I
quickly hurry down the hall to the kitchen, my cheeks feeling
strangely hot. I grab a vase and fill it with cool water. The flowers
really are beautiful, the roses wild and perfumed with a sweet,
floral scent that wraps around my senses. I set them on the
countertop, and pause a moment, trying to pull myself together.
The
guy ran a comb through his hair and picked a couple of flowers,
there’s no need to get your panties in a twist.
But
it’s not my panties I’m worried about. It’s the
quicksilver beat of my heart, and the flutters of nervous
anticipation in my stomach that spell danger tonight. I sneak a look
down the hallway. Will is waiting casually in my living room,
checking out my bookshelves, and all the framed photos I have perched
on the mantel. He glances up and smiles. I duck back, my heart racing
now.
This
is a date.
A
date
date. Not a late-night hook-up, or casual get-together, or meeting a
guy in a bar and then winding up at his place after four drinks and a
shadowed make-out session. Will showed up on time, and is wearing a
shirt, and will probably walk me back to my door when he drops me off
later. It should be no big deal; I’ve been clear with him that
I’m not interested in anything real, so why am I freaking out?
You’ve
got this
.
I
grab a jacket and my purse, then meet him back by the door. “I
don’t know if you planned anything,” I say, “but I
thought we could go to this seafood place I know. It’s a great
spot, right on the water.”
“Sounds
perfect.” Will holds the door for me.
“Great!”
I exclaim, then immediately feel like an idiot. Anyone would think
I’ve never been on a date before. I have, tons.
But
not with a man like this.
That’s
the problem, I realize, following Will to his truck. Why he’s
got me off-balance, when I’m so used to calling all the shots.
He’s a grown man, not some guy sending non-committal texts at
two a.m., or taking time out of his busy schedule of beer and video
games. Those guys I can run rings around, but Will is something
different. He’s so sure and confident in everything he does,
and that certainty is intoxicating, sexy as hell. And that’s
even before he opens the passenger door of his ancient truck to
chivalrously help me inside.
He
circles around and climbs in too. I give him directions, and we hit
the road, driving out through town and onto the coastal road. I keep
my gaze fixed on the scenery outside the windows, trying to ignore
just how good he looks in the driver’s seat, one arm resting
out the open window, the sinking sun tinting his tanned skin gold
against the ocean light.
“Are
you OK?” Will asks after a few moments of silence.
“Sure!”
I blurt. “Yup. Why?”
“Just . . . you
don’t seem like yourself.”
I
swallow. I’m not—but Will shouldn’t know that yet.
He barely knows me at all. “I just don’t want you getting
the wrong idea about tonight,” I answer instead.
“You’ve
said that.” Will sounds amused. “A few times.”
“And
you don’t seem to be listening,” I shoot back.
The
truck comes to a stop. I look over, surprised, but we’re at a
set of red lights. Will turns to me, catching my eye with a direct,
open stare.
“I
think you’re amazing.”
What?
“You’re
beautiful, smart, sweet, and sexy as hell,” Will continues,
sounding so matter-of-fact, I can’t believe it. “I want
to get to know you better, that’s all. No pressure, no
expectations. You said yes to dinner, so here I am. Is that a
problem?”
“Um,
no . . .” I stammer, my head still spinning from
his simple honesty. “But,
sweet
?
Have you met me?”
He
chuckles. “We’ll agree to disagree. And if it makes you
feel any better,” he adds casually, “I promise not to
make out with you tonight. OK?”
Not
OK.
Telling me
something is off-limits is like waving a red flag. Right away, I’m
seized with the sudden impulse to clamber over the gearstick and kiss
him until I forget my own name, but I manage to murmur a garbled,
“Uhuh.”
The
lights turn green. Will puts the truck in drive, and settles back in
his seat again, totally at ease, but I don’t know what the hell
to think now.
Who
is this man, where did he come from?
And
how do I stop myself falling hook, line, and sinker for his charms?
Will
follows my directions up the coast about twenty minutes, until we
pull into the gravel lot outside Pete’s Seafood. “Here we
are,” I announce brightly. Will looks surprised.
