10. Kaycia
Chapter 10
Kaycia
M y heart will not stop pounding like I’m some silly teenager who has never been on a date before. It’s finally Saturday night and I’ve had my outfit picked out for days. I even sent pictures to Meg for approval, giddy over the prospect of a night out. I’ve already showered, put on a little makeup, lotioned and perfumed and spruced myself, and I have… two hours until I can expect Shane.
I go ahead and slip into the red floral sundress I’ve been excited to wear since I picked it up at a resale place the first weekend I moved to the city. I told myself it would be perfect for weekends on the town and yet, up until now, I haven’t actually had any of those. I love the print and how pretty it makes me feel. I add my extra broken-in vintage cowboy boots with silver bracelets and earrings. After waffling with the idea, I swipe on red lipstick to complete the look. It’s bolder than I would usually choose, but I throw caution to the wind for the occasion. I leave my hair loose. It’s longer than it’s ever been, hanging nearly to my waist in pale, messy waves.
Stepping back from the mirror I can’t contain the smile that spreads across my face. I look great and feel confident. For the first time, I truly feel like me.
The woman looking back at me reflects who I am inside and out. A little messy, a little worn, a little wild-hearted. Not some perfect image someone created for me to emulate. The real me.
I wonder if people back home would recognize her.
I’m not just excited about a date with a hot guy that I feel a connection to—although I am excited for that—I’m excited to go out with the first group of people I’ve connected with in a long time. People who met me on my terms, as my authentic self, and didn’t critique me.
The light tap at the door that I’ve come to recognize as Shane echoes through my apartment an hour after I’m ready. When I swing the door wide, I find him standing on the landing in dark jeans, motorcycle boots, a tee, and an open faded denim overshirt with the sleeves cuffed to show his forearms. His shirt hides the tattoo I know covers his right shoulder, but reveals the shiny, puckered scar that mars the inside of his left forearm. I wonder what kind of injury would leave such a brutal mark, and what it would feel like to run my fingertips over it. He wears a hammered cuff bracelet, and several rings on his elegant, but scarred fingers—a hazard of working with your hands I suppose. Shane clutches an elaborate wildflower bouquet I recognize as the work of the boutique florist around the corner.
When his eyes run over me, I can’t help but feel a rush of pleasure at his black pupils and the hunger in his gaze. It’s clear by that look that I’m not the only one pleased with what they see on the other side of the threshold. I almost give in to the urge to press my thighs together under his scrutiny.
“These are for you,” Shane says, extending the bouquet. “Since you said you miss wildflowers.”
“You remembered.” I flush with pleasure. “Thank you!”
Taking the flowers, I put them in a vase of water before we leave and arrange it on my entry table to greet me when I return. Shane is standing with the door open, devouring me with his hungry eyes when I turn toward him and step closer.
“You look gorgeous, Kaycia,” he breathes, his voice catching before he swallows to clear his throat. “Red suits you.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself. Are you sure you don’t moonlight as a model?” I ask, stepping from my apartment and locking the door.
“Ha! Do you think Raquel would ever let me live that down? It would have been the first thing she would have told you last weekend.”
“You two are close,” I observe as I shove my keys in my little crossbody bag and head down the stairs at his side. My sidelong glances catch him looking at me twice from the corner of his eye. The second time I catch him, he smiles, and I match his expression before I grab his hand and entwine our fingers to walk down the sidewalk toward the dinner spot.
“We are. I met her shortly after I moved here,” he answers. “She’s like a little sister. And Jamila is a sweetheart. As a packaged deal you couldn’t ask for better friends.”
My stomach flips and flutters when he runs his thumb over the back of my hand. Feeling like a horny teenager, I desire nothing more than to push him against one of the brick facades of the shops that line our street and kiss him senseless. But I resist the urge, instead nestling closer to him. As we walk, my bare shoulder comfortably brushes against the soft denim of his overshirt.
“So, what’s for dinner?” I question, letting him lead me through the blocks of our neighborhood.
“A little place I thought you’d like. It reminds me of you.”
“Oh, places remind you of me, huh? I’m flattered.” I make sure I sound like I’m joking, but in reality, I’m gleeful. Logically, I feel silly. I barely know this man. But so far, I’m liking what he’s shown me of himself, and it makes me happy to know he might think of me as often as I think of him.
“You’ll see why in just a minute.” He rubs his thumb against my hand again, tracing little circles and sending tingles over my skin, my stomach flipping with each gentle caress.
Soon enough, we approach an alleyway, brick buildings standing high on each side. “A dark alley, hmm? Maybe I shouldn’t have been so flattered.”
“Come on,” Shane murmurs with a wry smile, pulling me along behind him into the alley.
I pause as soon as we walk through, my mouth popping open on a little gasp. The alley is actually a walkway lined with potted gardenias, their sweet scent wrapping around me like a lover’s embrace. Overhead are arches of vining flowers and greenery wrapped in fairy lights that illuminate the path to a hostess waiting to seat guests in the hidden restaurant beyond.
The sign above the door is carved with a stylized pair of antlers decorated with blooms outlining the name: The Wilde Hart.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper before Shane tugs on my hand.
“I told you. It reminds me of you.” His words are gentle, his smile and gaze soft, and I can’t stop the surge of emotion that makes my eyes prickle with the threat of tears.
“Thank you.”
“Now, come on. You can stare when we’re seated.” He chuckles as we walk through the archway. It’s like we’ve been transported into some kind of fairy wonderland as we follow the young hostess through the tables to a little booth facing the entrance. The tables are each illuminated with jars of fairy lights to match those strung overhead and the entire space is airy and romantic with greenery and flowers for centerpieces.
“Do you want your usual?” Shane asks once we’ve slid into the booth, eyes traveling over the wine list.
“I have a usual?”
“Pinot grigio, right? That’s what you’re always drinking at home. Or do you want to look?” He holds the menu toward me. For a moment I study him, his sandy hair hanging artfully across his forehead before he runs a hand through it to push it back, eyes glittering in the low light of the restaurant.
“Oh! You noticed,” I answer, my cheeks warming under his gaze.
“Of course I did. You like wine, plants, and art. And to be honest I’m shocked to see you with shoes on.” His smile lights up his face as he nudges me with his toe under the table, making me laugh.
“Well, I can’t very well walk around the city barefoot. Sorry to disappoint if you have a thing for feet.”
“I have a thing for you , Kaycia Durand.” Shane’s voice is soft as he cuts his eyes from the menu to meet mine.
“Well, the feelings may be mutual, Shane McKinley,” I reply. “And yes, pinot grigio is fine, that and champagne are my favorites.”
The waitress arrives shortly after, ending our small confessions as she takes our drink order—a bottle of pinot grigio to share.
“I didn’t realize you drank wine, too,” I note when she’s dropped off our water glasses.
“I enjoy it from time to time. It’ll be refreshing on a warm evening. So, how’re things going? Any news on the exhibition since we last spoke?”