5. Kylie
KYLIE
When I heard him call out to me, my heart started racing in my chest even harder than it had been. I froze in place before sucking in a deep breath and turning around.
Jordan jogged toward me and came to a halt about three steps before he actually reached me. "Hey." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away for a moment. "I know you’ve gotta go, but I just want to ask you something real quick."
"Okay." My heart was flipflopping in my chest because I had absolutely no idea what he was about to say. “What’s up?”
"Would you like to get dinner sometime? Tonight, maybe. If you're free. But if you’re busy, maybe tomorrow…or the next day."
I wasn’t sure what to say. I'd spent weeks imagining a version of this exact moment, but nothing had prepared me for how nervous I’d feel when it happened. "Um, yeah.” When? Tomorrow. No, tonight. Definitely tonight. “Tonight works. I close at six, so…"
"Seven?" He already had his phone out and his message app open. "I can pick you up. I’ll send you a text, and then you can send me your address. Or if you’re not comfortable with that, we could meet someplace convenient for you."
"You can pick me up." He didn’t give off any serial killer vibes, and I’d share my location with the girls anyway, so I gave him my number. “I’m not far from here.”
"Perfect. I’ll see you at seven." He poked the screen on his phone and mine immediately buzzed in my pocket. "That’s from me. Text your address and let me know if anything changes."
"Okay, cool." I was already backing toward the door because if I stood here smiling at him for one more second, I was afraid I’d do something embarrassing. “See ya later.” I gave him one last wave before I booked it outside and inhaled a deep breath.
I had a date.
With Jordan.
Tonight.
I was floating on air for my ride home and as I quickly washed up and changed into my work clothes. The whole time, I kept catching myself sporting a ridiculous grin like I’d never been on a date before.
The truth was, I’d been on plenty of dates in my life. Just none since Troy. And that was a long time ago.
My afternoon shift at The Bean Box passed in a blur of lattes and mobile orders, but I was grateful to be so busy. It gave my hands something to do while my brain obsessed about what I was gonna wear and what we would talk about.
I was cleaning up spilled chai tea when I got a text from Poppy. Hey, girl. How was your first day at the kitchen?
I typed out three different responses before actually hitting send. Great. It’s so spacious, and I got a ton of baking done.
As much as it felt like lying, I didn't mention Jordan. Poppy was my best friend and I told her everything. But I wanted to keep this thing all to myself for a little while longer. If we had a second or third date, I’d tell all my friends then.
But until I knew there was something worth talking about, it was too soon.
I didn’t want to get everyone excited. And I definitely didn’t want to deal with all the pressure or expectations or questions from the people who were as anxious for me to find a Daddy as I was.
By the time I closed up at six, my nerves had fully caught up to my excitement. An hour didn’t feel like enough time to get ready for my date, but I was glad it wasn’t longer or that would just be even more waiting. And I hated waiting.
My first priority was another shower, but I didn’t wet my hair.
I kept that dry and put it in some heat rollers while I tore through my closet.
None of my clothes felt perfect for the occasion, but I finally settled on a simple green dress that Brianna said made my eyes pop.
When I pulled out the rollers, my hair curled just enough to be dressy without looking like I'd tried too hard.
After one last check in the mirror, I made sure my makeup was even but not too heavy right as the alarm went off on my phone.
A moment later, my doorbell rang. It was Jordan. He was exactly on time.
That gave my tummy a fluttery feeling. Like maybe he was as anxious to see me as I was to see him.
After a final pep talk, I squared my shoulders and opened the door. He was standing there with a bouquet of pale pink peonies and a nervous smile.
"Hi." He held them out to me. "These are for you. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I panicked and asked the florist for whatever looked happy."
"They're perfect." I took them and immediately buried my face in the blooms, mostly to hide how hard I was smiling. "Come on in while I find a vase."
My apartment was small and extremely dated, but it didn't look like he was judging me at all. He glanced around with genuine interest and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Nice place.”
“Not really, but it’s cheap and close to work.”
“I can appreciate cheap and convenient.” He took a few steps and was standing right behind me when I opened my cabinet.
I reached for the one vase I owned and silently gasped when I remembered exactly what else was on that shelf.
My two baby bottles were right there, lined up next to my mixing bowls where I always kept them. They were in soft pastel colors that were about as subtle as a neon sign.
