Chapter 27 #2
Maverick’s eyes widened before his smile deepened, and he leaned across the table, reaching for my hand. I threaded my fingers through his, feeling the warm, calloused skin beneath my palm. “I wasn’t aware, but I’d love for you to tell me more.”
I rolled my eyes and blushed, avoiding his gaze and focusing on the mangled bread. “I’ll get to that later. For now, to put all my cards on the table—”
“I assumed you were thinking about that doctor because you’d rather be with him.”
I snorted, and he smiled, shaking his head and running the hand not holding mine through his hair.
“Please don’t assume. When you said it wasn’t in the cards, my mind immediately wandered to Dad’s doctor, who, full disclosure, I am not interested in.”
“Ah. So, then, you assumed I was trying to let you down easy or some shit?”
He squeezed my hand gently before turning it over and tracing his fingertips along my palm and to my wrist. He repeated the pattern twice, his eyes never leaving my hand and my hand not leaving his. “Why don’t we both stop assuming and just talk?”
His grip was firm and assured as I laid my other hand on top of our connected ones. “Sure, that sounds good. And I wouldn’t have minded, you know? If you were trying to let me down easy. It’s not like we know one another very well.”
“Hang on a second—”
“Vous êtes prêts à commander? Are you ready to order?” the server asked, pulling us both from the awkward tension that had overtaken the table.
I pulled my hand back and clasped my thigh underneath the linen cloth, rubbing away the feeling of his touch.
“A few more minutes, please,” Maverick said, not taking his eyes off mine and leaving his hand, palm open, on the table.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be back momentarily.” He nodded and snapped his order book closed before turning away from us.
“What do you mean you wouldn’t have minded? This evening started so well, but now I’m really confused, and it isn’t just the menu.”
I sighed. “I’m horrible at this, Mav, and talking to you only made it painfully obvious that I haven’t flirted or been on a flipping date in a decade.”
“Ten years? Ha, I’d be better off doing an interpretive dance in a bowl of mashed potatoes than flirting. I have you beat by at least another decade.”
“Mashed potatoes? Really?”
“I thought that was pretty clever. Would you prefer macaroni and cheese?” he quipped, shifting slightly on the cushioned chair.
“Perhaps red Jell-O? But if it meant watching you do an interpretive dance, I wouldn’t be picky.”
“Deal. You bring the Jell-O and I’ll bring the killer dance moves.”
“Done. We ride at dawn.”
I paused and turned to the left, taking in the warm, inviting grays and blues along with the crackling—but very fake—fireplace.
The light from the fire flickered around the room, bouncing off the mini chandeliers and casting shadows on the walls.
The world seemed to narrow down to the two of us, and even the soft music disappeared as we simply watched each other with shy smiles.
“I like this. Being here. With you,” I said, letting my hand creep back across the table to take his.
“Then why say you wouldn’t be upset if I was trying to let you down easy? Which, to reiterate—I am not.”
“I just didn’t want you to feel guilt-tripped into anything.”
“Trust me, Summer. I’m not one to do anything unless I’ve truly thought about it. After I was widowed—”
He took a breath and closed his eyes. I was gripping his hand halfway out of my chair to comfort him before I realized I didn’t know how he’d react. Sitting down slowly and adjusting my dress, I waited, giving him the attention he deserved.
“After she died, all I felt was guilt. It consumed me for longer than I’ll admit. It wasn’t that I made some grand declaration that I’d never date again; more like I made up excuse after excuse not to. And I was fine with that. Fine with my life. Until you.”
I opened my mouth, but no sounds came out, so I shook my head and widened my eyes as his hand squeezed mine. It fit so easily, making me whimper, barely loud enough for him to hear, but he did, leaning closer as his voice softened.
“Now, I’m looking for excuses to catch a glimpse of you. Helping Mom with the pups and fixing things around your dad’s house that work perfectly fine. I know I’m not some big catch. With my age and baggage, it’s—”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” I said, squeezing his hand harder than I meant to.
“You own a thriving business that makes beautiful designs. Your mom showed me the fixtures you installed in her bathroom and kitchen. They are truly one of a kind. Aside from that, you’re handsome, kind, have a wonderful family, and a super cute dog. Need I go on?”
He shook his head and tried to pull his hand away, but I kept hold. As someone who had been conditioned to always second-guess a compliment, I understood his trepidation.
By the end of my rant, I knew my voice had taken on a patronizing tone, and my cheeks flushed crimson.
It wasn’t something I did consciously, and another bubble of anxiety rose to the surface as I remembered how much this used to annoy Trey.
But this man wasn’t my ex. Not at all. He was a snarky man of few words who commanded the room with his presence and exuded a quiet confidence. A man who had his full attention on me.
“You’re some kind of woman, Summer. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone so quick to defend me. And that just proves my point that what I feel for you couldn’t be sated in a single night.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I said, letting go of his hand and wrapping my fingers around the stem of my wineglass. I finished the last drops as Maverick motioned to the bottle, but I shook my head. “And I agree. I’d like to take a chance on this. On us.”
“So, where do we go from here?” he asked, running his hand along the edge of his shirt collar.
“Honestly? Well, I appreciate you bringing me here. Truly, I do. But this fancy place isn’t me and isn’t something I need. How about we go get some spicy tacos from the Cachita’s Kitchen food truck and take Malibu for a walk or something?”
“Are you sure? You wouldn’t rather split some cuisses de grenouilles? Frog legs are supposed to be a delicacy. I think.”
“If you really want to stay here and split those, I’m your girl. And I’m sure I’ll enjoy the fancy food… But I promise I’d be just as happy with a spicy chicken sandwich and good conversation.”
“Far be it for me to argue with a beautiful woman. Could I tempt you into sharing a cookies and cream milkshake?”
“Now, you’re speaking my language,” I said, laying the black linen napkin on the table.
Maverick stood and reached for my hand, helping me from the table and leaning close to press his lips to my cheek. “Head to the front. I’ll take care of the bill and then get you that spicy chicken sandwich, baby.”
“I’ll be waiting.”