Chapter 10 - Table for Two
The sun was high in the sky when the black sedan pulled up outside a small, historic Italian trattoria in Boston's North End.
The restaurant was closed to the public for the afternoon, a private sign hanging in the window. Inside, red-checkered tablecloths, warm candlelight, and the smell of fresh garlic, roasted tomatoes, and fresh espresso filled the air.
At the quiet corner table near the window sat Penny and Matthew.
The table was loaded with fresh pastries, silver pots of coffee, eggs, and a towering stack of buttermilk pancakes topped with fresh berries.
Penny was halfway through her second pancake, completely unbothered by etiquette, enjoying every single bite.
Matthew sat across from her, holding a cup of black coffee, watching her with an intensity that made the rest of the world fade away.
"You're watching me eat," Penny said around a mouthful of pancake, setting her fork down.
"I like watching you," Matthew replied simply, setting his coffee cup down. "You don't pretend, Penny. You don't hide. In my world, everyone is wearing a mask. You just poke me in the chest and demand service."
Penny smiled, leaning back against her leather chair, wrapping Matthew's heavy suit jacket tighter around her shoulders. She had refused to give it back.
"So," Penny said, resting her chin in her hand. "What happens to the Lantern Room?"
"I bought that too," Matthew said casually. "Gordon Pike was fired yesterday morning. I'm renovating the entire place. Changing the name."
Penny raised her eyebrows. "Oh yeah? What are you naming it?"
Matthew leaned across the table, his gray eyes locking onto hers with a warmth that made her heart skip three beats.
"Penny's," he said softly.
Penny blinked, stunned. "You named a high-end harbor cocktail club after me?"
"I named it after the woman who saved my life," Matthew corrected. "And the woman who is going to let me take her out on a proper date tonight."
Penny looked at him—at his hard jaw, his fierce gray eyes, his broad shoulders, and the gentle, protective way he looked at her. The terror of the past forty-eight hours had faded, leaving behind something deep, electric, and undeniably real.
She reached across the checkered tablecloth, wrapping her soft fingers around his hand.
"A proper date?" Penny asked, a mischievous smile touching her lips. "Does that mean no gunfire?"
"No gunfire," Matthew promised, squeezing her hand firmly. "No explosions. No boat chases. Just you, me, and as much eighteen-year Scotch as you want to spill on me."
Penny laughed—a bright, beautiful sound that filled the warm Italian restaurant.
"Alright, Matthew Cole," Penny said, raising her coffee cup toward him. "It's a date."
May you like
Matthew raised his cup, touching it to hers with a soft, metallic clink.
Outside, the Boston sun shone bright over the ocean, washing the city in gold. And inside, sitting across from the most feared man in the city, Penny Hayes finally had the best birthday of her life.
