Chapter 8
8
S tarting my vintage blue Camaro, I’m too excited about this date.
Driving across town to pick her up, I play some comfort music.
There’s something about blasting Kings of Leon while driving this car that makes me feel like I’m in a movie.
Cutting the engine, I’m suddenly more nervous than I thought I would be, seeing Claire already outside.
Now that’s a dress.
She looks incredible in a flowy, peach sundress with cutouts at the waist.
Sliding out of my car, she smiles as I approach her modest home.
Her smile.
Shit.
It’s beautiful.
Absolutely gorgeous.
Claire is breathtaking.
I want to go in for a hug, but we’re strangers.
I hesitate, standing in front of her.
“You look nice,” she says before I can think of something to say.
There’s a hint of surprise in her tone, as if she wasn’t expecting me to clean up well.
I guess she only saw me in my fire suit.
Claire has no idea what my style would be.
Not that I have style .
But my mom enforced the idea that you need to look good when you leave the house.
“You look better.” Fuck.
I don’t want that to sound weird like she looks better than she did yesterday.
Of course, she looks better than yesterday.
“I mean, you look better than me.”
“Thank you. White’s an interesting choice for tonight.” She teases, checking me out.
“You think I don’t know how to use a fork and knife?” I joke, looking down at my white linen polo, khaki shorts, and brand-new white tennis shoes.
She laughs lightly, then looks over at the Camaro.
“Cool car.”
“Don’t sound so surprised about everything. It’s hurting my ego.”
Her smile grows devilish.
I like this girl.
We walk a few steps until I open the car door for her.
“I assumed you would pick me up in a truck,” she says, sliding in.
“Maybe next time.”
“Of course, you have a truck.”
I’m smiling too much, walking to my side of the car.
She’s feisty, and I love that.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, buckling myself in and looking over at her.
She brushes her red hair to one side.
It’s beautiful.
“You’re the target market for a truck,” she quips before glancing around the car, running a hand over the leather.
“Bench seat. What year is this?”
“Sixty-seven. Are you into cars?” I ask, surprised.
“My dad was really into cars.”
“ Was ?”
“He died a few years ago. Cancer,” she says, matter-of-fact.
I squeeze her hand.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Just know that if you have sloppy shifts, he’s judging you.”
Smirking, I start the engine and the car rumbles beneath us.
“Now I’m focused on my shifts instead of you.” I wink.
Pulling away from the curb, we’ll arrive at La Nonna in less than five minutes.
I steal glances at her, breaking my eye contact from the road.
The way she carries herself.
The way she’s comfortable in silence.
This woman has layers.
I can’t wait to get to know more about her over dinner.
“Did you restore it?” Claire asks, breaking the silence.
“No. I got it at an estate sale a couple of years ago.”
I shouldn’t be surprised to see all of the parking spaces filled as we drive down Main Street.
In Lake Geneva, it feels like the town’s population increases tenfold on weekends, especially holidays.
“Holiday weekends,” I mutter.
“FIBs am I right?” She softly laughs.
I haven’t heard that expression in a while.
Fucking Illinois bastards.
“Hey, didn’t you used to be a FIB?” I tease, curious to learn more about her although I’ve been asking around.
“Born and raised,” she clips.
“Switching allegiances?”
“Well, I did get a Wisconsin driver’s license …”
“You’re a cheese head now.”
“Looks that way,” she says, smiling bright.
Finding an open spot, I pull in, flick the key, and look at Claire.
“Make sure you order too much food,” I encourage, giving her hand a quick squeeze, then unbuckle my seatbelt.
I don’t want her to feel self-conscious about anything tonight.
“You want me to be an expensive date?” she asks teasingly.
I want to spoil her.
“I want you to get what you want.” I smirk, getting out to open the door for her.