Chapter Seven
He was nervous.
Jameson took a deep breath, inwardly cursing his odd surge of emotion. This was ridiculous. Asinine, really. He had no reason to freak out about seeing Devon for an actual date. He’d dated enough women in his past to feel confident and avoid first date jitters. Besides, he knew Devon—it wasn’t a cold meet like on a dating app.
Yet, the kiss had disturbed him.
In a good way.
His brain once again blasted the memory of her body melting against his, the softness of her lips, the delicious taste of her. The connection had blistered hot in a way he’d never experienced before, as if he’d found his other half.
Of course, he believed in none of that nonsense, just like he believed Christmas wasn’t magical. But he wanted to see her again and delve deeper. To find out more about how she came to be the woman she was.
And maybe to kiss her again.
He shook his head and finished closing up Vintage. It had been a better day, with less people complaining about the changes, yet Jameson was beginning to think he’d made some errors. He was so sure it would catch on, but the town still clung to what Vintage had been in the past. His bar bill was too low to make much of a profit. Each customer who brought in a bottle and heard there was a full bar now was stubborn enough not to want to order a cocktail. The lobster tacos were rarely ordered because everyone believed it had replaced the pancake charcuterie board. He was dealing with an element of small-town emotion he rarely encountered in the restaurant business.
Plus, he’d had to call Carl and make nice, which was a nightmare. But after his chat with Zoe, he knew he needed to at least offer a visit from Santa. He put a placard up to advertise and brunch was completely booked. He still had a few weeks left before Mac came back, and needed to think positive. Hopefully, he’d be able to offer his cousin a more profitable, freshened up restaurant that would serve him well.
The click of heels alerted him to his date so he went to meet her at the door.
Damn, she was beautiful.
Bear bounded beside her, stretched to the maximum limit on the leash, but she never stumbled in her high platform boots. Her willowy body was clad in clingy black leggings, thigh high boots, and an emerald green sweater that made her eyes gleam like jewels. Her hair was long and loose, the pin straight strands reminding him of how satisfying it’d been to bury his fingers in them. Her lips were stained blush pink, her face bare of heavy makeup. His gaze hungrily roved over her figure, each graceful stride toward him. “Hi, flower girl. Hi, Bear.”
The dog strained at the leash, so Devon unclipped him, allowing Bear to run free and almost tackle him with enthusiasm. “The beast missed you,” she teased, tucking the leash into her hobo bag.
“Did anyone else?”
She laughed easily at his question, a flirty look in her eyes. “Depends on what you’re feeding me, restaurant boy. I’ve had a busy day and I’m starving.”
Jameson pet Bear, which made fur fly into the air and cling to his black pants, along with damp drool. “If you promise not to complain about the pancakes and didn’t bring your own champagne, I’ll dazzle you with dinner.”
“Good, because I had pancakes for breakfast.”
They shared an easy grin, and he led her over to a corner table he’d set up. Candles flickered in the shadows and added an intimate atmosphere. He’d already prepared the meal beforehand. “The food is ready because I know it’s late. Here, take a seat.”
She slid into the offered chair. “I don’t mind. My schedule is a bit erratic depending on events, so I’ve gotten used to eating at odd times.”
“Can I get you some wine?”
“Yes, please. Cabernet is perfect.”
“Be right back.” He went into the kitchen to finish plating and poured two glasses of wine. Bear had flopped on the floor beside the table and when he caught the scent of food, began to whine. “I got something for you, too, beast.” He set the plates down, and went into the kitchen to retrieve a small bowl of cut-up filet.
Devon whistled. “Wow, we’re all eating fancy tonight.”
“Bear’s are leftovers but don’t tell him. I hate wasting good meat.”
She tilted her head, lips pursed. “And ours?”
“Freshly prepared by my own hands. I hope you like it.”
“It’s so pretty I don’t want to eat it.”
Her smile made his heart stutter. He hoped to God he wasn’t blushing, but watching her take the first bite was a satisfying experience. Especially after she groaned with pleasure. He’d gone with the sea bass—one of his favorite fish dishes—and paired it with a light citrus sauce over a bed of mushroom risotto. Wilted spinach with garlic rounded out the plate. Devon struck him as a woman who enjoyed simple food cooked with fresh ingredients and big flavors.
“This is insane,” she said. “Sea bass is my favorite.”
“Me, too. You don’t eat meat, right?”
“No, I guess I’m technically a pescetarian because I eat some dairy, too.”
He took a sip of his wine. Bear had gobbled up the meat in one big gulp and had rolled onto his back to nap. “Is that for dietary or something else?”
She forked up some risotto and closed her eyes halfway as she swallowed.
He got hard immediately and had to shift in his seat. God, he loved a woman who knew how to enjoy food. “No, I was a bit traumatized in my teens. I was visiting my aunt and uncle in the Catskills and they had a farm. They taught me how to do some basic things, like collect eggs and even milk the cows. For some weird reason, I bonded with one of the turkeys.”
