Chapter 39
I did some ink for one of the head chefs at a nice restaurant downtown, and he was able to get us a great table last minute.
I’m pulling every fucking string I have to give her a night worth remembering, including a dress I picked up for her from one of the boutiques downtown that she’s currently changing into. It’s a distraction.
“Ready to go soon?” I call up to her from the main level of my loft, tucking my hair behind my ears.
“Almost!”
According to my watch, we’ve got a few minutes before we have to leave.
The click of her heels on the floor above has my pulse ticking.
As soon as my eyes land on her, I am hypnotized.
She walks down the stairs like it’s a punishment—like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
I picked out the dress myself, and she still has my jaw dropping.
“Goddamn, Chaos.” That’s exactly what she is in that scarlet dress, pure chaos. A fucking menace. She’s going to break necks tonight. I’m suddenly regretting the dinner reservation. Why the fuck didn’t I just cook her dinner myself, I could have her half naked again by now.
“Thank you for the beautiful dress.” She swallows. “Do you think he’ll be watching us tonight?"
I spin her and press her back to my front, facing the wall of windows so she can see our reflection together, reminding her she’s safe in my arms no matter what.
“I didn’t buy this dress for you, sweetheart. I bought it so he could see you wear it with confidence. I fucking hope he’s watching.”
She inhales. Her fingers tremble as she clutches my arms. In the window’s reflection, I spot her biting her bottom lip and even notice her cheeks flush.
“Are you sure we should leave him?” she asks, giving Odin some pets before we head out.
“We’re only going to be gone a couple hours.”
“I know, but we were gone all day,” she says with a pout.
Her justification makes me frown. It’s not like her to want to stay home when we have reservations at a nice restaurant. She needs this more than I realized.
“We gotta take him to the dog park. He needs more attention.”
I laugh. That dog is exhausted from all the attention she gives him. “Think of how happy he’ll be when you bring him home a doggie bag tonight?”
“Okay.” She sighs.
She nods, more confident this time. Kelly turns toward the door but freezes when she notices the new artwork I’ve hung on the wall. She didn’t see it when she walked in earlier because it was behind her.
“Is that . . . is that what I think it is?” Framed on a canvas is the sheet our bodies painted the night she came over. That night was when things started to change between us and we became stronger, like metal.
“Wait, what did you scribble in the corner?” She squints to read the words. “My Obsession.”
“Every piece of art needs a name.”
She spins and threads her fingers behind my neck, dragging me down and teasing me with her lips in ways that have me regretting ever thinking we should go out to dinner. I could have had her spread out on my countertop and made a whole fucking meal.
On the way over, I made a rule: No talking about the stalker. No fear. No looking over our shoulders. Our attention is on each other. Jason can watch all he fucking wants from the sidelines—I’ll even give him a show, but he’s not going to interfere. Not tonight.
When we arrive at the restaurant, we’re seated at our table and presented with two hand-bound leather menus outlining the chef’s curated selections, and a third with the wine program.
Tonight’s special is recited like poetry, with great detail and plenty of lofty metaphors—a rosemary-kissed lamb loin with truffle pomme puree, deceptively simple, yet prepared with uncompromising rigor. Okay.
She listens. I don’t.
My focus is solely on her tonight.
The server leaves us with a polite nod, and we relax into our secluded spot.
The tables draped in white linens are spaced far enough apart, lowering the volume of patrons to a hum that fades into the background.
It gives the illusion of intimacy in a very public place.
This restaurant is the type that doesn’t take walk-ins, and is packed night after night, and you either plan far in advance or you know somebody who can get you in.
Being the head chef’s tattoo artist has its perks.
The candlelit table illuminates her face in a warm glow as we peruse the offerings.
I spend more time watching her than I do reading about the food.
Kelly studies her options, considering each and every item before she makes a decision.
She leaves much up to fate, but never when it comes to food.
The other things she puts in her mouth, however . . .
“What are you thinking?” she asks, still scanning the page.
A half smile curls on my lips. “The things I’m thinking would make you blush.”
Her eyes find mine, and she lowers her menu, nailing me with a chastising expression. “I’m talking about food.”
“So am I,” I say, returning to my menu with feigned interest.
Once we’ve made our selections, we close the leather books and place them on the table, and our server reappears with impeccable timing.
