All That I Need (Grayson Friends) Read Free Page B

dark brows furrowed. “Are you all right?”
    So he was perceptive. “Just thinking,” she said. At least that was the truth. “I tried to make reservations, but they were booked. You want to wait?”
    “I admit, I’m not the patient type when waiting for a table,” he told her. “Fortunately, I took the precaution of calling and making reservations, just in case.”
    She smiled up at him. “Thanks.”
    Long, lean fingers gently took her arm. Her skin heated, tingled.
    They continued inside the restaurant, past the stares of those waiting in line. Fallon was almost compelled to explain that they weren’t cutting, they had reservations.
    Lance didn’t appear to notice. He stopped in front of the hostess’s podium. “Reservations for Saxton at seven.”
    The pretty young woman in a slim-fitting black dress smiled and picked up two oversized menus with red boots and cacti on the front. “Certainly, Mr. Saxton. If you and your guests will follow Lacy, she’ll seat you at your table.”
    Smiling, Lacy accepted the menus. “This way, please.”
    Lance’s hand moved to the small of Fallon’s back and she almost yelped. Heat radiated through the cotton fabric as if on bare skin. Lance could really be a problem—if she let him.
    “Here you are,” Lacy said.
    Lance pulled out a chair at the table for two for Fallon, took the seat across from her, and accepted the menu. “Thank you.”
    “Your waiter, Shawn, should be with you shortly. Can I get you anything to drink?” Lacy asked. “Wine, cocktail, or flavored tea perhaps?”
    “Fallon?” Lance asked.
    Fallon wasn’t much for alcohol, but tonight seemed to be the one to be a little daring. “Black mojita.”
    “Pomegranate iced tea.”
    “I’ll get those right out,” Lacy said, and left.
    Fallon propped her arms on the table and hoped she wasn’t too obvious, but the man certainly was easy on the eyes. “How are things shaping up for the auction?”
    “Good. The catalog with the most expensive pieces arrived this morning,” he told her. “The employees you saw this afternoon are finishing up listing the smaller items.”
    “From what I saw, you all have a humongous task ahead of you,” she said. “The glassware alone is extensive and impressive.”
    “It will get done.” The words were clipped, final.
    Fallon believed him. Lance wasn’t a man who impressed her as tolerating excuses—and that included himself. “Then you deserve a night to relax. Have you eaten here before?”
    “No. I spent summers here growing up, but I haven’t been back since I graduated from college.” He glanced around the crowded restaurant. “Brandon has done well for himself. I hear the food is delicious, but I guess you can tell from the long line and the restaurant being booked.”
    “I’ve seldom tasted better,” she told him. “One of the first stories I did on Santa Fe was on the Red Cactus.”
    “How long have you been a travel writer?” he asked.
    “Since my junior year at college,” she related. “I get to travel to exciting places and get paid for it.”
    His dark head tilted to one side. “But I don’t think money is your motivating reason.”
    Surprised delight swept through her. “It’s not.”
    “Your drinks. I’m Shawn. I’ll be your waiter.” A tall, slender man dressed in a white shirt and black pants placed the glasses in front of them and took out a pad and pencil. “Are you ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?”
    “Fallon?”
    “I already know I want the triple sampler and the onion rings, but I don’t think you’ve had time to study the menu.” Fallon closed her menu.
    Lance opened the menu, briefly glanced at it, and said, “I’ll have the porterhouse, medium, with a baked potato, butter only, asparagus, and house salad with ranch dressing.” Lance handed the man his menu.
    Frowning, Fallon followed suit. “How did you do that?”
    “Speed-reading.” Lance picked up his drink. “So what drives