“Thank you,” she said, having trouble finding her voice.
Billy met her at the back of the line and asked, “What did Santa say as you were leaving?”
Now that Lindy thought about it, she found Santa’s parting words more than a little perplexing, as if he was serious…as if he was sincere. “He said what he does to everyone, I suppose, that he’d work on my Christmas wishes.”
Billy reached for her hand. “He looked…I don’t know, like he was about to ask you out on a date.”
Lindy laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “That’s hilarious.”
“Did you tell him your Christmas wish?”
“Not exactly. I told him I wrote him a letter.”
“I bet you didn’t ask for Rollerblades,” he teased.
“No, it was a bit…it was personal.”
“Got it. And Santa said he’d be working on it?”
“He did.” Lindy sincerely hoped he was right. She wanted to make it on her own in Seattle. She had a lot to prove to the team at Media Blast. As for the other items on her list, she’d leave that up to Santa.
The rest of the afternoon was perfect. They stopped by the independent bookstore, A Book for All Seasons, and Lindy bought an autographed copy by one of her favorite authors. Their next stop was the cheese store, and Billy picked up Brie from France to contribute to his sister’s Christmas dinner.
“Will you spend Christmas with Dede?” She assumed the restaurant would be closed on Christmas Day.
“That’s the plan for now.”
For now? He made it sound as if there might be a change in his plans. It made her wonder if he’d made other arrangements with another woman. A tinge of curiosity niggled in her mind until she reminded herself it shouldn’t matter. She would be returning to Seattle after the first of the year. This time together was a pleasant interlude and one her self-esteem badly needed, but they were both fully aware her time in Wenatchee was limited.
As they strolled along the way, the crowds swirled around them: the noise, laughter, and music, all part of the enchantment.
There was no shortage of interesting shops to visit, and before long it was time for their dinner reservation at Berghoff’s. They walked to the restaurant, hand in hand to keep them from being separated in the mingling crowd. Whatever the reason, Lindy enjoyed being linked to him.
The line into the restaurant progressed along, and soon they were at the checkin. The hostess collected their coats and led them across the room. As expected, every table was occupied, and the restaurant was hopping. A fire blazed from the rock-hewn fireplace, warming the room. Soft lighting created a cozy, if not romantic, atmosphere.
Once seated, they were handed menus. When their server appeared, Billy ordered a wine from a local winery, and within a short amount of time it was delivered to their table.
“Dan will be right over,” the server told Billy.
“Dan is the owner,” Billy explained. “He’s been a mentor to me for the last couple of years, plus being a good friend.”
“I look forward to meeting him.” Eating at Berghoff’s was a rare treat. Her family had never been able to get reservations, and Lindy hadn’t mentioned where Billy was taking her, in case it fell through at the last minute.
“Dan has relatives in Chicago,” Billy explained. “Their restaurant was one of the most notable in the city for any number of years. I had another restaurant in Yakima before coming to Wenatchee. Dan was instrumental in advising me when I came to him about opening the Wine Press. His family has been in the business for years. I appreciated his advice.”
Lindy vaguely remembered hearing about the relationship between the Chicago restaurant and the one in Leavenworth, some years ago, while in college.
“What happened to your restaurant in Yakima?” Lindy asked, wondering if he was managing more than the one in Wenatchee.
He didn’t answer right away, and looked relieved when Dan approached their table, leaving her to wonder what had happened in Yakima, as he didn’t seem to want to discuss it.
“Will, good to see you,” Dan said, as he stepped closer. Billy stood, and the two men briefly hugged. “Appreciate you squeezing us in tonight,” he said.
The restaurant owner was around fifty, if Lindy were to guess. He had a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, warm blue eyes, and a well-trimmed beard. His smile was personable.
“Wednesday night wasn’t a huge problem. The weekend would have been impossible.” He reached for the wine bottle and opened it with an expert hand. He glanced toward Lindy.