Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Bristol
Part of me expects the thirty-minute drive to Portsmouth for dinner to be awkward and filled with silence but so far, it’s not.
Rhett’s truck hums steadily beneath us, headlights cutting through the dark, as Mistletoe Bay gives way to winding coastal roads. He’s relaxed, one hand resting casually at the top of the steering wheel, the other tapping lightly to the low music playing through the speakers.
“You okay?” he asks, glancing over.
“I think so,” I admit. “This just feels very grown-up.”
He chuckles. “So dinner is grown-up now?”
“Well, no. I don’t suppose it is. But it feels like it after you kissed me this morning and now you’re taking me to dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant that I’ve been dying to try for a long time.”
“Fair,” he concedes. “That escalated quickly. I’m not sorry though.”
“To tell you the truth, neither am I.”
Rhett reaches over and places his hand on my thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I almost canceled,” I admit suddenly.
His gaze flicks to me. “Tonight?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Not because I didn’t want to go, but because I did.”
“That tracks,” he says with a smirk, “given how hesitant you were when we first matched.”
“I’m not great at jumping in headfirst,” I continue. “I like to analyze. I’m a serious overthinker who talks myself out of things that feel too good.”
He nods in understanding. “And yet here you are.”
“And yet here I am,” I echo.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t cancel,” he says.
“Me too.”
A few miles later, he blows out a breath and says, “You know this is a big deal for me, right?”
I blink. “Taking me to dinner?”
“Leaving town for it,” he clarifies. “Red Barn closes, I usually head to hockey with my nephew Matty or home. That’s it.”
I smile softly. “I feel honored.”
“You should,” he says. “I don’t do half-assed things.”
The road curves gently, headlights sweeping over dark trees and the occasional glimpse of water.
“So, tell me about Matty. How old is he?”
“Seven,” Rhett replies, and his voice softens. “Smart kid. Stubborn. Already faster on skates than half the kids his age.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a brag.”
“Absolutely was,” he says. “He shows up, works hard, and doesn’t complain.” Rhett chuckles. “Not that he has much choice about showing up. His favorite uncle is the head coach and often his ride.”
“Aren’t you his only uncle?” I laugh. “You just have one sister, Gwen, right?”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “Single mom for most of Matty’s life. His dad isn’t in the picture. But she never made Matty feel like he was missing out on anything. She’s strong as hell.”
My heart warms in my chest at the way he speaks about his family. It’s clear he loves them.
“She’s getting married soon,” he continues. “He’s a good guy. Sterling loves Matty like his own. You can tell when someone shows up for a kid without needing credit for it. He’s a rich son of a bitch, but you’d never know it.”
I nod, my throat suddenly thick with emotion. Rhett’s a man that loves his family. And Gwen is a lucky woman to have found someone to love her the way he says Sterling does. It tugs on my heartstrings and makes me crave that kind of dedication for myself. “That matters.”
“It does,” he agrees. “Family’s everything, ya know?”
“I bet your parents are excited for the wedding.”
He rolls his eyes. “You have no idea. I think part of it is because they’re itching for another grandbaby, too. Gets them off my back for a little bit though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oldest child problems. Before Matty, they were eager for me to settle down and give them grandkids. Then they were so smitten with him that I was off the hook. Didn’t take long, though, before they were begging me to give Matty a cousin to play with.”
“Does that bother you?” I ask. “Do you want to have kids?”
“It doesn’t bother me at all, really. It’s all in good nature,” he says, rubbing slow circles on my thigh. “I’d love to have kids one day. Two, maybe three. You?”
I bite my lip.
Just the idea of Rhett with kids of his own—kneeling to tie their skates, lifting a sleepy toddler onto his hip, teaching someone how to hold a hammer properly—hits me harder than I expect. It’s a future I haven’t let myself picture in a long time.
I glance at him, really look this time. The steadiness written all over his face. The ease. The certainty.
