my wine instead. Even though I was having a great time with Emerson, that didn’t change the fact that this date was going to have to be a one-time thing. Because I really didn’t have time to date right now, not with all the long hours and weekend shifts I was pulling. But I tried not to think about that. Instead, I did my best to try to enjoy the already enjoyable evening.
“So how did the five of you decide to open a bar?” I asked, still curious about the story behind Rascals.
Emerson smiled. “I’ve always loved the idea, having a place of our own—something that we made, that we were in charge of, that we could take control over. None of us felt like we had a lot of control in our lives, so we thought that owning a business together would provide that feeling. Let us make our mark.”
“But a bar?” I wanted to know more.
Emerson laughed. “We were twenty-somethings who liked to drink. And maybe I watched a few Cheers reruns growing up.”
I laughed.
“Any regrets?”
“Not one,” Emerson told me with a proud expression. “The hard work just confirms that it’s all worthwhile. It’s something that we made together. Something that we can call our own.”
“That’s really important to you,” I observed.
“Yeah,” Emerson said seriously. “It really is.”
“I get that,” I responded quietly. “That need to have something you can take ownership of.”
“Is that what you’re searching for with your job?” he wanted to know.
I thought about it for a moment. “I guess so,” I confirmed. “It also has a lot to do with proving myself.”
“To who?” Emerson asked. “Your parents?”
I shook my head. “My dad isn’t in the picture—he never really was. And my mom would be proud of me no matter what. I guess it’s more about proving it to myself.”
“What are you trying to prove?” Emerson’s gaze was intense, his voice quiet.
“That I’m good enough.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I took a breath, feeling strangely vulnerable. “We didn’t have a lot when I was a kid,” I confessed. “After my dad left, my mom struggled to make ends meet—did everything she could to make sure I was clothed and fed. I owe everything to her. And I want to be in a position to pay her back.”
“Has she asked you to?” Emerson interjected, his voice flat. Disapproving.
“No!” I said quickly. “No, she would never ask that of me. I want to pay her back. I want to show her that I appreciate everything she did for me.”
“I’m sure she knows,” Emerson said, his tone softening.
I shrugged. “Maybe,” I said. “But I’m still going to try. That’s why I need to get this associate’s position.”
“Do you like your job?” Emerson asked. “It seems like a lot of stress.”
“It is,” I told him. “It’s hard and challenging, but I like that about it. I like that I’m constantly being pushed to be better—to do better. And if I make it to associate, and one day, partner . . . that’s the kind of life I’ve always wanted. Something stable, solid. Paying my own way, really building a future for myself that nobody can take away.”
He smiled. “That’s how I feel about the bar. It’s not easy—not at all—but I don’t want easy. Easy is boring.”
“Exactly,” I said, feeling as if something had changed between us. Something had shifted, and the air crackled with tension.
Tension that was broken the moment the food was brought to our table.
“Thank you,” Emerson told the waiter. “Would it be possible to see the chef tonight?” he asked.
“Of course.” The waiter nodded and disappeared.
I gave Emerson a confused look, but either he didn’t see it or chose not to react to it, because he turned his attention to his food. Not that I could blame him, it looked and smelled amazing. For the next few moments, both of us were silent, savoring the incredible fare. As we were finishing up our last bites, a beautiful woman in a chef’s jacket came over to our table.
“How is everything?” she asked. “I’m Phoebe Sullivan, the head chef here at Lucy’s.”
“It’s all delicious,” Emerson said, getting up to shake her hand. “Thank you so much for coming out to talk to us.”
“My pleasure,” she said. “I love talking to people who have enjoyed my cooking.”
“We did,” I interjected, wondering what the hell Emerson was doing chatting up this beautiful woman on our date. Should I have been jealous? I felt jealous. I felt really jealous, and I hated it.
“I own a bar a few blocks from here,” Emerson told her. “And we’ve been actively looking for new talent to put in the kitchen. Everyone has been raving about you since you took over Lucy’s, and I can see why.”