He peered over his glasses. “I’m afraid I know where this story may go.”
“Yep. I didn’t understand why he didn’t have a name so I called him Tom.”
His lip twitched. “Brilliantly original.”
“Now I’m not telling you the rest.”
She sipped her wine, those moss green eyes playfully challenging him. He wished he could lean over and kiss her, but she wasn’t his yet. Jameson wondered what it would feel like to have that right to hold her hand, kiss her lips, stroke her hair. “I apologize. I really want to hear the rest.”
“Okay, so I spent the week with Tom, having a blast. One afternoon, I went into town shopping, and when I came back, we had dinner. A turkey dinner.” A sad sigh escaped her. “And I ate a lot.”
A pang of sympathy hit him. “Was it good?”
She nodded reluctantly.
“When did you find out it was Tom?” he asked.
“I went looking for him the next morning. I searched for a while and then I ran to ask my uncle. Who told me quite calmly that we’d eaten him last night, and that’s what turkeys were for.”
He winced. “Brutal. He didn’t feel the need to lie?”
Devon’s fork scraped against the mostly empty plate. “He’s a farmer so he never thought it was a big deal. It was just his way of life. But I didn’t understand it at the time. I went hysterical and my parents decided to leave early because I was inconsolable. I vowed I’d never eat an animal again.”
He liked the way she backed up her thoughts with actions. It showed the type of person she was, one of conviction. “I think that’s really cool.”
Devon looked up. “Thanks. I have no problem with anyone around me eating meat, it’s my personal choice.”
“You’re okay with fish?”
She bit her lip. He wished he could have done that for her. “Kind of? I convince myself they don’t experience the same pain like land animals? But I love The Little Mermaid and Sebastian is my favorite character. I try to avoid crab.”
He laughed. “Duly noted. Did you like dinner?”
“It was perfect. Thank you, I feel so much better.” She relaxed back in her chair and sipped her wine. “How’d you learn to cook so well?”
“I always loved food, but I was raised in restaurants. My mom hated to cook so very early on I knew every good place in New York. The good news was she didn’t frequent fast food places. Instead, I got a great education from the local food trucks. I knew where to get the best bagels and pizza. I ate Chinese, Thai, Indian, Italian, and everything in between. Restaurants became my second home, and after my first job, I decided I needed to learn to cook.”
She propped her chin in her palm and stared at him with fascination. “What a fabulous type of childhood. You found your true north so early.”
“Exactly.” He loved how she didn’t pity him for not having a traditional mom who baked cupcakes and had a warm dinner on the table at six every night. It always bristled when people wanted to sympathize over a gift. “I’ve been doing it for years now and I never wanted to do anything else. It was good to start with being a bus boy and learning all the less glamorous jobs. I think you need to experience each one to be a good leader.”
“Agreed. So, you’re living your best life? Working at a restaurant you love. Living in a great city. Do you feel like you have it all?”
The question threw him off guard. His normal instinct was to give her a resounding yes. But inside, deep where he rarely explored, was an emptiness. He always believed it belonged to loss, from the woman he loved. A relationship that had broken his heart, so he never wanted to deal with another one. He’d kept the others to a level he could control, but Jameson was beginning to wonder if by staying safe, he’d also sacrificed the best parts. He decided to offer a safe remark. “I’m definitely happy.”
Devon squinted those magnificent eyes. Her gaze delved into his, and immediately, the air between them charged. It was as if she knew about his omission, and was choosing not to ask. He had a sudden instinct being involved with Devon would demand more of him. Usually, that would urge him to walk away.
But right now, he didn’t want to.
“What about your own restaurant? Do you ever think about it?”
He nodded. “I do. It’s something I think about now and then, but I’ve been satisfied with where I am.”
“Are you truly satisfied? Or complacent?”
He jerked back at the piercing question. “A big word for a big concept.”
Her expression softened as she smiled. “That wasn’t a jab. I was just thinking about what you told me when you wanted to change Vintage. You mentioned Mac had gotten complacent.”
Oh, yeah. This woman would definitely be a challenge. “Ouch. You’re right. But I think we can reach levels where it’s okay to stay the course if things are good. If everyone is happy.”
A wicked mischief danced over her features. “Like keeping the pancakes?”
Jameson laughed and shook his head. “That was mean.”
She laughed with him. “Sorry. I mean, maybe you’re right. But what if you haven’t pursued the idea of your own business because it’s so much easier not to? Which has nothing to do with not wanting to. Change is hard. It can emit failure. Regret.”
He pondered her words. Was she right? How often had he looked at vacant storefronts and imagined himself creating his own restaurant? Dreamed of the menu and atmosphere and the vibe? The want had definitely been there. He just hadn’t prodded the thoughts into action because—
He was complacent.
A lightbulb exploded in his head. He’d need to sit with the realization for a while and see what he wanted to do with it. Jameson leaned in, caught up in her mind and her gaze and wanting to be closer. “You may be right. What about you? Any regrets?”