“You sure you don’t want a whole hockey team of kids?” I tease, needing to break the seriousness curling in my chest.
He laughs, deep and easy. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
But his hand stays on my thigh.
“And for the record,” he adds, eyes flicking to mine before returning to the road, “I’d rather do it right than do it fast.”
That measured, thoughtful answer does more to undo me than any smooth line ever could.
The lights of Portsmouth appear ahead, the restaurant just a few turns away, and suddenly this doesn’t feel like just a date anymore.
It feels like the beginning of something I’m going to have to be brave enough not to run from.
Ristorante Massimo comes into view just as Rhett slows the truck.
The valet stand is already lit, a soft glow spilling onto the street. He pulls up and cuts the engine, and hands his keys over.
Rhett rounds the truck and opens my door before I can reach for the handle.
“Thank you,” I say, taking his hand as I step down.
“Anytime,” he replies, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
Inside, warmth greets us immediately—brick and stone walls glowing under low light, candles flickering, fresh flowers on linen-covered tables. The place hums with quiet conversation and romantic intimacy.
The hostess leads us through the grotto-like dining room, Rhett’s hand resting at the small of my back.
I lean toward him as we walk. “You’re spoiling me.”
He glances down at me, a small smile playing at his mouth. “I’m setting a standard.”
Butterflies flutter in my stomach. He really is. And he knows it.
By the time we reach our table, I already feel a little undone.
“This place is beautiful,” I whisper as we sit.
He smiles, clearly pleased. “I was hoping you’d like it.”
The server arrives. He’s confident, knowledgeable, exactly the kind of service you expect in a place like this. Rhett listens carefully as he explains specials then asks questions about the wine and nods thoughtfully before ordering.
I watch him the whole time, utterly captivated.
The way his sleeves are pushed up, forearms flexing when he lifts his glass. The easy confidence. The fact that he looks completely at home here and still somehow like he belongs fixing shelves in a small-town library.
“How am I doing?” he asks when the server leaves.
“Dangerously well,” I admit.
His knee brushes mine beneath the table.
Once.
Then again.
Not accidental.
I inhale slowly, grateful for the wine when it arrives. “You’re very distracting.”
“Good,” he says simply.
The conversation over dinner flows easily. He tells me about growing up in Mistletoe Bay, working at the hardware store since he was old enough to hold a broom. I tell him about my first day at the library, how I cried in the bathroom because I shelved an entire section wrong.
He laughs, eyes crinkling. “You? Crying?”
“I’m passionate,” I defend. “And organized.”
The food arrives, rich and indulgent and entirely too good to rush through. We share bites. Lean closer than necessary. His knee stays pressed to mine, grounding and teasing all at once.
Eventually, Rhett moves his chair closer to mine, his hand landing on my thigh again. This time, his fingers wander under the hem of my skirt, tracing against my bare skin.
My breath hitches. I look around to make sure nobody is watching.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
“Mm-hmm,” I say, absolutely not okay. My body is already humming and I’m desperate for more of whatever it is he’s about to offer.
His hand wanders higher.
“Rhett,” I hiss.
He leans in and kisses my cheek, whispering, “Tell me to stop.”
I should. I know I should.
But the thrill of seeing just how far Rhett will take this, the threat of possibly being caught, has me soaked and wanting more.
“Don’t you dare stop,” I murmur.
He smirks. “Can you be quiet?”
I bit my lip and nod. I’ll sure as hell hope I can.
His fingers climb higher until they brush against my panties.
I swallow hard and fight the moan in the back of my throat.
He pushes the fabric to the side and circles my clit.
When I squirm and let out a low gasp, Rhett raises a brow, challenging me.
He dips his fingers inside, and I nearly jump out of my chair.
“Rhett.”
This was a bad idea. I really should have stopped him. There’s no way I’m going to be able to keep quiet. I’m already teetering on the edge of an orgasm and the man has barely touched me.
Our waiter returns just as Rhett’s fingers curl, hitting the perfect spot.
