“Are you sure this is where you want to eat dinner?” Zach halted in front of Le Joliet"s picturesque window displays and scrunched his face at the ornate and gilded exterior of the building. Modern yet designed with authentic French furniture, art, and music as if you"d stepped into the Montmartre arrondissement in Paris.
It was the type of place where men usually wore ties and women dressed to the nines. Not his kind of establishment. Also, he no longer owned any ties. Tie. He used to have one tie. For weddings and funerals. And even then, only if he cared about the person. He"d worn it three times last year. His father"s wake. His brother"s wedding. His brother"s funeral. By Thanksgiving, he"d been so tired of wearing the tie that year that he tossed it in a campfire on Caleb"s property