“This
place?” he asks dubiously.
“They
have the best fried clams around,” I promise, hopping down from
the truck. OK, so it’s basically a glorified beach food stand
with a few wooden benches attached to the local mini-golf course, but
what was I supposed to do: take him to a romantic restaurant, or,
worse still, a dark sexy dive bar, full of hidden corners for getting
into trouble? Nope, much safer to be out in broad daylight with the
crisp ocean breeze and a group of rowdy kids racing around, blasting
each other with water guns.
If
Will is put out, he doesn’t show it. “Alright then,”
he says, flashing me an easygoing smile. “As long as we get to
take a spin on the course after. I’ve got a mean golf
handicap—especially when there’s a windmill in the way.”
“Deal.”
I relax, despite myself. I wasn’t lying, Pete’s does have
amazing seafood, and as we grab a table overlooking the water, my
mouth waters at the piles of fresh-fried fish and shrimp boil other
people are carrying back to their tables.
“What’s
good here?” Will asks, hungrily eyeing the spread at the next
table.
“Everything,”
I reply, and he laughs.
“Sign
me up.”
The
teenage waitress stops by, looking flustered. “You need menus,
or . . . ?” she asks hopefully.
“We’re
ready. Two full plates with fries and slaw,” I tell her,
looking to Will for confirmation. He nods.
“And
a couple of beers, too.”
She
barely nods before, racing off again. “I used to work here,”
I tell Will, wincing at the memory. “Summer shifts, back when I
was in high school.”
“Oh
yeah?” Will grins. “I’m trying to picture you in
that uniform.”
I
look over at the waitress’s navy shorts and plain white
T-shirt. “I wish. Back in my day, we had these little striped
hats. They were the worst, could never get the smell of grease out.
But they still weren’t as bad as the uniform at the donut stand
in town. Or the boat tours. That guy wanted us all dressed up in
pirate gear.”
Will
laughs. “You got around, huh?”
I
nod. “I pretty much held every part-time job in a twenty-mile
radius.”
“And
now you’re building a real estate empire,” he says, as
the waitress brings our food in record time.
“Pretty
much.” I grin, grabbing a fry and dunking it in the paper cup
of ketchup. “But I love what I do.”
“Why?”
Will asks.
“Well, the commissions are
pretty great,” I joke, “but . . . it’s
not just about the bricks and mortar. When you find someone a new
home, you’re giving them a piece of the dream they have about
their life,” I explain. “You know, the yard their kids
are going to play in, the porch they’ll sit on in retirement.
Even if all they want is a studio apartment somewhere they can afford
where the landlord isn’t a total asshole, and the water won’t
run cold, I can help make that happen. It’s a good feeling,
being a part of that.” I shrug, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Anyway, what about you? Have you been building your furniture
long?”
“Nope.”
Will digs into his food, “But I needed a change. I always said
‘someday,’ and then I woke up and realized, if not now,
when?”
“It’s
the first day of the rest of your life,” I quip, and he
chuckles.
“Something
like that.”
“So
is Oak Harbor everything you imagined?” I ask.
He
holds my gaze, green tonight as the ocean waves. “Everything.
And more.”
I
look away and focus on inhaling my food. It turns out all those
butterflies dancing in my stomach work up quite an appetite, and I
demolish my plate in no time at all.
“Ready
to kick some mini-golf ass?” I ask, gesturing for the check.
The sun is setting over the distant bay, painting the sky with pastel
shades of pink and orange. It’s too romantic to be sitting
here, watching the water together; the rowdy course is a much safer
bet.
“Them
be fighting words,” Will teases.
The
girl brings over our bill, and I take it automatically. “I’ve
got this.”
“No
ma’am.” Will says firmly, reaching for his wallet.
“It’s
fine,” I insist. The less like a traditional date this is, the
better. “I said I was taking you to dinner as a thank you for
helping break into my car. You can get dessert,” I add, nodding
to the ice cream cabinet.
Will
looks at me, amusement suddenly crinkling the corner of his green
eyes. “You think I’m broke.”
