36. Thirty-Six
“Sure you’re up for this?” I ask, eyeing her wrapped ankle as she hobbles out her front door.
“Yes, as long as we aren’t taking a walking tour of Wilmington. Or going anywhere fancy. Flip-flop casual?”
“Like urgent care?” I grin.
“I promise, it’s only a sprain.”
“Fine. A casual dinner, and I’ll do my best to keep you off your feet.”
Blushing, she drops her keys while locking the door. Both bending over, we bump heads and then blurt out laughing like teenagers in a rom-com.
“Never put this moment in your books, Jack,” she warns as I retrieve her keys. “Too cheesy.”
“Oh, a classic head-bump situation is too simplistic for my books. I prefer my meet-cutes in rehab or along roadside ditches.”
“I believe those are called meet-rough-and-toughs.” She giggles. “Or meet-streets? Meet-mean-streets? Meet-creeps?”
“You’re a dork,” I say, though I’m laughing.
“Oh, a meet-dork is what’s happening right now. I’m an expert at those.”
I extend my elbow for her to latch onto. “Come on. I promise you can be as dorky as you want. I’ll even encourage it.”
“Oh, I never hold back when it comes to dorkiness.”
I open the passenger door, holding her hand as she lowers into the seat. “You look gorgeous for a dork, though. If it helps.”
She eyes her outfit—a breezy little skirt, revealing enough of her legs to make me happy, a teal top that brings out her sea-blue eyes, and flip-flops. It’s nothing like the dressy get-up with heels she sported on that first date I witnessed years ago, but softer and sexier. It’s what she picked for me, unguarded and easy.
“Thanks. Oh, you could grab your book. We could talk about it over dinner if you want.”
“No, that’s okay. Tonight’s about you and me. No book talk.”
“No book talk?” She repeats, wide-eyed. “That might be hard, but I’m game.”
I close her inside the car just as my phone pings—another alert from the Daisy Chain. Rose and Vernon have been active since we arrived home, posting pics of our signs coming down and the subsequent reply-alls of relief and happiness from the neighborhood.
I groan, getting in the driver’s seat as I eye the newest alert—it’s us five minutes ago at her door. Of course, that’s nothing compared to the one they sent this morning—me in a towel on my lawn arguing with Rowan. I must talk to them about boundaries.
Rowan sighs, switching her phone to silent. “Let’s add no neighborhood talk to our shortlist. Huh?”
“Agreed.” I flip my phone to silent, too.
I take her to Billy’s Cape Side, tucked alongside the Cape Fear River on the outskirts of downtown, with ample parking out front, so she doesn’t need to walk far. We’re seated on the back deck under wide-reaching oaks draped in swaying Spanish moss that crowd the riverbank. Sunset glitters on the calm water like it’s been gone over with a gold-tipped brush and mimics the glow of the small lantern on our table. A lone blue heron stands regally at the edge of the bank, on guard, it seems. Or perhaps, just enjoying the view.
“Does this qualify as flip-flop casual?”
“It’s perfect.” She sips her frosty beer and ponders the menu. “So, no books. No neighbors. Whatever will we talk about?”
“Sex?” The word pops out as a joke, but I immediately regret it. Yes, it’s on my mind—it always is when I’m with her—but I feel like an ass for mentioning it. “Shit. Sorry. That’s inappropriate first date talk.”
“No, it isn’t.” Her crystalline eyes narrow, and her head tilts in a question. “We should be able to talk about anything, right?”
“Yes, but I was only joking. We don’t have to go there yet.”
“Too late to take it back now.” She leans forward, peering at me with a daring grin. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Anything,” I say honestly, hunting for the right question. “Let’s start with something easy. Best sex ever.”
She laughs before taking a healthy chug of her beer. The waitress appears, pen in hand.
“Want to share a pizza?” I ask when she seems puzzled over what to order.
“Absolutely,” Rowan says.
I order a margherita pizza and another round. The waitress bounces off, and I take in the other diners on the patio—a family of five takes the long table in the far corner, an older couple eyes us from the middle, and two twenty-somethings laugh over mixed drinks at the bar. It’s a slow weekday night.
“Robbie Jones,” she announces, bringing my eyes to hers. “I was seventeen. We were stationed at Fort Eustis in Virginia then. Robbie and I would sneak out of our houses and meet at the park. He was clumsy and awkward but was the first guy who didn’t mind this.”
