Chapter 14 #7
Crouching before her, he looked up into her gorgeous face, took her hand, and said, “You didn’t offend me.
You enlightened me. Never, in all the years I’ve struggled with this issue, have I considered what you just said.
That the tree business would be mine. That I could run it my way.
Not Dad’s. Not Mom’s. Mine. If they want me to take on the responsibility, I have to have the autonomy, too. ”
“Exactly!”
As he stood, he kissed her, hard and intensely, cupping her face in his hands, his fingers tickling the backs of her ears, their tongues finding lazy ways to get to know each other, the rush of electricity pumping through him a welcome sensation.
“This is nice,” she said as they broke apart.
“It is,” he agreed, standing, their fingers trailing against each other as he moved off to the little kitchen and took a deep breath.
This night was going so much better than he ever dreamed.
Blake had sent strict instructions on plating the food, which Kell appreciated, because the last thing he could claim was to be a chef. Once he’d arranged everything, he carried the two plates to the table, Rachel laughing and clapping her hands with glee.
Their wine glasses were refilled, hers already half consumed.
“Is that filet and lobster?”
“Yes,” he said, reaching for his own glass, savoring a mouthful. “With root vegetables in a reduced lion’s mane mushroom and currant sauce.”
“You sound like a server in a fine restaurant.”
“Nope. Blake wrote it all out for me.”
“Lob-stah!” Rachel said in an over-exaggerated, and extremely pathetic, attempt at a Maine accent.
“Don’t do that in town where other people can hear you. Ever.”
She nearly choked on her water, she was laughing so hard.
“You really like it?” he asked, worried he’d chosen the wrong thing. “No food allergies, or special diets?”
At the word diet, she visibly tensed.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“I hate the word diet. My mother is constantly on me about dieting.”
“You? You don’t need to diet!”
“I know. And no, I have no allergies. I like real food, though. Raised by farmers. I cook a lot at home. Buying fresh at a farmer’s market is one of the few things I do for fun.”
“I just realized I’ve never really asked you about your life in L.A.”
“Ask away.”
“I assume you don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Uh, no.”
“What’s that ‘uh’ for?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“No husband?”
“Nope!”
“Wife?”
“I am completely unattached. My last… whatever you call it… involved the guy stealing my wildfire and earthquake emergency fund out of my nightstand.”
“Ugh.”
“Yeah. Pathetic, right? I can pick them.”
“No, I mean, ugh on that guy! I want to find him and–”
“And what? Beat Nico up? Are you suddenly my bodyguard?”
“I’m your friend who hates to see someone take advantage of you.”
“There’s that word again. Friend.”
He touched her hand, threading their fingers.
“You’re more than a friend to me, Rachel. If this… continues.”
“Why wouldn’t it continue?”
Pure magic. She’d just spoken the magic words.
Rachel dropped his hand and surveyed her plate. “No offense, Kell, but I’m a sure thing tonight. This lobster tail, though–the drawn butter is getting cold, and it needs my attention right now more than you do..”
“Gorgeous, smart, and practical. How did I find it all in one woman?”
The look she gave him squeezed his heart as much as it made it soar.
“You mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
Setting her fork and knife down, she rose up from her chair and leaned in for a kiss. It was easy to pull her right into his lap, one arm around her waist, the other sliding along the line of her ribs, the outside of her breast, making her moan into his mouth.
One of Rachel’s hands splayed across his back, roaming the expanse of his shoulders, moving down to the small of his back, then stopping at his waist.
“We really need to eat,” she said, panting, “before it’s ruined.”
“Yes. Also–we really can’t do anything here. I promised Boyce, and if Lucinda found out, I think she’d spontaneously combust.”
“Join the club,” Rachel murmured, moving out of his lap and into her seat. She speared the entire lobster tail, dipped it in butter, and took a bite from the end.
So much for impeccable manners.
“Well,” she said, setting the fork down. “That was vulgar.” Another moan, this one inspired by the lobster, made him want her even more.
“That was hilarious to watch.”
“You’re really missing out. Eat! Eat!” she said, moving her fingers in a shooing gesture designed to make him dig in.
Spearing his lobster tail with his fork, he held it aloft.
“LOBSTAH!” he called out, plunging it into his butter, and doing a more brutal, Viking-like imitation as he ate it.
Rachel began hyena-wheezing as her laughter got out of control. Kell barely got his mouthful of tender, perfect shellfish down before he joined her.
“It’s so great to be two adults out on a proper date,” she gasped as Kell reached for his wine and took a sip, trying to collect himself.
