26. Ariel Cambridge
Chapter twenty-six
Ariel Cambridge
My lips gleam in my visor mirror as I apply another coat of clear gloss.
I smile at my reflection. A soft brown smokey eye, the perfect amount of blush, and red-stained lips topped with a shiny gloss.
It’s one of my better first date looks. The classic red lip pairs well with my equally classic little black dress.
There’s nothing like a black dress to make me feel ready to conquer the world.
Or in this case, meet the guy I’ve been texting almost every day in person.
I step out of my car and smooth down my dress, inspecting it for any obvious wrinkles or pieces of lint.
The short fit and flare dress perfectly accents my waist while showing off my legs.
I paired it with my favorite open toed YSL heels and a matching black bag.
My smile widens as I see the white polish on my toes and recall Brock’s antics at the nail salon yesterday.
It was hilarious seeing him so upended by a simple pedicure, and laughing at him with my best friend made it all the better.
I lock my car, throw the key in my bag, and square my shoulders. Here’s hoping this date is better than the last. My face scrunches at the memory of being stood up. Yeah, this has to go better than that or else I might call it quits on dating altogether.
The low lighting of the restaurant has me blinking as soon as I walk in.
Sakura is an upscale Japanese steakhouse and sushi place.
It’s all sleek lines and sharp edges. There are abstract depictions of cherry blossoms on the walls, and each table has a branch floating in a crystal vase surrounded by tealights.
It’s the kind of place people go to propose or woo a potential investor.
I’ve been here on a few occasions for company work dinners, but never for a first date.
I step to the hostess stand. She looks up from her glowing tablet with the seating chart.
“Welcome to Sakura. Do you have a reservation?”
“I’m meeting someone. I believe the reservation is under Dr. Taylor.”
She taps around on the tablet before looking up again with a smile. “Yes, right this way.”
I follow her down the dimly lit path between booths and tables.
She stops at a booth in the middle and butterflies swarm in my stomach at the sight of Cohen smiling at me.
He stands, and I take him in. He’s wearing a navy suit with a white button-down, and a slim tie that coordinates with a pocket square he has tucked into the coat.
The hostess says someone will be with us shortly before leaving the way she came.
“Ariel, you look gorgeous.” Cohen draws me in for a hug. A deep, musky scent envelops me. It’s not bad, and probably expensive, but it’s not my favorite either.
“Thank you, you look handsome.”
We each sit in the booth across from each other. He folds his hands on the table.
“I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering us a bottle of the house red.” He gestures to the two full glasses. I can’t help but think of wine in a hot tub with Brock.
Focus, Ariel , I scold myself. You have a hot doctor smiling at you, stop thinking about Brock.
I smile. “I don’t mind at all. Red wine is my favorite.”
Cohen’s smile widens. “Mine too. I’ve toured a few vineyards while on vacation in the past. Maybe one day I can show you around one.”
That’s forward. We’re not even two minutes into our first date and he wants to plan a vacation together? I manage to maintain my smile. I’m probably overthinking things.
“I’ve never been to a vineyard,” I say. “That sounds nice.”
“I’m looking forward to it even more now.”
I take a sip of wine to hide my confusion. Did I just make plans?
“How was your day?” I ask as I peruse the menu. There aren’t many options, which I actually prefer. Going to places where the menu is practically a telephone book stresses me out.
“It was great. I had today off, so I went for a run, meal prepped, and ran a few errands.”
“Very productive.” When I have the day off, I either go to the cabin or stay in my pajamas all day.
“Yes, well, it’s hard to get anything done on days when I work, so I try to get as much done as I can when I don’t have a shift.” He takes a sip of wine. “How about you? How was your day?”
“It started off sad because my best friend headed back home to Alabama, but I worked through the day and now I’m here, which is cheering me up.”
“I wish I would have known she was in town so I could have met her. Maybe next time she visits.”
“I–uh–maybe,” I stutter.
This feels weird. We haven’t been talking long enough for him to be inviting me on vacation and meeting my best friend. I’m all for commitment and jumping head first, but this is a lot even for me.
“Have you thought any more about running your first marathon? There’s one this December that if you start training now, we could run together.”
I blink at him. “I haven’t really thought about it. Isn’t the training super intense?”
He starts talking about schedules and interval training. I take a sip of my wine and look around the restaurant. A familiar smirk and head of messy blond hair catches my eye. There at the bar, in an all black suit, is none other than Brock Jones.
Why is he here?
He raises a glass to me in greeting.
I turn my attention back to Cohen. He’s gone from marathon training tips to the best kind of fitness watch without so much as taking a breath. The man is even more passionate about running than I thought.
My purse starts to buzz in my lap. I open it and look inside to see Brock’s name on my screen.
“Do you have a Garmin? I could get you one if you didn’t, so we can sync up our tracking.”
I look up, phone buzzing in my hand. “Wait, what?” I ask.
He chuckles as if my distracted nature is cute. “If we had the same kind of watch, we could sync our tracking and keep each other accountable in race training.”
This man really thinks we’re going to run a marathon together. Oh no.
I hold up my phone. “This could be an emergency. I’ll be right back.”
I get up before he can say anything and book it toward the bathroom while answering the phone.
“Why are you calling me while I’m on a date?” I hiss.
“Why are you answering?” Brock’s voice is low and raspy. He angles himself so he’s facing the bathroom doors where I’m standing. “Is it going that bad?”
“It’s actually going great. We have a lot in common. We both love red wine and fitness and our days off.”
“And walks on the beach, too?” He scoffs. “All of those things mean nothing.”
“Why are you here, Carolina?”
“I’m supposed to be meeting a client, but they just texted saying a family emergency came up. So it looks like I’m free for the evening.”
I scowl. “You’re never free. You work all the time.”
“I can work from right here. People watching is a fantastic way to take breaks in between emails.”
“Don’t mess this up for me, Brock,” I growl. “I mean it.”
A lazy grin crosses his face. My stomach flips at the sight. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Enjoy your date, Duke. I’ll see you later.”
He hangs up and swivels back around. His words sounded part threat, part sultry promise. I should have never touched his hair the other night. Or went to his room in the first place. Now he’s in my head more than ever.
I stalk back over to my table and apologize to Cohen.
He seems unaffected, and continues prattling on about various activities we can do together.
We order our food, and it comes blessedly quick.
I keep glancing over at Brock. Every time, he’s already looking at me.
His grin gets more self-satisfied and devious, as if I’m proving his point.
I tell myself not to give in, but I do. Because as loathe as I am to admit it, these stolen glances set me on fire more than a whole dinner spent talking to Cohen.