“I
didn’t say that. It’s fine,” I add quickly. “It’s
none of my business.” My mother taught me never to talk about
money. At least, not when you’re pretty sure you earn three
times what your date does.
But
Will is still smirking at me with that illegally handsome face of
his. He leans back and tosses a fry into his mouth in a lazy arc.
“You think I’m a no-good deadbeat who’s going to
stick you with the check when we’re through.”
“You
live in a shack in the woods with no running water,” I point
out, trying to be delicate. “The night I met you, you didn’t
have a quarter for the phone, and you drive around here in a beat-up
old truck that hasn’t seen the inside of an auto shop in twenty
years.”
Will
laughs out loud.
“Like
I said, it’s none of my business.” I smile back,
relieved. At least he doesn’t have an attitude about it like
some guys I’ve dated, the ones who take it as a personal insult
on their manhood if you even offer to go Dutch. “We can still
have fun. I take care of myself.”
“I’m
sure you can, darling. But I plan on taking care of the both of us.”
He gives me a smoldering look, so I can’t miss the double
meaning in his words. Heat slips into my bloodstream, and I can’t
help but imagine just what else that mouth can do.
“And
just so you know, that shack in the woods is on a hundred prime
acres, and I own it free and clear.” Will adds casually,
getting to his feet. “That truck belonged to my granddaddy,
he’s the one who taught me to service it myself every month. As
for not having a quarter for the phone, well, it just happened I
didn’t have any change for a hundred that night.”
Before
I can react, Will reaches casually for his wallet, pulls out a thick
roll of cash, and peels off a fifty dollar bill. “Keep the
change, darlin’.” He winks at the waitress, and she
flushes bright red, scurrying off with her epic tip. Will offers a
hand to me. “Shall we?”
I
stare up at him blankly, still thrown.
“You never asked what I did
in the city,” he continues, clearly loving every minute of my
surprise. “I was in finance. Wall Street. I was pulling in
stupid money, until I decided to jack it all in and move to the
country to turn wood and count the crickets. So don’t you
worry, sweetheart, I won’t be skipping out on a check anytime
soon.”
I
finally get it together and rise, following him out. Will places one
hand low on my back, and leans in until his lips brush against my
ear. “And since you’re so concerned, the water at my
shack will be running by the weekend. Full upgrade, gas tank, the
works.”
I
laugh and playfully push him away, but only to hide my shiver at the
whisper of his lips against my skin.
Call
me crazy, but I’ve never found plumbing so sexy in my life.
We
play two round of mini-golf, and the whole time, I try to keep that
fluttering feeling at bay. But it’s no use. Will has me
laughing at dumb jokes and celebrating our high scores, the
connection between us so easy and relaxed that it’s not until
we’re in the truck heading back to Oak Harbor that I realize
the laughter has drifted away with the sinking sun, and now there’s
something else shimmering in the dark summer night’s air
between us, something charged and electric.
I
glance over at him and feel a shiver. Maybe it would be different if
I hadn’t kissed him before; if I didn’t know exactly how
skilled and certain that gorgeous mouth could be against my lips. The
feel of his body; the heat already snaking through my veins. But I
do—and now all I want is to feel it again. The images rush
through my mind, sensual and tempting, until it’s all I can
think about. God, it would be so easy to invite him inside back at
mine, for coffee or a nightcap, some other blatant pretext to get him
inside—and out of his clothes. It doesn’t have to mean
anything, just explore the connection that’s so clear between
us . . .
The
truck comes to a stop, breaking through my fevered thoughts. “Here
we are,” Will says, and then—like I knew he would—he
goes around to get my door and walks me to my front step.
“Tonight
was fun,” I admit. Will’s face is cast in shadows by my
porch awning, the angles of his face so clean and strong. It sends an
unfamiliar longing through me, and I have to glance away. “Thank
you for dinner.”
“Any
time.”
I
fumble with my keys and open the door. It’s now or never. If it
was any other guy, I wouldn’t think twice before going after
what I want, so I turn back. “Do you want to come in?” I
ask, straight out, my heart pounding.
Will
pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick. “I . . . don’t
know if that would be a good idea.”