“Eh. Adulting is overrated.”
“Says the man who arranged for all this wonderfulness.” She used her knife to daintily slice another bite off her lobster tail, resuming basic table manners.
Kell realized he’d almost forgotten something important. Reaching for his phone, he set the radio app to WLUV. He hoped the special message he’d sent in would be broadcast as requested, within the next fifteen minutes.
WLUV took special requests for songs, heartfelt messages they would read on the air, and pretty much anything that helped keep their listeners thinking about love.
“Only four more days until the best day of the year,” crooned Selena Martinez, WLUV’s only full-time staffer. The rest of the station’s DJs and newscasters were part-timers, volunteers, and the occasional high school or college intern. “Joe Cocker’s ‘You Can Leave Your Hat On’ is up next.”
As the opening notes began, Kell’s mind instantly went to wondering what Rachel would be like doing a striptease.
And whether she’d ever relax enough to try it.
Oblivious to his inner musings, Rachel ate happily, Kell joining in until they had cleaned their plates. Rachel’s appetite impressed him; for someone from L.A., she wasn’t a picky eater. All her talk about her mother being so diet obsessed had made him assume she would be, too.
He was wrong.
The lights flickered briefly, Rachel looking up as Kell looked outside.
“Weird. No storm. Wind is quiet,” he said, the lights going back to normal.
“And no earthquake,” Rachel said.
“Between the two of us, we have both coasts covered when it comes to natural disasters,” he joked.
“All we’re missing is tornado experience,” she quipped.
“We were talking about your life in L.A.,” he said as she picked up the plates.
“Where do these go?” she asked.
“I’ll take them.”
“I can.”
He walked her into the kitchenette, where the insulated bag and the other supplies were.
“Ah. I found your secret.”
“Wasn’t a secret. Blake set me up.” He opened the cooler.
“There’s more in there?”
“Dessert.”
“If you tell me that’s crème brulée, I’ll–”
He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close, enjoying the instant heat between them.
“You’ll what?”
“I’ll sleep with you.”
“You already said you’re a sure thing.”
“I’ll sleep with you twice in a row.”
“That’s the part where I’m a sure thing, because I already assumed that.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Are we negotiating, Mr. Luview? Because that’s my area of expertise.”
“Is it, now?”
“Yes, indeed.”
As he reached into the cooler and pulled out the covered white ceramic dish, the crème brulée revealed as he removed the top, she chortled.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “You knew!”
“I figured it was either crème brulée, tiramisu, or a flourless chocolate raspberry torte.”
“Why would you assume those three?”
“They’re the classic Valentine’s Day desserts.”
“I’d prefer a hot fudge sundae, myself,” he admitted.
“Then I’ll eat your crème brulée for you.”
“Hah. No. I like it well enough.”
When they were seated again, Rachel reached for a spoon and tapped the back of it against the burnt sugar crust on top of one, then took a bite. “Mmmm! Cinnamon!”
The casual way she broke all the rules of a special dinner endeared her to him more. The suit hadn’t been necessary. The shave and haircut weren’t, either. Even this elaborate dinner in the chocolate shop, over the top but fun, wasn’t required.
Rachel was happy to simply hang out with him. Drink good wine, have good conversation, eat good food.
None of this was about anything more than presence. Connection.
Them. Together.
They turned their chairs back around and looked out at the hot springs.
This section of the water was secluded from the larger, more touristy area on the other side, closer to Blake and Sheila’s restaurant.
The spring was partly hidden when his great-great-great-grandfather had discovered it, but as the town gained a reputation based on the “love waters,” roads and parking spots were carved out closer to it.
Now most of the exposed one-acre spring was visible from Main Street.
“This is so beautiful,” Rachel said, taking another bite of her dessert. “What a perfect night.”
“It’s not over yet.”
“Even if it ended right now, you’d have given me a perfect night.”
“Perfect, huh? How can I beat perfect?”
“Ooh, I don’t know. What’s better than perfect?”
You, he thought but didn’t say.
“How about we find out.” The kiss he planted on her neck felt more perfect, her shiver an invitation to use his tongue to gently lick her earlobe, her sharp inhale of desire making him rue the tight-fitting suit pants.
Back at his apartment, there would be no clothes.
His new mission: to get them there as fast as possible.
And yet, this was lovely. Fun. Intimate and delightful, a truly perfect first date. There was no rush, because they had all the time in the world.
Almost.
Almost all the time in the world.