She motions to her face with a light wave of her hand. “One night, we talked until late. It started drizzling. Lying in the damp grass, looking up at the stars, it happened so naturally that sex seemed part of our conversation, gentle and easy. He was also… attentive, not what I expected.” She glances upwards in consideration. “I often wondered if he studied for it like he would a test.”
“Probably. All teenage boys study for it,” I say, putting the word study in air quotes.
She laughs. “It paid off for me—I had the best time. Those two months with Robbie are still the best relationship I’ve ever had. So, I’m one of the few weirdos alive who can say her best sex was her first time.”
“That is a rarity. What happened with Robbie?”
“Oh, what always happened. We moved.” She shifts her leg under the table, wincing.
“Give me your leg,” I say, motioning under the table. “It needs to be elevated.”
She looks suspicious. “Are you sure?”
“Definitely.”
She kicks off her flip-flop and gingerly eases her foot against my leg. I rest my hand over it, letting my fingers run gently along the top, massaging her. She looks as surprised by my attentiveness as she was by Robbie’s.
“I haven’t had the best partners,” she admits, shrugging. “Trent was… rough and angry, triggering, and had me running to a therapist, where I discovered that in a good relationship, I’m actually hyper-sexual because it makes me feel beautiful, and few things do.”
I shut my gaping mouth as soon as I realize I’m doing it. Not only is my girlfriend—is it all right to call her that?—truly amazing, but the alluring confidence that drew me to her in the first place has returned with renewed energy.
Her eyes narrow as she studies me. “Too much information?”
“God, no. I love your openness.”
“After Airlie, I feel like I can tell you anything,” she says with a crease on her brow as if she’s only just realizing it.
“You can. And you should. Tell me more about this… hyper-sexuality and all the ways I can make you feel beautiful.”
“No, no. It’s your turn. Best sex ever.”
Our beers arrive with our pizza, but despite the interruption, Rowan’s eyes stay on mine in a curious challenge as my hand drifts slowly up her soft leg, tightening around her firm calf. Ah, these legs.
As soon as our server leaves, I say, “This might sound trashy—I don’t remember her name.”
She lets a relieved sigh escape, probably because it’s not Evie. And it really isn’t, not that I’d dare bring her up. Evie’s a lazy lover.
“It was my junior year of college. My roommate dragged me to a frat party. It’s cliche—I know—but I met a girl. A senior. We connected over cheap beer, loud music, and Harry Potter, oddly. She asked me to her room and told me exactly what she liked. I listened and paid attention. The more she was into it, the more I enjoyed it. It made me better at it, frankly. No matter how much studying a guy does, a confident woman is his best teacher. Turned out to be the most useful thing I learned in college.”
“A real life skill.” Then, she blushes as if she’s imagining us—I know I am. “Um, can you believe we’re talking about this?”
“Look, I promise I had perfectly acceptable first date conversation cued in my head, if not for my Freudian slip.”
Another chuckle rises behind her bite of pizza. “Oh, like what?”
“Like… how is it with Sara gone?”
“Quiet, a little sad, but okay. BFFs for life.”
“Ah, there’s that dorkiness you promised. I thought you were a crazed do-gooder adding a foster kid to your life of service. She was such an asshole in the beginning. Are you going to put yourself through it again?”
Based on her pinched brow and staring off into her beer, this question seems to challenge her more than talking about sex. “I’d love to do it again.”
“It’s difficult—letting a stranger into your home and hoping for the best, but when I imagine it from the other side—the kid who lost a parent or stability, whatever the case, I think… damn, that’s so much worse. You’re good to take the risk.”
“The best things require the most risk. Besides, I think I got more out of it than she did.”
“You and the rest of us.” A cheesy grin wraps my face as I tilt my beer toward her.
The twinkling lights overhead reflect in her eyes like specks of gold as she peers into the river’s darkness. “You were right about Mom,” she says after hesitating. “She met Reggie at a crowded café when they shared the last table. Love at first sight, they say. They’ve been dating for over a year.”
“Over a year? That’s a long time. You okay?”
She shrugs lightly. “He’s wonderful, and they’re annoyingly sweet together. They’re the newest old couple you’ll ever meet. I’m a little sad she couldn’t tell me sooner, but I’m thrilled for them. I have you to thank for that.”
“For what?”
“Preparing me for it. If not for our talk in the hallway, I would’ve gotten hung up on her not telling me instead of what matters—Mom finding love.”
