"I'm just a good customer. I found this place shortly after they opened and have been supporting them with client dinners for a few years now."

"Which doesn't diminish my point in the least."

"It's just business. Good business, as a matter of fact, since they always show their thanks in outstanding service."

A light flush crept up his neck, and she marveled at yet another facet of the fascinating Mr. McGee. "And the fancy office location?"

"It helps to know the landlady. My mother's boarder, Mrs. Weston, bought the property about a year before I opened shop."

"You play the-aw shucks routine well, but I think you're a homegrown gem."

"A Renaissance man and a homegrown gem? Why, Detective Rossi, you flatter."

"I just call it like I see it. You're the local boy who's making good, and people are all too happy to help you."

"I like what the neighborhood has become. The whole borough, really. That spirit of renewal that seems to have gripped everyone."

"What's old is new again."

"Maybe, but I think it's something more. It's like people have figured out how to take the old and build on it, refining it but keeping the bones." He pointed toward the front of the restaurant. "This place, as an example. They used the existing structure and updated around it. The archways. The old windows. Even the flooring was sanded down and refined. This is the true renewal."

His repeated use of the word caught her. "And the art show wasn't?"

He shrugged. "To each his own. I like Gregor, and I give my full respect to anyone who puts themselves out there and on display like he did. But let's just say I process the things I can see and touch and live with better than an abstract concept. Not very Renaissance of me, I know."

The sommelier returned with the wine, giving Daphne a moment to collect her thoughts.

Renewal.

She'd lived in Brooklyn all her life and had never considered her home through that lens. If she were honest, her focus on the city's seamier residents often blinded her to all of the rebirth and revitalization Landon had naturally gravitated toward.

What did that say about her? Had she somehow lost her natural optimism as her career increasingly drove her life? Or worse, had she spent so much time with her head down, marching toward the next goal, that she'd failed to acknowledge any of it, let alone appreciate it?

She reached for her wine glass, the rich Cabernet swirling against her tongue much as her thoughts eddied and churned through her mind. Perhaps it was time to stop thinking and start enjoying.

And she couldn't think of anyone in her acquaintance she wanted to do that with more than Landon. A man who understood and appreciated the possibilities. A partner for the evening who encouraged her to see the world a bit differently.

Those expressive dark eyes stared at her over the small expanse of candlelight and white tablecloth. His attention hadn't wavered since he picked her up earlier, and to be the object of that focus was irresistible.

He lifted his wineglass to toast. "To weird art that makes you think, a well-marbled steak, and good wine."

Daphne lifted hers in kind, clinking it to his, when a mischievous imp landed on her shoulder. "To renewal," she said.

The light tinkle of glasses meeting served as punctuation to Daphne's toast. Landon took a sip of his wine, the importance of the moment not lost on him.

Renewal.

More like a bullet to the brain if he weren't careful. He meant everything he'd said, but he hadn't expected to feel the same about Daphne. All the bullshit of the past few days-hell, the past month-seemed to fade the longer he was in her presence. She was like a tonic, and he well knew your problems didn't go away just because you ignored them for a while.

But, oh, how nice it was to forget for a while. Especially in the company of a beautiful, fascinating woman.

His conversation with his mother had nagged at him, leaving him raw and unguarded over the last twenty-four hours. She had a right to her opinions and always had a right to talk to him and say what she thought, but that hadn't made the conversation easier.

"What do you recommend?"

The question was a welcome break from the endless introspection, and gave Landon the opportunity he needed to stop thinking for a while.

He was out with a beautiful woman. His extra hours of work on his zombie-apocalypse game were beginning to pay off. And he was about to eat a plate of meat that would make the angels weep.

Perhaps he needed to get his priorities straight.

"All their steaks are amazing. And the lobster mac and cheese is a must-have on the sides."

"I already saw that, and I'm not above arm wrestling for the right to choose."

The idea of arm wrestling made him think of a far more interesting type of arrangement of bodies, and Landon gave the image a moment to take hold. He'd already imagined her in his arms, but the immediate grip of desire was intoxicating.

"While I wouldn't argue with a bit of wrestling, we can always order both sides."

A small, witchy smile tilted her lips as she folded her menu and reached for her wine. "I think I mentioned arm wrestling."

Before he could reply, something had her frowning into her wine. "What is it?"

"I am so sorry, but my purse just rang for the third time. Do you mind if I excuse myself to see what's going on?"

"Of course not."

He stood and helped her with her chair and was rewarded with a quick, wine-tinged kiss for his efforts. Unable to look away from the soft sway of hips and swing of the long dark hair that spilled over her shoulders, Landon didn't miss the slight hitch in her step or the nervous way she glanced back at him before disappearing down a small hallway that held a miniscule alcove with a phone.

The life of a cop. Or more like the life of a cop on the rise. She'd already established that she wasn't afraid of hard work. Nor did she ever fully relax out of cop mode, those sharp eyes always assessing the world around her. What was more interesting was how little he minded.

Was that a gift from his mother?

She'd worked his entire life, her days as equally full of purpose as the time she spent with him, Fender, and Nick. Her work tote had a spot of honor by the door, and he remembered many of the evening calls she'd take during tax season. He hadn't minded, and once she'd finished up her conversations she'd return to whatever they'd been doing, from watching TV to playing a game to navigating whatever dreaded homework had appeared for the evening. It was only when he and his brothers were heading to bed that she'd pull the tote out once more and get back to work.

