Chapter 8
“More Than Just a Mistletoe Moment”
Soren’s fingers drummed against the heated steering wheel, restless energy coursing through him. Wren had slipped by the car to ask for a few more minutes so she could change. Nothing like an afterthought at the start of a date.
This had to be a date, right? She’d been the one to call him and suggest they see what happened. He assumed that meant she was considering his proposal to take their friendship to the next level.
Glancing at the rose sitting in the cupholder, he flicked the switch to heat her seat. This was definitely a date.
Adjusting the wool lapel of his coat, his attention fixed on the front door of her tiny house. The interior lights went out, and she appeared, much more put together than she had been ten minutes ago.
He climbed out of the warm SUV to get her door. “Your chariot awaits.”
“I’m so sorry I was late.”
“It’s okay.”
“There was an issue with one of the cats.”
“It happens.” He pulled the seatbelt over her and clipped it, breathing in her familiar, delicate scent—something between vanilla and winter air. “You smell nice.”
She laughed nervously. “Thanks.”
Shutting the door, he rounded the car, returning to the driver’s seat.
Soren expected a little awkwardness tonight, at least at the start, but he knew what he wanted and he wasn’t holding back.
He planned to prove that their connection was enough of a foundation for a good future.
It might be strange at times, but he intended to break down any polite barriers quickly and get her accustomed to his touch and attention, so any unease would fade quickly.
It shouldn’t be too difficult. They were already familiar with each other. This was just a different sort of familiar, one he’d considered many times before but never honestly thought she’d be down for exploring.
“Ready?” He put the car in reverse.
“Where are we going?”
“I reserved the private dining room at Salt & Ember.” When she did a double-take, he knew he’d impressed her.
“How did you do that with such short notice?”
He shot her a cocky grin. “I have my ways.”
Salt & Ember booked up months in advance.
She didn’t need to know he had a table on retainer.
That was a perk of good tipping and frequently impressing women, which guaranteed he only dined with those who were sure things.
He took care of others, and others took care of him, but Wren wasn’t like the others, so he needed to go above and beyond for her or she’d call him out on his bullshit.
“You deserve the best and I wanted to treat you.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Soren, I’m underdressed for Salt & Ember.”
Shit. He hadn’t thought about that. Glancing to his right, he could only see her coat, which was a man’s flannel. Greyson’s. A spike of irritation through his chest at the sight of his brother’s oversized shirt draped across her shoulders. “What are you wearing?”
She glanced down and frowned. “Jeans and a shirt. Soren, I can’t eat there in this.”
He checked the time. “I have an idea.” He veered off course to take a detour down Main Street and parked in front of the local boutique, House of Pearl. “We’ve got a few minutes.”
Before she could object, he hopped out and went to her door. “Soren, wait. I have clothes at home.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It was my mistake not to give you a heads up about the dress code. Now, I get to treat you like a queen before I sweep you off your feet.”
He led her into the boutique and held the door. They were immediately greeted by a well-dressed woman whose eyes lit up with recognition.
“Mr. Hawthorne, welcome to House of Pearl. Can I help you find something special this evening?”
“We’re in a bit of a rush. Is Liza around?” Liza was the manager.
“She’s in the back. I can get her for you.”
“Please do. Tell her Soren Hawthorne is here with a guest.”
The woman glanced at Wren, who fidgeted uncomfortably in her understated clothes.
A moment later Liza appeared, her heels clicking against polished marble. “Soren, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She kissed his cheek and smiled at Wren.
“Slight oversight. Wren and I have a reservation at Salt & Ember, but I sprung it on her last minute. She needs a complete wardrobe change.”
“I’m sure we can manage that.” Liza smiled at Wren with the practiced warmth of someone accustomed to last-minute transformations. “I’ll need your sizes and an idea of your style.”
The women disappeared to the back while Soren found a seat.
The floor attendant brought him a glass of sparkling water with a twist of lime while he waited.
They always took good care of customers, but Wren would get the elite treatment.
Not only did the Hawthornes own the building, it was their fisheries that sourced the pearls used in all the jewelry.
“Liza asked me to give you this.” The store attendant slipped him a folded piece of cream linen paper.
“Thanks.” He unfolded the note and read.
She’s insisting on a budget.
