Next To Nothing!

“Not a problem.” Henry nodded.

3

THE LIGHTHOUSE, the Quayside’s rooftop seafood restaurant, wasn’t light at all. Jenna squinted at the maitre d’ as she took her seat at a small table in a secluded alcove. She supposed the darkness might seem romantic to some, but it was a crying shame to waste the view.

Although the restaurant was located on the fortieth floor, right on the lake front, only about a quarter of the exterior wall space had windows. The rest was covered in a heavy, burgundy wall paper, layered between dark, hewn beams.

The feeble ceiling lights cast a smoky, orange hue, and the carpet was in red tones. At least she thought it was in red tones, she leaned sideways in her seat and peered down at it. She could barely see her feet down there in the dark depths.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was paying attention, she lifted the candle from the middle of the table and held it close to the floor.

She was right. Swirls of burgundy and bloodred. She shuddered.

“Lose something, ma’am?”

Jenna quickly straightened in her chair, giving her emerald cocktail dress a surreptitious tug down her thighs and smoothing her fingertips across the straight, strapless neckline to make sure everything was where it ought to be.

“Nothing.” She smiled at the waiter, placing the candle back on the table.

“Can I offer you a cocktail?” he asked, reaching out and returning the candle to its original position.

“Sure.” Jenna tapped her fingernails against the gold tablecloth. “A glass of red wine?”

“We have the Andollin Beaujolais from France, very light, very smooth. Or the Posselini Merlot from Italy, bolder, very dry.” He flipped open a leather-bound wine list. “Or I can open a bottle.”

“The Beaujolais will be fine.”

“Very good.” He flipped the wine list shut. “I’ll be back in one moment.”

Jenna sighed and settled into her chair. The waiter’s old-world mannerisms seemed to go with the room. Maybe wealthy people liked oppressive spaces and officious service. She’d certainly experienced both with Brandon.

Should she stay with dark and classic here, or be bold and suggest something more updated? She ran her fingertips along the ornate arm of the dark walnut chair, tracing the swirled carving as she gazed around the room, cataloguing the furniture and decor.

Most of the tables in her section were empty. Although, one of the window tables was occupied by a couple. She unconsciously paused on them. They were holding hands across the table top and seemed totally absorbed in each other, oblivious to anything else in the room.

After a brief twinge of envy, Jenna shifted her focus. It came to rest on the other chair at her table. The wood was dark, almost black, and the upholstery was diamond-tufted, red velvet. She imagined it had looked very rich in its time, but now it looked heavy and dated. Rather like the wallpaper.

Rather like the staff. She grinned to herself and took a quick sip from her water glass. She wondered if new uniforms would lighten them up a little.

Her gaze started to roam again, coming to rest on the couple by the window. The man reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. Jenna’s eyes widened along with the woman’s, and Jenna quickly turned her head to look away.

She found herself focusing in on the wallpaper while she considered changing chairs so the couple wouldn’t be in her line of vision. They obviously didn’t need an audience tonight.

The wallpaper in front of her was starting to peel at one of the seams. For all its venerated reputation, the Quayside sure did need the services of a good decorator.

She touched the loose seam with her fingertip, and pried away an inch of the brittle paper. It flaked off in her hand.

“Your wine, ma’am,” the waiter startled her again, and she wondered if he practiced sneaking up on people.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Are you ready to order?”

Jenna shook her head. “Not yet.” She wasn’t in a hurry.

As she sipped her wine, her attention kept wandering back to the wall beside her. Curious, she shifted in her seat, taking a closer look at the smooth, surface revealed under the wallpaper. It was drywall, probably put up in the sixties. And, since the hotel was more than fifty years old, that meant somebody had renovated the restaurant at least once.

She traced the seam partway up the wall, drawing closer. She pulled up on her knees, lifting the candle for a better look. If this was a renovation, what was the original design?

She glanced around the restaurant. Lattice dividers and carved, stone statues broke the large room into sections. Hers was definitely an outside wall. If the original designer had more brains than the renovator, there might be window openings back there. She felt a hum of excitement at the thought of more windows.

With all that light, all that view to play with, she could cheerfully blow the entire redecorating budget on the restaurant alone. The possibilities were positively endless.

She shimmied up higher. Glancing around to make sure the other two diners were still making moon eyes at each other and ignoring her, she knocked gently on the wall. It sounded solid. Drat.

She put the candle down and knocked again, a little to the left this time. Still solid. A statue kept her from trying further to the left, so she stretched up to reach above it, glancing at the other outside walls, counting off the windows and trying to eyeball the pattern. She reached up and knocked.

Hollow.

“Yes!” she whispered. Pay dirt.

She rapped her knuckles in a horizontal line, trying to ascertain the size of the opening. Then she went vertical, stretching up, standing in her seat. The hollow sound went up and up. Excitement hummed through her veins.

If the perimeter of the restaurant was all window openings, she was going to fill this mausoleum with light.

“Is something wrong?” A deep voice behind her startled her.

Jenna turned swiftly, bashing her shin against the tabletop, recognizing the security guard from the lobby earlier and knocking over the candle all in a split second.

“Ouch,” she cried, leaning over quickly to blow out the candle. Her breath bent the flame then, to her horror, it leapt higher, catching the wax-drenched tablecloth.

“Watch your hair,” the man gasped, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her out of the chair. He held her tight with one arm, and swiftly snuffed the flame with his other palm.

But it didn’t go out, and he jerked his hand back.

Panic surged in Jenna. Any second now the whole cloth was going to go up. The woman at the other table exclaimed and pointed.

Tyler grabbed Jenna’s water glass and dumped it on the spreading flame. It hissed, and smoked, sputtering out, leaving a messy, saucer-sized black hole in the middle of the tablecloth.

“You okay?” Tyler asked in a deep voice that rumbled near her ear. His arm was still firmly around her waist.

“Fine,” she answered, only slightly shaken. The throb on the front of her shin bone told her she’d have a bruise tomorrow. But no real damage had been done to the table, thank goodness.

“Thanks,” she said.

“No problem,” he replied.

The spilled water worked its way to the edge of the table and trickled onto the floor. Jenna picked up her napkin and began dabbing at the mess.