It had been natural and acceptable to blend work with life, and he'd never really given it that much thought. Until now.

His mother's comments the day before about her time working in the city had been something of a revelation. He'd asked her once, when he was small, about her job, and she hadn't said much about missing it. She had confirmed that she'd invested well and had plenty of money, but said nothing about what she'd done or how she'd spent her days.

And his only response since discovering the truth of her affair had been to focus on how she'd spent her evenings.

God, he really was an ass.

"Sorry about that." Daphne arrived back at their table, her small purse once again tucked beneath her arm.

"Everything okay?" He stood to pull out her chair again and was rewarded with another one of those kisses.

"It will be. The precinct was having an issue finding paperwork I'd filed late today. As soon as I told them where to look, they had what they needed-someone new was attempting to navigate our e-filing system. But the file's been found, and the wheels of justice are turning as we speak for an expectant mother to take action against her scummy landlord."

"I could help you with that. Your file architecture."

"I just bet you could." She reached for her glass of wine. "But I've interrupted our lovely evening enough with work, and I appreciate your patience while I worked through that."

"It's not a bother."

He caught the slightest tremble of her fingers against the stem of her wine glass. "Sure it is. But it's done. Now on to ordering that lobster mac and cheese."

Her smile was bright and overly vivid as their waiter came up to their table, but it was the small quaver under her voice that had Landon on high alert. He waited until their waiter left and their sommelier evened out their glasses before reaching for her hand.

"I'm not bothered by the interruption. At all."

"Then you really are the Renaissance man I accused you of being."

Accused?

"Daphne. What's this about?"

"Nothing. Really, it's nothing. It was a brief interruption and now we're back to our regularly scheduled programming."

"So why are you upset?"

"Damn it, I'm not-" She broke off, worrying the napkin in her lap. "I am sorry."

"I think we've already determined that you don't need to apologize. Someone at work needed you, and you answered the call. What I'd rather understand is why you're so upset about that?"

"Mike hated it when-" She stopped, but her fingers still played over each other in a nervous grip in her lap. "A guy I used to be serious about hated it when work interfered. Any time, really, but he especially hated it when we were out. He didn't appreciate my work."

"Sounds more like he didn't appreciate you."

"That's an easy cop-out."

"Or it's the truth. Take your pick, although I think you may have already chosen." Despite his recent reaction to his mother, Landon wasn't prone to frustration or even much thought over the actions of others. So the swift onslaught of anger and irritation at the imagined Mike was a surprise.

"Relationships aren't that simple, as my mother frequently reminds me." Daphne said.

"No, they're not black-and-white. But it's awfully unfair to take a situation you knew about walking into the relationship and then use it against each other when something becomes inconvenient."

Which, Landon knew, made him the world's biggest hypocritical ass, considering how he'd treated his mother-but he'd worry about picking through those land mines later. For the moment, they were discussing Daphne.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You were already a cop when the two of you met?"

"Yes."

"Were you already a detective?"

"No, that came later."

Landon saw it all unfold, even without her saying a word. If she made detective during the relationship, she'd not only worked her ass off, but she'd seen a steady stream of successes come from that work.

And he'd wager Mike was still doing the same-old, same-old as the day they started dating.

Another thank you he'd chalk up to Louisa Mills. He and his brothers weren't afraid to work hard, nor were they afraid of women who did the same. But he'd spent enough time around others who weren't quite so enlightened.

Or quite so easy with others' successes.

"Here we were having a nice dinner and I've ruined it. Naked ambition and all that."

He wasn't ashamed of the small grin that tinged the edges of his mouth of its own accord. "Tell me more about the naked part?"

The tease was enough to lighten the darkness that had filled her eyes since returning from the phone call. "That was naked ambition, not naked body parts."

"Sorry. I stopped at naked."

"Tell me about it." She reached for her wine, considered it, but didn't drink. "I know what I want. From my career. From my future."

"And?" He pressed her.

"And it's hardly fitting date conversation to natter on about my ambitions."

Whatever the hell "date conversation" was. "I sort of thought that was the getting-to-know-you part of dating."

"Maybe."

"So tell me more about these goals of yours."

"Answering the calls. Checking e-mails and voice-mails after leaving work. It's who I am. And it's essential if I want a shot at this big task force I'm going out for."

"What's involved?"

"It's a terrorism task force. A joint operation between the feds and the mayor's office. They're selecting a handful of officers for the first class and I'm up for it."

"That's fantastic." Dangerous, he amended to himself, but amazing. "It must have a lot of attention on it."

"It does." Her gaze drifted to the wine once more. "It's a big deal to get it. It'll change the trajectory of my career."

Landon reached for his own wine, her situation coming to life in vivid clarity. "In ways your family doesn't approve of?"

"They approve. But-" Daphne set her wine glass back on the table, the contents untouched, as she stared up at him. "There's always a but, isn't there?"

"More often than not."

"My family supports me, to the extend they know how. But they don't understand why this is important to me."

"Do you know why it's important? Why it matters so much?"

"Sure. It's a big opportunity. It's a chance to make a difference. A real, tangible difference, rooting out problems at their source."