Chapter 27
27
T aking a few deep breaths while alone in the dining room, I can’t believe how much effort he put into tonight’s dinner. Sipping this amazing wine, I feel so special. Looking around the Victorian home’s dining room, all of the little details pop out at me. He hasn’t cut any corners in his renovation or this dinner date. I love this home. It’s definitely not a bachelor pad. It’s elegant, inviting, and warm.
He emerges from the kitchen, his hands holding appetizer plates.
“Do you really not believe that you’re creative?” I ask, as he sets a beautifully plated salad in front of me.
“I’m not.” He chuckles.
“Tell that to this dish … and your house.”
He shrugs, then says, “I can’t paint like you. That’s for sure.”
“Creativity comes in many forms.”
He sits across the table from me, and we take our first bites of the salad.
“I’ve never considered that I was artsy or creative,” he says, like he’s been ruminating on my comment.
“You are very creative, Aaron Olson!”
The face he makes … he’s still unsure about it. That’s so crazy.
“Tell me more about your studio,” he says, grabbing for my hand across the table. “When did it officially open?”
“Officially in April, but I bought the building last February.”
“Time flies, right? I had no idea you’ve been back in town for a year.”
“It was a whirlwind … buying the building and turning the ground-floor retail into Main Street Maker’s Studio.”
“You’re kicking ass!”
“I’m getting by.” I sigh.
“Most businesses fail in the first year. I think you’re doing great.”
“I haven’t really made it a year yet,” I deflect.
“Plan on closing before April?”
“No.”
He laughs, and I agree. I should be prouder of myself and my business. “The first off season was tough though. Lots of key learnings for next year.”
“Like?”
“Maybe some virtual classes and an e-store so people can have kits shipped to their house.”
“Love those ideas.” He takes a sip of his wine.
“When is your next big trip?” I ask, curious to know more about him.
“I don’t know yet. I’m hoping to get one in before the summer rush, but I really want to finish up this house.”
“You’ve put so much work in. Are you sure you want to part with it once you’re done renovating?”
“I’m a single guy. If I lived in a small apartment, it would give me so much more cash to live life with.”
“What if you weren’t a single guy?” I can’t believe I said it after it came out. Flustered, I sip my wine, gathering myself.
“Maybe I would have a different opinion. This house would be great for a family.”
We both look down at our salads, realizing the gravity of implications that could be made from the last few sentences we’ve exchanged.
“Ready for the main course?” he asks, and I nod. Aaron walks around the table, grabbing my plate. “This is the best Valentine’s Day ever,” he whispers before placing the most tender kiss on the top of my head.
I have to agree seeing him reappear with the decanter in one hand and two plates balanced on his arm. “Thank you for making tonight so special.”
He softly chuckles.
“What’s so funny?”
“Are you calling it a night?”
“No. This is just so nice.”
“Good. There’s a lot of night left ahead …” His words linger, and I am picking up what he is putting down. This is merely a prelude to a very, very sexy evening.
Cutting into his filet, a tension emerges on his face. “So … remember our server from La Nonna?” he asks after a silent moment.
“Yes. How could I forget how much that girl was drooling over you?”
“She came into the bar the other day …. and was very flirty, grabbing my hand and everything.”
“Okay? And?” What is he getting at?
“Being a bartender. I have to entertain a certain level of flirtation.”
“What are you saying?” Did he, like, kiss her or something?
“I make six figures in a dive bar because the ladies love that I give them a little flirt. How do you feel about that?”
“Is that all you’re giving them?”
He laughs. “That’s all I’m giving them.”
“Flirt away. Get that money!”
“Seriously, Sarah … if we were together, would you want me to dial it back?”
If we were together … Fuck. What if we were together? What if Aaron Olson was my boyfriend? I don’t hate the idea. I actually really like it.
“Define how you’re flirting with these ladies.”
“Telling them they look nice. Listening to their stories. Remembering their dogs’ names and important details they share with me … generally being a nice guy that gives them attention.”
“Aaron Olson. You are too cute. I thought you were going to say something far more scandalous.”
“Like what?”
“Like … I don’t know … like giving a little physical contact or something.”
“Never. Well, I never initiate or reciprocate. Of course women grab my hand … sometimes they even smack my ass as I walk past them.”
“I understand why.” I laugh. “Your ass is, like, the perfect muscle.”
He smiles, then rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve never given out my number in the bar … before you.”
“Sure,” I sass.
“You’re the only one … I’m breaking all my rules with you.”
I nod, taking a bite of my steak, feeling so full of the good kind of butterflies and from dinner.
“If we were together,” I flirt. “I wouldn’t be jealous because I would know that you’re coming home to me … and I know you would be telling all of them to check out Main Street Makers Studio too.”