I expect him to remove his hand, or stop moving, but he doesn’t.
Dessert is offered.
Rhett declines with a glint in his eyes.
If the waiter realizes what’s going on, he doesn’t let on. He simply nods. “I’ll be right back with your check.”
When he leaves, Rhett locks eyes with me. “You heard him. He’ll be right back. You’re gonna come for me before that. No one gets your orgasms but me now, Bristol. Got it?”
I start to tell him I can’t, but the words die on my lips.
Pleasure roars deep in my core. I squeeze his hand between my legs and bite down on my lip so hard that I taste blood.
Trying desperately to breathe through my nose and not make a sound, I find myself grinding against his palm as he finger fucks me.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Your pussy is so tight right now. You’re coming all over my hand, Bristol.”
I can hear my heart beating wildly in my ears and I’m forced to grip the sides of my seat just for something to hold on to as I ride the wave.
“Perfect,” he hums and withdrawals his hand just as the waiter returns with our check.
“Ma’am, are you okay? Can I get you another water?” he asks, while handing the check directly to Rhett, who dares to laugh.
“Fine.” I cough. “I’m fine. Just got a little warm in here.”
Total understatement.
The waiter nods. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’m just going to go check on my other tables. I’ll be back around.”
When he leaves, Rhett puts his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. “I can’t wait for the rest of my dessert.” He winks.
With his other hand he pulls out his wallet and credit card. “I’m going to run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” Rhett kisses my cheek and excuses himself.
Rhett disappears down the narrow hallway toward the restroom, leaving me alone at the table with a half-empty glass of wine and my body still buzzing with arousal.
I press my thighs together and squirm.
Holy hell.
Staring at the candle in the middle of the table, I try to wrap my head around what just happened.
We were eating. Talking. Enjoying each other’s company.
Then Rhett’s hand had found its way between my legs.
And no one noticed.
Not the couple celebrating an anniversary two tables over. Not the server gliding past with effortless grace. No one but me.
The thrill of him making me come undone in the middle of the restaurant makes my pulse kick again.
I’ve been on dates before. Good ones. Fine ones. A few that ended with polite hugs and promises that never materialized.
This?
This was different.
It wasn’t just the way his fingers made my breath hitch or how my body responded to his touch. It was the way he never broke eye contact. The way he kept me grounded with his knee pressed to mine, his voice steady while everything inside me unraveled.
I lift my wine glass, take a slow sip, and immediately regret it because it does absolutely nothing to cool the heat pooling low in my stomach.
I’m not reckless.
I don’t do impulsive.
And yet here I am, sitting in a candlelit Italian restaurant, already knowing—deep in my bones—that going back to his place is a terrible idea. A deliciously terrible idea that I’m not about to say no to.
I smooth my hands over my dress, trying to regain some semblance of composure before he comes back, but it’s useless. My thoughts are already running ahead of me, replaying the way his mouth curved in a knowing smile, the quiet confidence in his touch.
A few minutes later, Rhett escorts me out of the restaurant, one arm wrapped around his.
Outside, the air is crisp, the contrast sobering and exhilarating all at once.
Rhett drapes his jacket over my shoulders without a word, while we wait for the valet to return with his truck.
I wrap it around me, soaking in the warm and inhaling the intoxicating scent of his cologne that lingers on the collar.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say softly.
“Anytime.”
The ride back to his place is filled with more pleasant small talk and Rhett making sure that I’m still on board for wherever this night might lead.
When we pull into his driveway, neither of us moves right away.
The engine clicks as it cools.
Rhett turns to me. “Last chance to change your mind. You say the words and I’ll take you home right now.”
I meet his gaze.
“I want to,” I say. “Stay, that is.”
His smile is slow and unmistakably satisfied.
“Okay,” he says, opening his door. “Come on.”
As we step into the quiet of his house and the door closes behind us, the rest of the world fades away, and I just know, what happens next is going to change everything.