Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Daisy
I feel like Pretty Woman . Except that this isn’t a Julia Roberts movie.
But it does feel like I’ve been dropped into an alternate universe.
Why did he buy me all those clothes?
Why did he show up at the door with flowers and chocolates?
I’m not going to think about it though. Tonight, I’m just going to have fun.
“Hungry?” Beckett asks as he ushers me through the tapas restaurant with his hand on my lower back. For a non-date this certainly feels like a date. But once again, I’m not going to read too much into it.
I wasn’t hungry before but the food smells so good I’m salivating. “Starving.”
“So I assume you’ll be moaning your way through another dinner.”
“I aim to please.”
His gaze roams over the little black dress I chose for tonight’s “celebration.” It’s short and strapless and seemed like the perfect outfit for the occasion. “And you do. You please me very much,” he says, his voice low and husky, his mouth close to the shell of my ear. “You look so fucking beautiful.”
Heat spreads through my abdomen and my cheeks feel flushed.
God. When this man turns on the charm, it’s so disarming that I can barely think straight let alone form a coherent sentence.
When we reach our table on the outdoor patio, he pulls out my chair like a true gentleman, and after I recover from the shock of his compliment and perfect manners, I glance around at the other tables.
It’s mostly couples because this is a date night kind of place—candle-lit tables on a stone patio dotted with olive and citrus trees, and romantic Spanish guitar music pouring from the speakers.
After we place our orders, I look across the table at Beckett.
He looks so different to me now than the first time I saw him at the airport. His skin is suntanned. Eyes so blue against his skin. Dark hair perfectly tousled.
It’s not that he’s changed so much looks-wise.
But now I find him so attractive that every other man pales in comparison.
The last time I sat across from him at a restaurant was when we shared a booth at that burger joint. He wanted information about Astrid. I wanted to know if his job made him happy. If he was happy.
“I have a proposition for you,” Beckett says.
“I knew it! So this is just like Pretty Woman .” I run the toe of my shoe up his pants leg and give him a coquettish smile. “You’re paying me for sexual favors, aren’t you?”
He wraps his hand around my ankle and pulls my foot into his lap. “Why would I have to do that when you give them so freely?” He removes my strappy heel and it hits the floor with a thud.
My head falls back as he massages my foot with his large, warm hands, his thumbs pressing into all the pressure points. God. This feels so good that I moan like I’m having an orgasm. Close enough.
“Stay with me until you leave for Madrid.”
My eyes fly open. “What?”
“Stay,” he commands.
I take a sip of sangria to cover my surprise. Of course, I want to stay longer. I’d stay forever if I could. But I don’t want to get my hopes up until I know exactly what he’s asking.
“You want me to stay longer?”
He releases my foot and I sit back as the server arrives with small plates of tapas and sets them on the table then retreats.
“I thought we were celebrating that we’ve come through this alive and in one piece. Do you really want to tempt fate by prolonging this?”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take. I’m game if you are.” He gives me a lazy grin and stabs his fork into a ham and cheese croquette. “So what do you say, princess?”
“I’m still not sure what you’re asking,” I hedge, biting into a Padron pepper.
“What’s the point in flying back to New York, when you can leave directly from here? Makes more sense to fly from San Francisco.”
“Not really. New York is closer,” I point out.
“But it’s an extra flight,” he counters.
“Are you asking me to stay because you want to spend more time with me?” I serve him a shrimp sauteed in garlic before I eat them all. “Or are you asking me to stay because it’s one less flight?”
He shrugs and spoons patatas bravas and a meatball onto my plate. “Why can’t it be both?”
I squash a smile. I’m probably reading too much into it. I don’t want to get my hopes up in case he has some ulterior motive for asking me to stay.
It’s sad that I even have to question it, but this came out of left field and I’m not sure what to make of it.
“Where’s this coming from?” I lean back in my seat as the server arrives with our paella and sets it in the middle of the table with a flourish. I smile and thank him before he leaves then return my attention to Beckett. “I mean…what are we doing, Beckett?”
“We’re having dinner together just like we do every night.”
“You know what I mean. What is all this? The dinner reservations. The clothes. The flowers. Asking me to stay an extra week when all you wanted was to get this over with as quickly as possible and move on.” I lower my voice so the older couple at the table next to us doesn’t overhear. “This feels like something more than sex with no strings attached.”
“There have been strings attached from the very start, Daisy. It was foolish to think otherwise.”
“So what exactly is this?” I prod.
He gives me his most charming smile. The boyish, dimpled one that makes my knees weak. “I believe that I am wooing you, Miss Larsson.”
“Wooing me?” I laugh, caught by surprise. “Is this a Jane Austen novel, Mr. Heyward?”
“You have no one to blame but yourself. ‘You have bewitched me, body and soul.’”
He’s joking. But still, I can’t help but swoon.
How many men can quote Pride & Prejudice ?
And how can he possibly say that he’s lacking in the romance department and then hit me with this? Only one of the most romantic quotes ever.
“But…‘what are men to rocks and mountains?’”
“I’m built like a mountain, and by the time you’ve finished moaning your way through dinner, I can guarantee I’ll be hard as a rock.”
I throw my head back and laugh.
This is crazy. All of it. But I want nothing more than to stay with Beckett on the vineyard and maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for us yet.
Maybe we really do have a future together.
As a special thank you, I moan my way through the paella, being far more dramatic than usual.
“I can’t believe you did this for me,” I say for at least the tenth time as I push my seat back and burrow my nose in the collar of his Stanford sweatshirt. It smells like him. Leather and spice and sex. “I think this is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“You need to set your standards higher.”
I’d say he raised the standards so high that no one will ever meet them.
On the way to the drive-in, Beckett handed me a bag from the back seat. Inside was his sweatshirt and my sweatpants and flip flops. Which means he planned ahead and would have had to sneak into my room to grab the sweats from my drawer.
Maybe it’s not a big deal but to me this is better than a grand gesture. It’s the little things someone does for you that shows how much they care.
I still can’t get over it. “How did you think to do this?”
He pushes his seat back as far as it can go and looks over at me. “You always change into loose clothes after you eat a lot. And whenever you watch a movie, you wear sweats and an old T-shirt.”
I love that he noticed. “If you’re expecting extra favors for this…well, you can just…” I toss a handful of popcorn in my mouth and wash it down with cherry Slurpee. “I mean, this might be worth extra favors.”
Beckett perks up. “If I knew you’d give me backdoor access, I would have tried to buy you sooner.”
“I was thinking more along the line of extra hugs. Maybe some cuddling.”
“Can’t wait for all those cuddles,” he says sarcastically.
I point at the screen. “Get ready for an earful. I have a lot to say about this movie.”
“I’ll bet,” he comments dryly.
“You love it when I put my spin on things. In fact, I’ll bet you can’t think of a single thing you don’t love about me,” I tease.
He glances over. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, Daisy.” He faces forward and I stare at his profile.
What I heard was: You’re perfect just as you are .
His hand lands on my thigh and he gives it a little squeeze. “Watch the movie, princess.”
But I don’t. I’m too busy watching him.