She gave a delicate shrug. “Don’t we all? Every path we don’t take can be a regret. I try not to steep myself in that type of negativity. I tell myself I did the best I could at the time, and give myself grace. We’re way too hard on ourselves, don’t you think?”
Her words gave him pause. He hadn’t expected that from her. She had so many different layers hiding under the surface beauty. “I think that concept is extremely underrated and under used. I think if we did that more often, we’d take a hell of a lot more risks.”
Silence fell. It was full of want, of possibilities, of a gentle peace and simmering excitement he’d never experienced. At this very moment, he felt poised on the precipice of something special.
Her voice rose to his ears in a lilting caress. “I didn’t expect this.”
“Me either.”
“I didn’t really like you.”
“Me either.”
Her lower lip twitched in humor. She lifted her glass and drank the last ruby red drops of wine. “It’s getting late. I really need to go.”
“Coffee? Dessert?”
Devon shook her head. “I have a lot to do tomorrow for the Fur Gala. I’d like to decorate early Saturday morning before customers come in.”
“That’s not a problem. I’ll be here to help you.”
Her brow arched. “Thought you weren’t going to offer any assistance, remember?”
He winced. “I do. Let’s say things have…changed.”
Neither of them said what they were thinking. Jameson let her have the space. Things had turned fast between them, and she needed to get her footing. Even he felt a bit topsy turvy with how close he suddenly felt to her in such a short time, and it had all started out not liking each other.
Yeah. Things had definitely changed.
“I’ll walk you to the car.”
Devon hooked Bear to the leash and stood. Jameson offered his hand. Her fingers entwined with his as they threaded their way to the back door and down the stone path. The graveled parking lot was empty. Darkness enshrouded them by the empty tennis courts. The Physick Estate behind the restaurant glowed with holiday lights. The winter air was cold and sharp and still. Thick clouds blocked the moon.
Bear trudged beside. “When do you want to drop him off tomorrow?” she asked.
“Eight am, okay?”
“Yes.” She turned to face him, her back to the car. “Thank you for dinner. It was amazing.”
“Thank you for joining me. I enjoyed cooking for you.”
Underneath his polite words, Jameson’s entire body throbbed with need. Her cheeks were flushed with cold. Her hair surrounded her like a silk curtain, and those big green eyes stared up at him, filled with a mysterious myriad of emotion he craved to figure out. The scent of florals and pine drifted to his nostrils.
“See you tomorrow,” she said.
“Yes, see you tomorrow.”
She twisted to open the car door. His feet were frozen to the ground, his fingers clenched into tight fists. His heart beat savagely in his chest and he tamped down hard on his animal need to touch her.
The door opened.
They moved at the same time.
Jameson stepped forward and she kicked the door closed, turning right into his arms. He gave a low growl of satisfaction as her warm, soft body crashed against his, and he cupped her chilled cheeks, stamping his mouth over hers.
Politeness and hesitation fell away. Tonight, the kiss was raw and passionate and bold. She opened beneath him and demanded more, wrapping her arms around his neck tight, hanging on. His hands drifted to cup her rear, squeezing the full globes and lifting her to meet his hungry mouth. The kiss was deep and long and dirty, and Jameson reveled in every single second.
He backed her up against the car. She gave a sexy little moan and he captured it, his tongue tangling with hers, his hands urging her legs to open so he could step between them and feel more of her. Sparks caught fire. He was hard and aching, and his head spun with a need that clawed from his gut to claim her. To give her pleasure. To fuck her so well and so long, all she could do was cry his name.
The primitive roar of instinct to imprint himself on this woman he held took him off guard.
He ripped his mouth away from hers, his breath ragged as he stared at her in the trickling moonlight.
Lips swollen and damp, she blinked up at him, obviously as foggy as him. Her pupils were dilated black with desire. Jameson ruthlessly tamped down the wild need inside, his grip gentling as he tried to regain his sanity. This was too much. Too much...
Messiness.
But God, he wanted it. Wanted Devon Pratt.
His fingers practically shook as he carefully tucked some flyaway strands behind her ear. Slowly, she began to rouse from the buzz. “Well, that’s twice you managed to surprise me.”
He kept his words light though his insides were raw. “Ditto, flower girl. But you deserve a hell of a lot more than being laid out on the hood of the car.”
A sexy smile tugged her lips. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Not a bad idea for another time. Good night, Jameson.”
This time, she opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and took off.
He stared at the taillights with a stunned expression that felt frozen to his face.
That woman had game.
Oh, he was toast. He was already half in love with her and it made no sense.
Even worse?
He didn’t want to make sense of any of it. Wanted to follow this through to the bitter end and if the whole thing blew up, Jameson had a feeling Devon Pratt would still make the end worth the ride.
Bear pushed at his chest, reminding him it was cold and he wanted to get home. “Sorry, beast. You’re with me tonight, even though I’d rather have her.”
Bear grinned, sloppy with drool.
Jameson laughed and led his dog home.