“You would’ve handled it fine.” My finger traces the curve of her knee.
Her back straightens as she sits up. “It’s more than that, Jack. Your books helped Mom believe in love again. Without them, I wonder if she would’ve been open to sharing a table with a stranger at a café. It’s like you prepared her for meeting Reggie.”
“I can’t possibly take credit for that.”
“You should. It’s more proof that writing love stories is what you’re meant to do, and your work matters.”
Her words and the sincere gleam in her eyes stir something in me I can’t quite describe—me, the fucking wordsmith. My work has always mattered to my fans and especially my bank account. But that she believes it contributes to a greater good brings on an emotional surge in me—a complicated mix of pride, hope, fear, and determination. I want to pen a thousand books just to keep her faith in me.
“Um, you’re definitely giving me too much credit, but thank you. And cut it out. I can’t get choked up on our first date. I’ll never live it down.”
She laughs and leans forward again. “Fair enough, but there’s one more thing I need to thank you for—just one.”
My eyes narrow with angsty suspicion.
She rubs her bare arms, leaning closer. “I told my students the real story. Not the whole story, of course. But that it was an assault, not a kitchen accident.”
Once again, I gape at her, impressed. “How’d they take it?”
“You met them. They’re amazing. I came clean about lying, and they offered instant forgiveness. I even think they put the word out to the rest of the classes not to bring it up because no one has since. It’s such a relief for me—I hate lying.”
“You’re really bad at it, anyway,” I say as her hands run up and down her arms again. “I’m proud of you.”
“Without our talks, I never would’ve been ready.”
“Again, too much credit. But you’re welcome… And you’re cold. I have a hoodie in the car. I’ll get it.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I’m already out of my seat, gently placing her foot on my empty chair. Walking away, I take in the patio. Kids run around the corner table and their tired parents. The twenty-something breaks into a delighted cackle as she rubs her date’s thigh at the bar. I weave behind the graying couple at the middle table and hear the bearded man say, “God created make-up… She should do more to hide it… damn ugly…”
Anger spikes in me like a fever, nearly rendering me delirious. It’s only out of consideration for Rowan that I continue my mission rather than yank the asshole from his chair and beat some manners into him. I want nothing to ruin our night or erase that gorgeous smile from her face.
On my way back, our eyes lock across the patio, and her light side-smile matches mine. But hers falls when the middle couple laughs, drawing her eyes to them. I wonder if she heard them, but she probably didn’t have to—she said herself that she’s hyper-sensitive to staring. She runs a hand through her hair, combing it downward like she feels exposed.
Edging around the older couple, the wife gives me a grinning once-over, whispering something to her husband before laughing. I hear only one word—opposites—as I go by. Assholes.
Rowan’s visibly relieved when I reach the table. I slip the zippered hoodie on her shoulders, leaning close to her ear. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, thanks for the hoodie.”
“No problem.” Instead of taking my seat and resuming foot duty, I steal another chair from a table nearby and set it next to hers.
As I move my plate and beer to my new side, she asks, “What’re you doing?”
I sit, completely blocking her view of the nosy couple. “I want to be closer. Easier to charm you like this, and the way things go with us, this may be my only chance.”
Her uneasiness dissipates with a laugh. “Not your only chance, I think.”
My leg brushes against her thigh under the table as my fingers skirt her knee. “That’s the third-best thing I’ve heard today.”
“Third best?”
“Well, after you agreeing to go out and your awful attempts at renaming a meet-cute.” I chuckle, tickling the soft skin under her knee. It’s fun—watching her flush. If the hoodie doesn’t warm her, my touches will.
The waitress approaches and asks if we need anything. I turn to Rowan. “Want to get out of here?”
She nods enthusiastically.
“We’ll need a box,” I say, pointing to the leftover pizza. “The bill… and we’ll take the bills for the couple at the bar and the family in the corner. Don’t tell them until after we’ve left, but make sure they know it was us.”
The waitress looks stunned, slightly confused, as she bounces away.
“What are you doing?”
“Creating a scene.” I lean closer, and she follows my gaze to the dining room. “The kids look tired, so the family will leave next. They’ll ask for the bill, and the server will say, ‘Oh, the hot couple in the corner took care of it.’ They’ll be fucking ecstatic, attracting attention because, well, it’s a stretch eating out for them anyway. But they’ll leave, and the other couples will be like, ‘aw.’ Then, the bar couple will go next—she’s already giving him the ‘come hither’ look. Again, the waitress will announce that it’s covered. They’ll fucking go berserk, taking pics and posting on social media about paying it forward and shit like that… Following the scene so far?”
