Addison
Um…who is this?
Me
It’s Bash
Several moments pass before I receive a response.
Addison
Sorry, I’m good now. Everything’s fine.
Her favorite food is a very specific dish at my husband’s restaurant, Rosemary Banquet.
I frown.
Me
Where is Rosemary Banquet located?
Addison sends me the address, and I’m already shrugging on my coat, halfway out the door. Thankfully, the restaurant is in Meadow Hills, so I won’t be gone long enough to raise suspicion. Hopefully.
Either way, I need Romilly to eat something. And by ordering her favorite food, she’ll be less likely to resist.
I arrive at the car park and get out of my Camaro, brushing dog hair off my scrubs. As soon as I open the door to the restaurant, I know I’ll be returning. This establishment looks as if it’s the type of place I’d frequent in my parents’ circle.It’s decorated with taste—elegant white linens draped across sturdy wooden tables. Warm lighting emanates from exquisite chandeliers, and a touch of foliage dons the table settings.
I’m definitely underdressed. Worse, actually. I’m covered in dog hair, and I’ve never been more humiliated. The ironic thing is, the majority of my closet is filled with quality, designer pieces. But the one day I decide to wear scrubs to work and get myself covered in fur, I end up inside the first five star restaurant I’ve visited in some time.
Do it for Romilly, Bash.
I check my phone again. There’s another message from Addison.
Addison
I called and ordered the dish. It’s on the house and ready for you to pick up! *smiley emoji*
Me
What ever for? I can pay.
Addison
Don’t worry about it. Just make sure Romilly knows this was your idea.
I frown at the message and force my feet forward. The hostess greets me, and I ask if there’s been an order placed for Bash or Romilly.
She beams. “Yes, of course. Mrs. Whitmore called and said you’d be here. I’ll be right back.” She walks away from her podium, leaving me contemplating why on earth Addison would go to such lengths for me to pick up Romilly’s lunch.
The hostess returns with a paper bag containing a takeout box. “I hope she enjoys the meal,” she says sweetly, looking up at me through her eyelashes.
I want to laugh. Did Addison tell her specific details? Why is the hostess acting like I’m about to propose or something?
“Thank you,” I say, and race back to my car as fast as I can without appearing rude.
By the time I get back to The Paw Spa, no more than thirty minutes have passed. It’s a reasonable amount of time for a lunch break, so I doubt Romilly has caught on that I left. I can understand why so many people like small towns. Ease of access and hardly any traffic are some of the many perks.
I carry the bag straight to her station, set it down on the table, and take hold of the Australian Shepherd’s restraints that she’s working on.
