Chapter Five
Belle
One of the perks that comes with knowing a professional athlete is the dining options that come with them.
Gone are the loud restaurant dining rooms where you can barely hear the people you’re sitting next to, and in its place are private VIP lounges where you can’t get photographed as you’re eating.
There have been one too many times unflattering pictures of me cramming something into my mouth have gone viral on the internet with ridiculous headlines that usually pertained to my weight.
I used to consider my outings with Jesse and our family as research opportunities long before Belle’s Place became a thing.
I’d take mental notes of the things I liked and didn’t like for when I finally opened my own establishment.
Privacy was amongst the most important, which is why all of Jesse’s friends and teammates would spend most of their time in the upstairs lounge at the club and away from the general public who would try getting pictures of autographs.
“This place is swanky,” Mom says under her breath, nudging my elbow as the hostess shows us to the private section we’ll be dining at. “Who would have thought little Jesse would get us into a steakhouse like this on little to no notice?”
I snort. When has Jesse ever been considered little? Maybe when he was five, but by the time we came into the picture he had hit puberty and a growth spurt that put him at well over six feet.
Mom sits next to Jesse’s dad, leaving the only two seats open across from them.
Jesse pulls my chair out and waits for me to sit before he joins me, tucking his phone onto the corner of the table face down.
The habit makes me smile. How many times did his father drill us about not using cell phones at the dinner table?
We had to have them face down, so we weren’t tempted to look at them.
When the waitress takes our drink orders, I don’t miss the flirty eyes she shoots Jesse.
Mom sees it too and hides an amused smile behind her water glass as she takes a sip.
We share a look, both of us rolling our eyes as the twenty-something-year-old bats her thick lashes at him before turning to go to the bar.
Frank remains focused on the menu, not paying any attention to his son’s newest admirer. “The steak looks good here. Although it may be too late in the day to do surf and turf.”
I bite down on my lip to hide my grin over his obliviousness.
Jesse catches on, bumping his leg against mine as if telling me to behave myself.
I mimic the movement, but he catches my knee in his palm and squeezes once.
I expect him to let go after we share a small smile, but he holds onto it as his eyes go down to the menu to scan it.
I’m about to say something when I stop myself, glancing down at where his large hand slides up and settles on the spot just above my knee.
My thigh is by no means small, but his hand encompasses it like it’s a twig.
The thought of those long fingers doing anything else on my body is not what I should be thinking about in a public place, but my mind goes there anyway. The little slut.
“What are you getting, Bells?” he asks, humor in his tone that tells me he knows I’m gawking at him.
Clearing my throat, I turn my head to the menu and say the first thing that I see. “The chicken marsala.”
Mom’s head pops up with a deep frown wrinkling the corners of her mouth. “Honey, you’re allergic to mushrooms.”
Jesse coughs out a laugh, his fingers digging into the sides of my knee still trapped under his grasp.
I want to smack him. “I forgot,” I murmur weakly, wincing at how unconvincing I sound. Skimming the page, I land on the next best thing. “I think I’ll do the chicken cordon bleu. Can’t go wrong with that.”
Mom nods in agreement, listing a few dishes she thinks looks good before asking us if we want to share an appetizer.
Jesse doesn’t release my leg, not even when the cute blond comes back over and starts passing out our drinks. Moscato for me and Mom, whiskey sour for Frank, and an ice water with lemon for the man beside me.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?” the waitress asks, stepping closer to Jesse. She looks like she’s trying to stick her chest out, but the uniform top doesn’t do well showing off what’s obviously underneath.
He shakes his head, offering her a polite smile. “I’m fine, but I think we’re ready to place our orders.”
The subtle dismissal isn’t rude, but she frowns at the rejection anyway as she takes out her order pad from her little black apron. “Oh. Okay.”
Mom starts, then me, and Jesse goes last after his father asks a few questions about the seafood options. When he orders the chicken marsala, I narrow my eyes at him.
He lifts a shoulder once she walks away. “It sounded good.”
Mom reaches out and touches Jesse’s hand, a sympathetic look on her face. “We’re sorry about tonight, honey. But the team played well.”
