Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Geraldine
I stood in front of the mirror in my room and smoothed out the light blue sundress I’d dug from my bag, the fabric soft and flowy against my legs.
My hair was loose and still damp from the shower with Damian, and I brushed it back and grinned at the memory of us laughing through the mud and steam.
The house was quiet, Cosmo and Christian still gone, and it was just me and him rattling around Red Rock for another day.
Breakfast had been sweet with his laugh and his easy smile, and the way we’d bonded cleaning the horses yesterday lingered like a warm hum in my chest. I wanted more of that and more of him, so when I’d tossed out the idea of going out, just the two of us, he’d shrugged and said, “Sure, why not?” like it was no big deal. But it felt big to me.
I slipped on my sandals and headed downstairs, the wood creaked under my feet.
Damian was in the kitchen and leaned against the counter in a clean flannel and jeans, his hair still a little messy from the shower.
He looked up when I walked in, and his eyes flicked over me and softened just enough to make my stomach flip.
“Are you ready?” I asked and grabbed my little crossbody bag from the table and slung it over my shoulder.
“Yeah,” he said and pushed off the counter and grabbed his keys. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere nice,” I said and smirked and stepped closer. “I’m thinking that diner in town, the one with the pie, Cosmo won’t shut up about. Are you up for it?”
“Pie’s good,” he said and nodded, his lips twitched. “Let’s go.”
We walked out to his truck, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the yard, and the air was warm and golden.
He opened the passenger door for me, and I climbed in, the leather seat cool under my legs.
“Such a gentleman,” I said and grinned as he shut the door and circled to the driver’s side.
“Don’t get used to it,” he said and slid in and started the engine with a low rumble. “I’m just making sure you don’t trip.”
“Funny,” I said and nudged his arm as we pulled out, the dirt road crunched under the tires.
The drive into Costa Solara was quick; the hills rolled by and were green and dotted with cattle, and I rolled my window down and let the breeze tug at my hair.
“This is nice,” I said and leaned my head back. “Just us and no mud fights.”
“Yet,” he said and shot me a look, his grin small but real. “Day’s not over.”
“True,” I said and laughed and rested my arm on the window. “But I’m keeping it cute for now. You’re lucky.”
“Lucky me,” he said and turned onto Main Street and parked outside the diner with its red-and-white sign.
We hopped out, and he held the door for me again as we stepped inside; the bell jingled overhead.
The place smelled like coffee and fried food, and a waitress, Sally, I remembered, waved us to a booth by the window.
“Hey, Damian,” she said, and set the menus down. “Who’s your friend?”
“Geraldine,” I said, and slid into the seat across from him. “I’m crashing at the ranch for a bit.”
“She’s trouble,” Damian said and sat down, his knee brushed mine under the table. “Watch out.”
“Sounds fun,” Sally said and smirked. “Coffee?”
“Yep,” I said, and Damian nodded. She left us with the menus, and I flipped mine open and scanned the options. “What’s good here?” I asked and peeked at him over the top.
“Burger’s solid,” he said and leaned back, and didn’t bother with his menu. “Pie’s better. Pecan’s the one Cosmo raves about.”
“Sold,” I said and closed mine. “Burger and pecan pie. You?”
“Same,” he said and stretched his arms along the booth, and looked relaxed for once. “You’re picking well.”
“I learned from the best,” I said and winked and leaned my elbows on the table. “You’re not so bad at this date thing, you know.”
“Date, huh?” he said and raised an eyebrow, but his grin stayed. “I thought we were just eating.”
“We are,” I said and kicked his boot lightly under the table. “But it’s a date now. Deal with it.”
“Fine,” he said and laughed low, his eyes crinkling. “You’re calling the shots.”
Sally came back with our coffees, and we ordered, her pencil scratched quick on her pad. When she left, I sipped mine, the warmth spread through me, and I watched him stir sugar into his. “So,” I said and set my mug down. “What’s your deal with town? Do you come here a lot?”
“Not really,” he said and shrugged, and tapped his spoon on the rim. “Work keeps me at the ranch. Cosmo’s the one who drags me out.”
“Figures,” I said and smiled. “He’s the social butterfly. You’re more the strong, silent type.”
“Something like that,” he said and took a sip, his eyes on me. “You’re chatty enough for both of us.”
“Good thing, too,” I said and leaned closer. “Someone’s gotta keep you from turning into a hermit.”
“Maybe I like hermit life,” he said and smirked, but his knee pressed against mine and was steady and warm. “You’re messing it up.”
“Sorry, not sorry,” I said and laughed and reached across to steal his spoon and twirled it in my fingers. “You’re stuck with me for two more days. You better enjoy it.”
“I am,” he said and grabbed the spoon back, his fingers brushed mine. “You’re not the worst company.”
“High praise,” I said and grinned, my heart did a little skip at the touch. “I’ll take it.”
Our food came with burgers piled high with fries and two slices of pecan pie on the side, and we dug in, the table quiet for a bit except for the clinking of forks. “This is good,” I said around a bite and wiped ketchup off my chin. “Cosmo wasn’t kidding about the pie.”
“I told you,” he said and popped a fry in his mouth. “He’s loud, but he’s right sometimes.”
“Rarely,” I said and laughed and cut into my pie. “You’re the one with taste.”
“Guess so,” he said and smiled slowly and easily, and I felt that warmth again and spread softly through me.
We ate and swapped bites, I sneaked fries from his plate, and he pretended to swat my hand away.
It was simple and sweet, and every time he laughed or looked at me, my chest got a little tighter.
After we finished, the plates cleared away, I leaned back and sipped my coffee and watched the sun dip lower outside. “This was nice,” I said and nudged his foot. “We should do it again.”
“Yeah,” he said and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “Maybe tomorrow. There’s a spot by the creek that’s quiet with no diner crowd.”
“Sold,” I said and smiled and reached across to rest my hand on his. “You’re getting good at this.”
“Don’t push it,” he said and turned his hand to lace his fingers with mine, his grip firm and warm. “I’m still learning.”
“You’re a natural,” I said, and squeezed his hand, my heart thudded steadily. “I like this side of you.”
“Good,” he said and squeezed back, his thumb rubbing over my knuckles. “I like this too.”
We sat there a bit longer and held hands, the diner buzzed softly around us, and I didn’t want it to end.
Sally dropped the check, and he grabbed it before I could and tossed cash on the table, and we slid out of the booth and walked back to the truck, our fingers still tangled.
The sky was pink now, the air cooled off, and he opened my door again, his hand lingered on mine as I climbed in.
“Best date ever,” I said and grinned as he shut the door and got in beside me.
“Not bad,” he said and started the truck and pulled out, his hand found mine again on the seat. “You’re alright, Geraldine.”
“You too,” I said and leaned my head on his shoulder, the ride back quiet and sweet, just us and the hum of the engine.