He rolled his eyes and suppressed a growl of frustration. “Tell her I said no prices. She gets whatever she wants. I’ll handle the bill.”
“Yes, sir.”
The floor attendant disappeared, and a moment later, Wren appeared, no longer in her street clothes and her expression far from happy. A sapphire silk dress clung to her curves like liquid starlight.
“Soren, this is too much.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Wren.”
“Well, you’re gonna. I’m not letting you buy me clothes.”
“Why not?”
“Because! I have my own money and my own dresses at home.”
Even barefoot, she looked ethereal—all long legs and graceful curves. “You don’t own anything like that.”
“Either I’m paying or the date’s off.”
He stood and closed the distance, surprise flashing in her eyes when he boxed her in at the counter.
The scent of her skin mixed with expensive fabric and his pulse hammered against his throat.
“No. You’re not. You’re going to get your sexy ass back in that dressing room and find some shoes.
Then, you’re going to pick out a necklace, earrings, and a decent coat, and not say another word about the cost.”
“No, I’m—“
He leaned in and lowered his voice, close enough that his breath ghosted across her ear. “Don’t fight me on this, Wren. You won’t win. Not this time.”
She appeared stunned that he could be so firm and unbending, but he refused to pussy-foot into this territory with her. If she wanted to experience what it was like to date him, he planned to hold nothing back.
“You can’t—“
“I just did.” He gently took her wrist and gave her a nudge toward the dressing rooms. “Go.”
Her lips firmed, but she didn’t argue. Stomping off, she grumbled, “I’m not happy about this.”
He only replied, “You’re beautiful.”
When he paid the bill, slipping the black card across marble with practiced discretion, he made sure Wren didn’t see the cost. It wasn’t about the price. It was about showing her that he enjoyed treating her.
The clothes she’d arrived in were carried out in a boutique gift bag. He glanced at the quilted flannel shirt she’d worn as a jacket, fighting the urge to toss it into a bonfire when he got home. Leave it to Greyson to mark territory he never planned to occupy.
When they reached Salt & Ember, Soren didn’t wait for a valet to help her out.
He opened her door and enjoyed the sight of her toned legs turning toward him in those sexy gold heels.
The cool harbor breeze carried hints of salt and winter pine, mixing with the warm glow spilling from the restaurant’s windows.
He took her arm and nodded to the attendant.
“Keys are in the console.”
A doorman stood at the entrance, his breath visible in the frigid air. “Good evening, Mr. Hawthorne.”
Soren kept a hand on Wren’s lower back at all times, getting her accustomed to his touch. The hostess recognized him as soon as they set foot in the foyer, and had their coats collected with efficient grace.
Salt & Ember sprawled like a gilded fortress on the coast, its stone facade weathered by decades of sea spray and winter storms. It had three floors and enclosed balconies that overlooked the harbor where the lighthouse illuminated the rocky banks.
Fireplaces crackled in every dining room, casting dancing shadows that warmed the air with hints of vanilla and cedar.
Candles flickered in the intimate ambiance, creating amber reflections across crystal stemware.
Despite the bitter cold, they lit the lanterns lining the stone path that led to the cliffs every night.
He’d typically suggest a walk to the banks after dinner if not for the ice coating the ground like a treacherous mirror.
As it was, the lanterns still made an elegant picture from the sweeping view they had on the third-floor enclosed balcony.
A waiter approached in black livery with a linen cloth draped over his arm. “May I start you off with something to drink?”
Soren suggested their finest champagne. Once the waiter retreated, he settled into the high-back velvet chair to study Wren. “Are you still mad at me?”
She pursed her lips. “I don’t like high-handedness.”
He smirked playfully, enjoying how the jewels she picked elongated her neck and caught the candlelight. She was far sexier than she realized. “Was it high-handed, or was it charming? I think charming.”
“Don’t try that flirty stuff on me. I’m immune.”
“We’ll see about that.” His gaze dropped to the deep V of her dress, where silk clung to curves that had haunted his imagination. “You’re stunning. Blue suits you.”
“Thank you.”
“See how easy that was?”
The waiter appeared with the champagne, condensation beading along the sleek bottle. He described tonight’s menu in reverent tones. Soren studied Wren as she listened attentively, admiring her unique beauty that seemed to glow brighter in the intimate lighting.