Match Made In Paradise by Barbara Dunlop (black female authors TXT) 📕

“We’ll measure it up,” Danny said.

“Send them to my phone,” he said. “I’ll let you know if it’s going to work.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Did you by any chance change chefs?”

Danny looked puzzled. “No.”

“Good. I was going to recommend the cherry duck breast.” Silas was looking forward to Mia experiencing the fine cuisine at Wildflower Lake Lodge. He didn’t care where else in the world she’d eaten, he’d bet she’d be impressed with this.

Danny grinned. “Still our feature dish.”

“Great.” Silas got to his feet.

But when he looked to their table, Mia was gone. He did a sweep of the dining room, wondering if she’d struck up a conversation with another diner. She hadn’t.

He wandered back to the table, sat down and waited a minute, getting an odd feeling.

He scanned for Cornelia then, hoping she might know where Mia had gone, but Cornelia wasn’t in the dining room either. He went to check in the lobby.

A woman emerged from the ladies’ room, and Silas asked her if Mia was inside. But the woman said it was empty.

Baffled, Silas went outside to the porch. It was deserted, only a single propane torch flickering, warming the closest table. He could see partway up the boardwalk leading to their villa, but he didn’t see Mia walking along it. He really hoped she hadn’t headed back to the villa on her own. He was still worried about her tripping in her high shoes.

He took another pass through the restaurant before deciding to try the villa. Maybe she’d felt ill. He hoped not. He didn’t want her evening to be ruined.

He picked up his pace along the walkway, turning into their villa and crossing the front porch to open the door.

“Mia?” He stopped short two steps inside.

She was there, on the sofa, shoes kicked off, her face flushed and her eyes shiny with tears.

He went to her, crouching down, disturbed by the dampness on her pink cheeks. “What happened?”

She shook her head, wiping her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “Nothing.”

“Are you hurt?” He looked her up and down. “Sick?”

She shook her head again.

“Why did you leave? What’s wrong?”

She gave herself a shake and sat up straighter. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” That was completely obvious.

Her eyes lost focus for a second. “I will not let it get to me.”

He couldn’t tell if she was talking to him or to herself. “Let what get to you?”

“Nothing.” She propped her hands on her knees, and he realized how close he was to touching her bare legs.

He eased back a little and ordered himself not to check them out. He didn’t want to pry, so he didn’t ask any more questions.

“You must be hungry,” she finally said.

Yes, he was hungry. He stood and held his hand out to her, glad she seemed calmer now. “Let’s go eat.”

But Mia shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Sure, you can. It’ll help you’ll feel better.”

She lifted her lashes to look at him. “Cornelia had to ask me to leave.”

Silas didn’t react because her words were preposterous.

Mia continued. “She was super nice about it, and I could tell she didn’t want to do it. But—”

“Whoa, what?”

“Someone complained. I understand. They were a paying customer, and they’re entitled to their opinion.” Mia reached for a tissue, dabbed her nose, then crumpled it into her hand. “But I wasn’t ready for it—mentally, I mean. I thought I could get away from it all here, you know?” Those vulnerable blue eyes of hers seemed to pierce his soul.

“It was that woman, the one at the other table,” he guessed, things starting to come together in his head. He sat down on the sofa next to Mia. “That old bat recognized you.”

“She’d heard all the stories, so she thought she knew me. Clearly she believed the part about me dancing on Alastair’s grave.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“She was wearing a Lafayette dress, of all things. You probably didn’t notice. It was from last year’s spring collection. I sourced that print myself from Italy. She was wearing an out-of-date style and looking down her nose at me while she did.”

“We’re going back,” he said with conviction. There was no way he was letting some judgmental old woman run Mia out of the restaurant.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You need to eat.”

Mia’s expression turned stubborn while someone interrupted with a knock at the door.

“We’re going back,” Silas repeated.

“I don’t want to.”

He wasn’t sure how to argue that, and the knock sounded again. He got up to answer.

It was a waiter from the dining room with a room service cart full of dishes.

“Cornelia asked me to convey her most sincere apologies,” the man said, gesturing to a vase of flowers in the middle of covered table settings. “There’s a card for the lady. She thought you’d enjoy the cherry duck breast, but if you’d prefer something else, the chef will prepare it right away.”

It took Silas a moment to react. It was polite of Cornelia to apologize. And, yes, the duck was fine. But it couldn’t simply end there. Mia had been bullied and insulted, and he wasn’t about to stand for that.

“The duck sounds perfect,” Mia said, appearing at Silas’s side. “Please thank Cornelia for me.”

“No,” Silas barked out.

The waiter looked confused. “You’d prefer something else?”

“What we’d prefer—”

Mia touched his arm, effectively shutting him up. “This is all fine,” she said.

The waiter gave her a smile. “Cornelia included another bottle of the wine you ordered. There’s a corkscrew in your kitchen utensils, but I can open the bottle if you’d prefer.”

“We don’t have to eat here,” Silas said to Mia.

“Here is better.” She looked directly at him. “I’d rather it was here.”

He realized then that she’d probably be uncomfortable going back, especially if the judgmental customer was still there. Who knew how many others in the restaurant recognized Mia?

“I’ll open the bottle myself,” he said to the waiter.

The waiter gave a nod of acknowledgment. “The chef included a baked brie appetizer, the melon prosciutto salad, and a selection of French pastries. Coffee is in the