The restaurant and opening came together better than I even imagined. NOIR oozed success. This ushered in a new level of fame for the boys. It marked the time I would leave Julian’s nest and go out on my own. He was very supportive, even giving me smaller restaurants and university cafeterias. My men were proud of me. They were proud of my design for NOIR. We had survived and repaired our relationship. We were better together, always.

Chapter Ten

Over the next few years, our New York neighborhood earned the reputation of becoming the next SoHo. I had my doubts, but we had won the vintage lottery hands down.

I was on assignment for Elizabeth, who had been invited to a party and was looking for a dress appropriate for a 1960s theme. I suggested vintage Pucci. I was scouting out such an outfit when I saw a storefront being renovated for a new business. This was how I found my new job and my new life.

It was not uncommon for businesses to come and go, but it was uncommon for one of these establishments to catch my eye. It was a smallish building with large windows and a few workers inside. But that was not the thing that caught my attention. It was the name of the establishment. High above the doorframe and big window hung a giant question mark. What was it? Was it already having an identity crisis, or was it just looking for a name? I peeked inside. That’s when I saw him. That’s when my heart started beating just a little bit differently.

He wore black pants and a white shirt. He could’ve been a waiter in one of Henry and Griffin’s restaurants.

I stepped over the threshold and hoped I would catch his attention, maybe even get the answer to my question—why the big fat question mark? He noticed me.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a decidedly English accent. He ran his fingers through his curly blond hair. He moved toward me. He took his time. With all the New Yorkers and their fast walking, I found it refreshing.

He extended his hand, but I ignored it and pointed to the sign that had drawn me to him in the first place.

“You like my sign?” he asked easily. In fact, I would describe his whole demeanor that way—very easy. Very natural. He had a boyish face, but he was not skinny or lanky. His blue eyes twinkled. He was of medium build. He was not as tall as Griffin, and his blond hair was freshly cut, unlike Griffin, who often wore his longish, which I attributed to the nonchalant quality he possessed. This man carried himself with great ease.

“Yes. Your sign.” I nodded. “What are you opening up in my little neighborhood?”

“Your neighborhood, is it? But you’re not from around here.”

“No. But then neither are you. I’m from the South. Right outside of Atlanta.”

“I’m from England. A town right outside of London.” His attitude exuded patience. He smiled again. I felt the attraction. But I was not going to be deterred from my investigation.