Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Cassie
I should’ve jumped out of the booth the second his thumb brushed sauce from my lip. Instead, I sat there frozen, every nerve ending firing like a sparkler.
It was the slightest touch, a sweet, gentle gesture, but the second his thumb hit my skin, I wanted to fling myself across the table and climb into his lap, which is insane.
And now all I’m thinking about is maybe sex with an older man wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps I should consider giving Blake a chance.
“Tell me about yourself,” I hear myself say, as if getting to know him is suddenly important. “What makes you tick?”
He leans back, arms crossing over his broad chest, settling in. “Ladies first.”
I toy with my straw, heat curling in my cheeks.
“I paint. I mostly create abstract landscapes, though I sell custom pieces too. Someday, I want to open my own studio. A real gallery space where I can show my work and maybe mentor kids. Right now, it’s just me and a small apartment with canvases stacked in the closet. ”
He studies me, taking in the information.
“Any pets?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. I like animals, but I can’t have one.”
“Why?”
“Do you paint?”
“I painted the outside of my house once.”
“That’s not the same, and you know it,” I laugh. “Imagine having an easel set up, paints, brushes…you get the gist. Then imagine a cat or a dog running through the room and knocking everything over.” I shiver at the thought. “Not for me.”
“How about family?” he grabs the last wing from the basket.
“I’m an only child. My mother lives in California with husband number five. My father lives in Vermont with wife number 4. I moved to Arizona to spend time with my grandmother.”
“How about a best friend?”
“Rene,” I smile, thinking about her. “She’s the exact opposite of me. She’s loud, outgoing, and an extrovert on steroids. She can make friends with a wall and usually drags me along for the ride. Honestly, I’d be lost without her.”
His lips curve. “Sounds like my kind of girl.”
I narrow my eyes and hate how my stomach flips. “She’s taken.”
His grin widens, “Favorite color?”
“Turquoise.”
“Favorite movie?”
“That’s easy, Forrest Gump.”
“Music?”
“Don’t laugh.”
“I swear I won’t.” He tosses his right hand in the air.
“I love ’60s music.”
“Now that’s a solid choice,” He gives me a thumbs up.
“My turn,” he says. “I have two brothers. One’s a doctor in Canada; the other’s a geologist in Africa.
Between them, I’ve got six nephews. I’m closest to my grandmother—she’s the one who raised me after my mom passed.
And I’ve never had a dog, but one day I’m going to have one. Maybe two.”
I laugh. “Two dogs? You are crazy. What’s your favorite color?”
“Green. Country music lights me up. I love all the Marvel character movies, and my best friend lives in Vegas. We were partners. I’m trying to get him to move out here.”
I can’t believe how easy he is to talk to. It’s like we’ve known each other for years. Which scares me, because we’ve known each other for hours. Maybe Nan does know what she’s doing.
Just as I’m ready to ask Blake about his childhood, Gus appears again, grinning ear to ear, balancing a small cheesecake piled high with fresh strawberries. He sets it down in front of us.
“Lovebirds can’t have dinner without dessert,” he declares before disappearing into the kitchen.
I stare at the cheesecake. “You’ve brought dates here before, haven’t you? Is this part of your whole wooing scenarios?”
Blake shakes his head, “You’re a pessimist. We’re going to have to work on that. For the record, babe, I’ve never brought a date to Hometown Slice. And this isn’t a wooing scenario. This is me taking you on a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants first date, hoping I don’t screw things up. How am I doing?”
“Oh,” heat crawls up my neck. “I’m still here.”
“That you are.” Blake’s smile is so bright, I start to smile, too.
Blake cuts a slice of cheesecake and sets it on my plate. For a split second, my brain short-circuits. Please God, don’t let him try to feed me.
I spear a strawberry to cover my state of panic. “How old are you?”
“Forty-two.” His eyes stay steady on mine. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
He grins, slow and sure. “If I were your father, I would’ve been what? Twelve or thirteen when you were born??”
My cheeks flame. “About that… I’m sorry I said that earlier. It was rude.”
“Don’t be.” His voice is gentle. “You said what you felt. Never apologize for being you—or for being honest.”
I shake my head, flustered all over again.
“What?” he asks.
“You can’t be real,” I laugh, picking at the crust of my cheesecake. “You’re too perfect.”
His grin widens. “Perfect for you.”
As I spear another strawberry, a part of me wants to believe him.