Kelly settles on the seared scallops with wild mushroom risotto.
“Excellent choice.” The server nods and turns to me.
“I’ll do the same,” I say, adding on a bottle of Chablis.
With a polite nod and a warm smile, the server disappears with the leather menus.
“Copycat,” she signs.
“How do you know you didn’t copy me?” I return.
“Because I was the only one who read the menu.”
I chuckle as a sommelier arrives at our table with the bottle of wine and pours it into each of our glasses before returning us to our bubble of privacy.
“This is quite the first date.”
I narrow my eyes and cock my head to the side. “First date?”
“I mean, kind of.” Her shoulders rise and fall.
“First dates are filled with unknowns. It’s two strangers meeting.
If it goes well, those strangers will carry smooth conversation for hours on end, it may ignite a spark, but often finishes with pleasantries and a smile,” I explain.
“We aren’t strangers anymore, Chaos. And tonight will not end in pleasantries. ”
She grins. “Is that what we’ve been doing all these years?”
“It’s what I’ve been doing,” I say. “Getting to know you through late-night conversations at Black Rabbit. Observing your habits. Discovering your likes and dislikes. Admiring how beautiful you are. Stifling the attraction and obsessive thoughts while watching you work. Biding my time until you were ready for what I was prepared to give you.”
I bring my glass to my lips, letting the bright, tart wine linger on my tongue.
She sucks in a breath. “And what was that?”
“Everything.”
Even in the dim candlelight, I see the way her pulse quickens at her neck and the way her pupils dilate when she listens to my words. As much as I love her voice, her hungry silence is just as enticing.
She crosses her legs under the table, and I smile the way a wolf smiles at a fat rabbit.
Our food arrives and is placed in front of us. Three plump, mouth-watering diver scallops are perched on a bed of mushroom risotto. It looks almost as delectable as my “date.” Kelly stutters out a thank-you to the server.
I raise my glass. “To first dates.”
She delicately clinks her glass to mine. “And whatever comes after.” This woman has no idea how much her words rattle my cage. Anticipation simmers under the surface as we sip our wine and take our initial bites. It’s quite delicious.
“So if this isn’t a first date, what would you call it?”
I resist barking out a laugh at her attempt to have the what-are-we discussion—we’re husband and wife. “A continuation. An opportunity to spoil you for a night?”
“Do you often spoil the women you’re in continuations with?” She lifts her wineglass, and my gaze drops to her left hand, wishing I could claim her there. If seeing her in the dress I picked out had me feeling possessive, I can’t imagine what seeing the diamond ring on her finger will do to me.
I cock a brow and wipe my mouth with my napkin. “I enjoy spoiling you. I wouldn’t know about any other women. There’s no one besides you.”
“What about the one who came before me? The last one.”
I inhale and blow out the breath. Ah. I knew this would have to come out eventually. I set down my fork, rest my arm on the table, and twist the stem of my wineglass while I collect my words.
“Dad said she was a piece of work,” Kelly prompts.
I huff a small laugh. Of course he minimized it that way. “Yeah. There was one other woman I was serious with. It was while you were away at college. I don’t think you ever met her.”
Kelly confirms with a shake of her head.
“Piper—that was her name—at first she was wonderful. Supportive, kind, and thoughtful. We were attracted to each other right away, and that only grew over time. I thought I loved her. I was even going to propose, but then I began to see the cracks in her personality.”
She was bad for me. Clyde noticed, he always noticed these things before I did, and all he needed to do was see two people together to know whether they were a match. He had the real deal with Nancy, so he knew what love looked like—knew what soul mates looked like.
Clyde gently expressed his concern for me a few times when it came to our relationship. I brushed him off, assuming not everyone can have what he and Nancy did.
“She couldn’t stand to see me giving anyone else attention, including your father.”
Her brow furrows. “My dad?”
“I was his apprentice. You and I understand what kind of an honor that is. An opportunity to be mentored by Clyde Everhart demands hours of practice and focus. Your dad was patient and thorough with every lesson he taught, making sure I grasped and perfected every skill. He donated one of his most valuable assets—not only his knowledge, but his time. The least I could do is repay him with mine.”
He didn’t just teach me how to tattoo, he taught me how to be an artist.