His dad nods, sipping his whiskey. “You gave them a hell of a time. The fact you managed to tie for as long as you did says a lot.”
Jesse shifts in his seat, yet his hand never leaves my leg. He’s uncomfortable over the topic, whether because he’d rather not talk about it or it’s still sensitive, I don’t know. “Hopefully we’ll get them next time.”
It seems like a robotic answer, like he’s been telling a lot of people that.
But I have no doubt they’ll get their winning streak back.
They made it farther in their first season on the league than most people thought they would.
I think he was shocked over how far they’d gone.
They’re already making a name for themselves that other teams are noticing. That counts for something.
I can tell he doesn’t want to keep talking about it, so I decide to help him out. “I have something to share,” I say, smiling at our parents and him.
Mom’s eyes brighten. “Is this what you mentioned earlier at lunch? I’ve been dying to know what you had to tell us.”
From the corner of my eye, I can feel Jesse’s intense stare. Interest coats his expression, and gratitude for shifting the conversation away from him.
I nod at my mother, trying not to squirm and make Jesse’s hand move higher on my thigh.
“I signed a lease for a new storefront here in Fairbanks. It’s on Main Street, so it’s prime real estate.
And I’ve decided to make it into a bookstore café.
During the day, I’ll serve coffee, food, and desserts, and at night I’ll serve alcohol once I get my liquor license.
There will be books and lounges and I’m going to try hosting book clubs with the locals once a month.
Maybe more if it gains traction. It’s the cutest spot, and there’s a two-hour parking down the street that’s walking distance so it’s easily accessible if we do pop-up signings with authors. ”
Jesse’s hand tightens once before loosening, gaining my attention. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, gaping.
I nibble on the inside of my cheek. “I wanted to, but…” But we weren’t really talking. We had other things going on. AKA you saw my boobs and heard me come so it didn’t matter. “But we were both preoccupied.”
He knows exactly what I mean, and his eyes flash. “You’re the one who leased the space.”
Confusion pinches my eyebrows. “What?”
He leans back in his seat, his hand finally falling away from my thigh. I miss it as cool air replaces where his hot body heat soaked through the denim and into my skin. “I tried to lease it for you, but the woman told me it wasn’t available anymore.”
He…? I blink at him. “You were going to lease it for me?”
He goes to answer, but my mother pipes in with an excited, “Oh that’s great, sweetie! Congratulations. You’ll have to show me your plans.”
Frank sets his glass down. “Does this mean Belle’s Place finally sold?”
I ignore the way Jesse stares at me and focus on his father’s question. “I close on Monday, actually. I used some savings and the earnest deposit to secure this space because it was too good to pass up.”
When Rae told me how much she wanted per month, I thought she was joking at how low the price was.
It’s another reminder that I’m not in the Pittsburgh anymore.
Back when I first opened Belle’s Place, I was barely getting by with rent and other expenses.
It was almost a year after opening before I could make enough revenue to hire more help and breathe easier.
Mom grabs my hand and squeezes it. “I’m so proud of you, Belle. You have worked so hard.”
Warmth nips at my heart as pride shines in her eyes the way I see it shine in Frank’s when he talks about Jesse’s accomplishments. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Congrats, kid,” Frank tells me.
“Yeah,” Jesse says, voice low. “Congrats, Bells. I know how much you loved that space.”
When I turn back to him, he’s searching my face. He seems like he wants to ask me something but doesn’t. I want to tell him that he was the first person I planned on telling—that it killed me not to the second I realized I was going through with it. But things got in the way, and now he knows.
It’s for the better, anyway. I’ll be busy with the new business, he’ll have hockey. We’ve always gotten along better when we’ve had our own things going on. It made the time we did get to spend together that much better.
“Thanks.”
We keep staring.
One second.
Two.
Four.
We only break it when Frank says, “I hope the appetizer comes out soon. Those stadium hot dogs went right through me.”
*
Long after saying our goodbyes to our parents, Jesse holds the door open for me at home and locks it behind us.
Dinner was good, with flowing conversation and comfortable lulls while we ate.
Mom plans on coming to see the space I leased in two weeks when I have time to settle into it more, and Frank invited Jesse to visit Dennis while he was in town next week seeing his grandkids.