Jennifer McKenzie - Tempting Donovan Ford

No. His brother was welcome to spread his charm across the city. He could date a different woman every night. He could bring them into his bar and comp them drinks and food all night. But he could not date Julia. Hell, no. Donovan had just gotten her to sign a contract. He wasn’t about to have Owen risk that for a quickie.

But he kept his aggravation hidden under a polite smile. This was nothing to get into now. Especially since he’d be sure that it wouldn’t amount to anything.

Donovan and Mal chatted about work for a while, and when their server came by to ask if they’d like anything else, he ordered dessert and coffee. Just getting the full meal experience provided by the restaurant. And if he got another look at Julia, that would be okay, too.

Mal declined. “I’m exhausted,” she told him. “If I have coffee this late, I’ll be up all night.” She did look tired.

“We can go, then.” He started to lift a hand to call for the check and cancel the dessert.

“No, no.” Mal waved a hand. “You stay.” She stood and came over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Enjoy the dessert. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He considered leaving anyway. He didn’t need the dessert, but he really should try to get a handle on the customer service provided by La Petite Bouchée .

Instead of remaining at the table, he caught the server’s attention and said he’d like his coffee and dessert at the bar. The server nodded and walked him over, making certain he had everything he needed before disappearing. Donovan was impressed. Julia had trained her staff well and the food was excellent, which would make his job much easier.

The bar stool he was on was rickety and the cushioning was almost nonexistent, but the bar was clean and the woman behind it was friendly. She answered all of Donovan’s questions knowledgeably, keeping an eye on the other customers and segueing between all of them easily.

While he sipped his coffee, Donovan studied the beer-and-wine list. Satisfactory, but with the number of craft breweries and boutique wineries that permeated the West Coast, Donovan knew it could be better.

The pair of men beside him were waiting for their table and chatting about their day. He eavesdropped, only half listening while he mentally planned the changes. New interior, new seats and bar stools, new menu. Then one of them said something that caught his ear.

“If this place didn’t look so terrible, I would totally consider having our wedding reception here.”

“Excuse me.” He turned on his friendly business smile. He was no Owen when it came to people skills, but he was entirely capable of holding his own. “I’m Donovan Ford. My family just bought this restaurant.” He shook their hands and proceeded to elicit their feelings on the restaurant.

They had a lot to say.

“So why do you come?” he asked after they’d filled him in on their many observances. Apparently, they came often. At least once a week.

“The food,” the dark-haired man said.

“As good as anything we had in Paris last year,” said the blond. “The chef is too good for this place. No offense.”

“None taken.”

The blond smiled. “I didn’t think she’d stay this long.”

“Have you been coming awhile?” Donovan was interested to hear this. Loyal, regular customers were the lifeblood of the industry. If these men were regulars, he wanted to know why.

“Oh, 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.

* * *

JULIA 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 the light fixtures should be swapped out for something more current, but other than that, the restaurant looked nice. It was classic, like the food they served.

“And the space needs a major update.”

Apparently, Donovan Ford felt otherwise.

Julia felt the stiffness travel up her spine, across her shoulders and settle in her jaw. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of an overreaction?”