Jennifer McKenzie - One More Night

She fanned her face and checked the numbers on the page again, but her mind wandered back to those jeans and the way his butt looked in them. Dangerous ground. Would have been dangerous even if he was her type, which luckily, he was not.

Grace wasn’t looking for a playboy or a casual relationship. In fact, she wasn’t looking for anything right now. Not with the summer upon her and an absolute flurry of weddings over the next eight weeks. Each one would be given the same amount of attention and care because each couple had trusted her with their special day.

And that’s what she should be thinking about. Not Owen’s butt.

She actually managed to lose herself in the numbers for a couple of hours, making notations and edits. Using what she’d learned from previous weddings to make the next one better.

But when her phone rang, the ringtone an elegant measure of Beethoven that she used for work, her brain snapped to customer-service mode and seated there. Even when she saw the caller was Owen.

“Mr. Ford. How can I help you?”

“I thought we agreed to be on a first-name basis, Grace.”

The way he said her name sent a brief curl of pleasure into her bones. In his mouth, her name wasn’t cool or patrician. It wasn’t formal or chaste. It was soft and sexy. The kind of name a woman slipped on when she wanted to seduce someone.

Grace pushed the pleasure away and focused on business. “Well, then, Owen, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to set up a time for you to come to the wine bar. See the space and layout, so you can get an idea for it.”

“Great.” She was already pulling up her calendar, which was synced to all her devices. “When were you thinking?”

“How about tonight?”

Grace’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. There was no reason she couldn’t go tonight. She had nothing planned and it would be better to see the space now, so she could start drawing up options immediately. And yet, she didn’t confirm. Because she’d just spent the morning having brunch with him.

“Unless you’ve got a hot date?”

“No.” Now, why had she answered that query immediately? Almost as if she was worried he’d think she was unavailable to go on a hot date with him. Which she was. She cleared her throat. “Tonight would be fine.”

But even as she took down directions on location and time, her mind continued to wander. And every time, it flashed on that hot butt in those hot jeans.

Not. Good.

* * *

OWEN SWIPED A CLOTH along the already clean bar, earning a glare from Stef, the bartender he’d poached from La Petite Bouchée, the restaurant owned and cheffed by his soon-to-be sister-in-law. It hadn’t been an intentional poaching.

He’d needed some extra help for the summer and Stef had wanted the extra hours to help pay for her next semester of schooling. It wasn’t his fault that Stef loved Elephants and working for him so much that she’d asked if she could make the position permanent. And it wasn’t as if he’d left Julia or her restaurant short-staffed. He’d interviewed and found a qualified candidate to replace Stef at the restaurant before getting Julia’s agreement. Not that this stopped her from claiming that he owed her.

But hell. He’d not only attended a wedding-planning session with her, he was going to make sure she had an amazing engagement party, too. And he was going to keep it a surprise. So, really, she owed him.

He swiped the cloth across the bar again, this time earning not only a glare from Stef, but also a comment. “You sure you got everything now?”

“No.” And he wiped again, grinning as he did.

Stef rolled her eyes and plucked the cloth out of his hand, replacing it with a glass of water. “Go,” she told him. “Mingle. I’ll make sure the bar top stays clean.” She would, as well as juggling multiple drink orders, keeping an eye on the customers and prepping the bar for tomorrow.

Owen nodded and began to move around the room, but he kept one eye on the door and when it finally opened and Grace walked in, he smiled.

She looked good. But then, in Owen’s opinion, she always did. Her pale gray jeans were tight and paired with a black T-shirt and a dark blue jacket with white polka dots. Her hair was down, the blond strands spilling over her shoulders, loose and free.

“Miss Monroe. Twice in one weekend. Are you stalking me?”

The pinched look around her mouth softened just as he’d hoped. “If you’ll recall, you issued me a personal invitation. And the preferred honorific is Ms.”

Owen offered his arm, pleased when she barely hesitated before taking it. “Well, Ms . Monroe, let’s start the tour.”

She loosened up a little more as he took her around, pleased to show off the bar and his hard work to improve it. But when he asked her to stay for a drink, she declined.

“I really can’t.”

“Big day of wedding planning tomorrow?” By the way she looked up at him and then looked away, Owen knew that wasn’t it.

“Something like that.”

His natural inclination was to let it go. He’d found the subtle-nudge approach to be usually far more successful than a direct request. But he had a feeling that with Grace, subtlety would get him a whole lot of nothing. “Just one drink. It’s early.”

She checked her watch. “I still have work to do tonight.”

“All work and no play...”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Then she must be a wise woman.” And Grace was wavering. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since brunch.”

And there was his answer. She wanted to stay; he merely had to provide the opportunity. “Then consider this a working dinner. You can try some of the foods. Research for your party.”

She tilted her head to look at him. Her blond hair, free of its sleek knot, fell around her shoulders. Owen would bet money that it would feel as cool and silky as it looked.

“I won’t bite,” he joked and was rewarded with a rosy flush coloring her cheeks.

“Owen—”

He cut her off. “It doesn’t have to be long. I have some pull in the kitchen. You’ll be back working before the sun sets.” Seeing as that was a couple of hours away, he figured it was a safe promise.

“Owen,” she said again. But when he broke out his patented sad face, she capitulated. “No more than an hour.”

“Sixty minutes or less.” Unless he could talk her into changing her mind. It wasn’t exactly a date, but it wasn’t exactly not a date, either.

Or it wasn’t, until they were halfway through their meal and she said, “You realize this is only a business relationship.” Which it clearly wasn’t or she wouldn’t feel the need to clarify.

Owen simply smiled and popped another bite of food in his mouth.

Grace put down her fork, carefully and quietly so that he doubted there would have been a sound even if the bar was dead. “I shouldn’t have stayed.”

He quickly swallowed his mouthful. “Of course you should have. You were hungry and we have food here.”

“You’re my client.”

“This again? I’m not a client. I’m not the one getting married.” And never would be. There was nothing wrong with marriage. For other people. Maybe he’d change his mind someday. But not today.

“Close enough.” She pushed her plate toward the center of the table. “I should go.”

“Stay.” He placed a hand over hers. “Just until you’ve finished eating.”

Grace slid her hand out from under his. “I’m done.” She slid out of the booth. “If there’s anything wedding-or engagement-related, please call me.”

“But, otherwise, lose your number?”

Her smile wasn’t cheerful. “I wouldn’t be that harsh.”

But it was basically what she meant. Owen ignored the disappointment pooling in his veins and slid out of the booth, too. “I’ll walk you out.” Just because she’d told him he didn’t have a chance with her was no excuse not to be a gentleman.