She nods, her brow pinched.
“Okay, good. Then, the couple in the middle will catch on to the vibe and ask for their check, already thinking it’ll be covered. When the waitress delivers their unpaid bill, they’ll be like, ‘Why didn’t the hot couple treat us like they did the others?’ One of them—probably the wife—will say, ‘Maybe it was because you were staring too much, Gerald.’ Or better yet, they’ll think they were overheard talking about us and feel bad about what they said. Doesn’t matter. From this day forward, they’ll remember the night they could’ve gotten a free meal but didn’t because they stared and whispered like assholes. So, maybe they won’t be so shitty next time. The end.”
Her pouty lips part like she’s breathless, and the lights in her eyes sparkle more as they fill with tears. Is it anger? Frustration? Sadness? I can’t tell. Only I expect she’s pissed at me for interfering like volatile is our default. We started this day with anger—is that how we’ll finish it?
I move so close I can feel her breath on my lips. “I promise I’ll never embarrass you or make you uncomfortable like with Renita again… but doing nothing isn’t always the answer, either.”
I start to say more, but it’s too late.
Her lips torpedo mine before another word comes out. And holy shit—it’s a desperate, smiling kiss that makes me want to ravish her right here on the table. Her tongue slides against mine like a curled finger saying, ‘Come here.’ She grips my bare cheeks and does to my mouth what I hope she does to the rest of me—explore, play, love. I fist the collar of the hoodie, dragging her closer. Every nerve in my body twitches with energy like her lips are a pleasure epicenter, switching me on.
Until I have to stop. “First best thing to happen to me today.” I’m breathless this time.
“That may be the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me.”
“Not too romantic for you?”
“Well, you can’t buy half the restaurant’s dinners every time we go out.”
“Why not? We’ll change the world, one dinner at a time.”
She stays close to me, giggling at the idea. But slowly, her eyes pinch together like she’s working out a math problem. “It’s strange… this has actually happened to me before.”
“What? Amazing kisses? I should hope so. You’re really good at it.”
Confusion edges out her soft smile. “No, a stranger paying for my dinner. On a very bad night for me. Weird, right?”
Good at playing dumb, I lean away, looking for our server. “Not really. Shit like that happens all the time.”
“No, it doesn’t, and definitely not to me.”
“Sir? Your bills?” The waitress edges the narrow notebook onto the table before boxing our leftover pizza. Under Rowan’s contemplative scrutiny, I scribble across the bills, glad for the distraction. It’s not a life-changing secret or anything, but I don’t know how she’ll take it, knowing I’ve kept something from her since day one.
As soon as I close the notebook, she gets up to leave, and I follow her lead. On our way out, the middle-aged couple eyes us critically as we pass.
Rowan plasters on her best fake smile. “Have a good night,” she tells them, earning a devious grin from me. She hooks her arm in mine as we exit the building.
“What now?”
“Home.”
There’s no tone in her voice, but I’m disappointed and a little worried that her wheels are still turning over that night two years ago when she got a free meal, and I nailed my final scene for The Other Us.
Once home, I help her hobble to her front door, under watchful eyes. Shadows move in Rose and Vernon’s window, and Tom sits on his front porch, facts that seem to annoy her as she glances from them to me.
Under the soft porch light, she faces me. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Why? You felt sorry for me?”
“That asshole treated you like shit—of course, I felt sorry for you. But I was drawn to you before that.”
“Why? My face?”
“First, your legs.” I step closer, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep them off her. “You have the sexiest legs I’ve ever seen. Your poise held my attention, too—with your dark hair and your little green dress. After the asshole, I admired your confidence. You stayed for a good meal—that alone should’ve earned you a free one. And better wine. Your soulful eyes drew me in next—they’re so blue and beautiful. Then, I saw your scars, but for me, they were a footnote to a much better story… and still are. I’ve never had a better day than this one.”
She gnaws at her bottom lip, and I fear I’ve messed up. Again. Worse, she digs out her keys and then extends her hand, looking pensive. “Thank you for a nice time.”
A fucking handshake—I can’t believe it.
As my heart damn near breaks and our hands rise and fall in business-like formality, she glances at the street before her eyes return to mine.
A smirk perks on her mouth. “Meet me at the back door in five minutes.”
I’m there in three.