Oops.
I grabbed the vase and quickly shut the cabinet door, hoping he didn’t notice.
If he did, would he call me on it? Ask if I did a lot of babysitting or had a kid of my own.
If he did ask, what would I tell him? The truth would be easiest. I’d never had to explain my Little side to someone outside of the kink lifestyle, so I wasn’t sure what words to even use, but thankfully, I didn’t need to.
He didn’t ask, so I didn’t bring it up.
And that was good. Maybe. Probably. Some small part of me almost wanted him to ask so we could get that part out of the way. At some point, I’d need to find out if he was the kind of man who wanted to be dominant. One who wanted to be my Daddy.
But that conversation wasn’t forthcoming, so I filled the vase with water and arranged the peonies with slightly shaky hands. "These are gonna look so pretty on my counter." I put the vase down and grabbed my purse before he could ask any questions I wasn't prepared for. "Ready?"
"Ready." He held the door for me on the way out and again at the car. Troy used to do that too, and it was nice. I’d almost forgotten how much I liked it.
“You look beautiful, Kylie.” Jordan walked beside me and lightly placed his hand on my lower back to direct me to his car. His extremely expensive car.
“Is this a…Maserati?” I didn’t know much about cars, but one of my favorite songs was about a Maserati, so I’d looked them up. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” He held my hand to steady me as I climbed in the car, then stood there and watched as I buckled my seatbelt. “It’s a little flashy, but I wanted to impress you.” He winked and then closed the door.
I was impressed.
I’d been impressed since the first time he walked into the coffee shop…and he continued to impress me with every interaction.
Jordan took me to a little Italian place a few blocks from downtown. It was dimly lit, and the tables had candles that stuck out of round wine bottles. And the menu didn't have prices. At least, not the one I was handed.
"I think I got the pretty menu and you got the real one." I flipped mine over like the prices might be hiding on the back. "Is that a thing? Do restaurants do that?"
"Depends on the restaurant." His eyes were bright with amusement even as he tried to hide his smile. "Like this one, apparently."
I furrowed my brows. "So you know exactly how much everything costs, and I'm just supposed to pick something and hope for the best." That was the most sexist thing I’d ever heard.
"You don’t need to worry about prices, Kylie. Not with me." He closed his menu and then put it down. "Do you like wine?"
"Yeah, um, usually whites, but are reds better with Italian?" I bit my lip, scanning the menu to see what would pop out at me. "I’m good with whatever you like."
"Well, I’m good with you enjoying your wine, but I can help you pick something that will pair well with your food.” He nodded toward my menu. “What are you thinking?”
“It all sounds amazing, but I love gnocchi with pesto.” I glanced up at him. “Is that okay?”
"Of course it is." He picked up the wine list and glanced at it. “They have Vermentino that will go well with pesto. Want to give it a try?”
I shrugged but nodded. “Sure, if you think I’ll like it.”
He put down his menu and folded his hands over it. “I’ll order a Pinot Grigio for myself, and if you don’t like the Vermentino, you can have the PG.”
That was extremely thoughtful. My instinct was to tell him that wasn’t necessary but the server appeared before I had a chance.
"Welcome to Franco’s. Can I start you off with some drinks?"
Jordan caught my eye and silently asked for permission to order.
I flashed a quick smile and nodded, trying not to let him see how happy it made me that he felt comfortable ordering for me.
He asked for two glasses of wine and then added our food orders as well.
Once the server had stepped away, Jordan tore a piece of bread from the loaf in the center of the table and passed it to me. "Is olive oil good for you or would you like me to ask for butter?”
“Olive oil is perfect.” I broke a smaller piece off the bread and dipped it in the olive oil. It was delicious.
As Jordan did the same, I took the opportunity to learn more about him.
"So, what’s it like to write a cookbook? Can you use all your favorite recipes or do you have to invent new ones?" I popped my bread into my mouth and stared at his full lips as he spoke.
"I’m mostly using my own recipes. Stuff I created for my restaurant but…
" He sighed and his shoulders dropped an inch. “Well, I’m used to making them in bigger batches, and just reducing the quantities isn’t producing the results I want.
I need to basically create totally new recipes to work for smaller meals. ”