“Told you so,” he whispers as he presses a kiss to my temple.
Lark slides out of the booth and gives Rowan a hug as though she’s known him for years, and the two fall into easy conversation from the moment we’re seated. And though I pretend to be immersed in my menu, I’m not. I’m watching Lark and Rowan with a heart more full than I ever thought it could be. The only two people I love in this world are sitting right next to one another, forging the first moments in a friendship, a foundation that will hopefully only grow with time.
I might not have a lot of people, but I have Lark and Rowan, and that’s enough.
We share a meal together. A bottle of wine. We split the fig phyllo Napoleon for dessert and sit with our coffees until the last guests have departed and the restaurant shuts down to prepare for the dinner shift. There’s no lull in conversation. There’s no shortage of laughter. And when it’s time to leave, we make plans to get together again over the next few days while Lark is in town—live music, dinners out, maybe a sailing trip around the harbor. As we make our way to the exit, Rowan gives me a wink, like this is all part of his grand plan to lure Lark here.
We hug her goodbye at the door and Rowan winds up with a gold star sticker on his cheek before Lark dances away.
“Come on, need your help,” he says, taking my hand when Lark turns a corner two blocks down, heading for her hotel. Rowan tows me along in the opposite direction. “Very important job, Blackbird.”
“What job?”
“You’ll see.”
“Are you going to leave that sticker on your face?”
Rowan scoffs. “Of course. Makes me prettier.”
Four blocks and one turn later, Rowan pulls me to a stop. Though I ask him what he’s doing and where we are, he evades my questions. Instead of answering, he maneuvers behind me to fold his palms over my eyes before he nudges me forward. I’m about to give him some little jab about how I’m not going to walk across the entire city of Boston blindfolded when he guides us to a stop and we turn to the left.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod.
He lifts his hands from my eyes.
Before me is the front of a brick building where a new black awning with globe lights stretches over an outdoor seating area that doesn’t yet have chairs on the freshly painted deck. The interior is finished, the luxurious details of the furnishings and dark wood tables mixed with the exposed brick and unexpected pops of teal blue decorations. Massive ferns wave gently in the breeze of the air conditioning system hidden among the industrial network of black steel beams and ductwork on the ceiling. It’s beautiful and elegant, yet comfortable.
And across the full front of the restaurant, stretching over the door and the awning, a massive sign in block letters.
Butcher & Blackbird.
“Rowan…” I take a step closer, staring up at the sign and the stylized wrought iron raven and meat cleaver incorporated behind the first few letters. “Are you for real?”
“You like it?”
“It’s incredible. I love it.”
“Well, that’s a relief considering we’re two weeks away from opening. Reservations are booked up past Christmas. Would have been awkward to cancel.” With a flash of a grin, he takes my hand and tows me toward the door where a large poster details the upcoming grand opening and the contact details. He unlocks it and holds the door for me to step inside, the scent of fresh paint and new furniture greeting us. “Still need your help, though.”
As we head toward the kitchen, Rowan points out details, decorations that reflect his brothers’ influence, like the selection of Weller’s bourbon behind the bar for when Fionn comes for the opening, or the branded leather coasters that Lachlan made. But I am everywhere too. In the huge black leather wing, the intricate feathers spread across a wall above the booths, the exact spot where I would want to sit. In black-and-white paintings of ravens by local artists, a butcher’s knife or meat cleaver incorporated into every one.
It’s not just me. It’s us.
I pull Rowan to a stop in the center of the room. His eyes dart across my face and down to my neck as a burning swallow shifts in my throat.
“You…” is all I manage to squeak out. I gesture between us and then to the room. “This…？”
Rowan tries to bite down on a laugh as knowing smirk sneaks across his lips. “Eloquent. Is this another ‘man-guy’ situation? Can’t wait to hear what you come up with, Blackb—”