“Must be.” He glanced at his partner, then back at me. “Mark’s not losing you, is he?”
“Steven,” Mark admonished, shaking his head. “Don’t.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I answered, which earned me a surprised and pleased grin from my boss. His goatee-framed smile was as contagious as Steven’s gregariousness. Really, our scheduled lunches were worth the price of admission.
“Well, I’m happy to hear that,” Mark said.
“Me, too.” Steven opened his menu with a decisive snap, as if something important had been decided. “We want you to stick around, kid.”
“I’m sticking,” I assured them.
The server set a basket of olive oil–drizzled garlic bread on the table between us, then rattled off the day’s specials. The restaurant the guys had selected had two menus: Italian and Greek.
Like most Manhattan eateries, the location was small and the tables packed tightly together, close enough that one party flowed into the next and you had to watch your elbows. The scents flowing out of the kitchen and wafting from the trays of passing servers had my stomach growling audibly. Thankfully the noise from the lunch crowd frenzy was loud enough to cover me.
Steven ran a hand through the bright red hair many women would kill for. “I’m having the moussaka.”
“Me, too.” I closed my menu.
“Pepperoni pizza for me,” Mark said.
Steven and I teased him about being adventurous.
“Hell,” he shot back, “marrying Steven is adventure enough.”
Grinning, Steven set his elbow on the table and his chin on his fist. “So, Eva . . . how’d Cross propose? I’m guessing he didn’t blurt it out in the middle of the street.”
Mark, who was sitting on the bench seat next to his partner, gave him an exasperated look.
“No,” I agreed. “He broke the news to me on a private beach. I can’t say he asked, because he pretty much just told me that we’re getting married.”
Mark’s mouth twisted in thought, but Steven was blunt as always. “Romance, Gideon Cross style.”
I laughed. “Absolutely. He’ll be the first to tell you he’s not romantic, but he’s wrong about that.”
“Let me see the ring.”
I held my hand out to Steven and the Asscher cut diamond shot sparks of multihued fire. It was a beautiful ring, which held beautiful memories for Gideon. Elizabeth Vidal’s thoughts on the subject couldn’t touch that.
“Whoa. Mark, darlin’, you have got to get me one of those.”
The picture in my head of the flame-haired, burly contractor wearing a ring like mine was comical.
Mark shot him a look. “So you can shatter it on a job site? Let me get right on that.”
“Diamonds are tough little beauties, but I’ll take good care of it.”
“You’ll have to wait until I run an agency of my own,” my boss retorted with a snort.
“I can do that.” Steven winked at me. “You register anywhere yet?”
I shook my head. “You?”
“Hell, yeah.” He twisted to open the messenger bag next to him and pulled out his wedding binder. “Tell me what you think about these patterns.”
Mark raised his gaze heavenward with a long-suffering sigh. I grabbed a piece of garlic bread and leaned forward with a happy hum.
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