Chapter 33
SHAY
“Does this mean you’ve been wooed?” Jackson asks.
He’s on a stool at the kitchen island, swinging his legs, while Stella finishes plating his dinner.
It’s the second time he’s asked me that question, but I’m too entranced watching Stella to answer.
She places a stack of sliced cucumbers in one corner, two chicken fingers in the other—layered just so—five slices of red apple in the third, and in the fourth and final corner she mounds what might pass for peas.
I squint, studying the maybe-peas. “Are those purple?”
Stella, operating like a brain surgeon, places the final pea in place. “Yep. It’s Saturday,” she says by way of explanation and nods to the beet juice on the counter, probably used to dye them. Jackson and his quirks.
He pokes my arm again. “Are you wooed? Did Daddy woo you?”
My answering grin speaks for itself. “Yes, Jackson. Consider me wooed.”
And nervous as a schoolgirl for our first date.
It’s a simple night out, the two of us enjoying a meal together, but we’ve never done something so couple-y.
It took me ages to select my white skirt, the bottom printed with blue blades of grass, and my complementing white tank and sandals. The first five outfits didn’t cut it.
Stella passes Jackson’s dinner over the counter to him, but he doesn’t pick up his fork. Focused on me, he says, “So…does that mean Daddy found your G-spot? You know, your happy spot?”
Stella snorts while I duck and search for cover as Kolton strides into the room in worn jeans, sandals, and a fitted gray T-shirt. Effortlessly handsome. Flutters erupt in my belly.
He gives Jackson a stern look. “What did I say about asking girls that question?”
Jackson hunches and studies his fingers. “It’s personal, and it’s not polite to ask.”
Kolton stops at my side, kisses my cheek, then glares at Stella. “Next time I tell him no, don’t play favorite auntie and buy him stuff he shouldn’t have. That book will be the death of me.”
She doesn’t bat an eye. “Like I said, boss, I’m just preparing him for life. Do you know how young kids are when they start experimenting these days? I’m not sending Jackson into those piranha-filled waters unarmed. He’d get slaughtered.”
Kolton shakes his head and reaches over to tug a lock of Jackson’s hair. “We’re going out, bud. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m busy in the morning, but we’ll hit the library in the afternoon. Cool?”
Jackson nods, and his glasses slide down his nose. He pushes them in place and picks up his fork, alternating bites between each of the four foods on his plate. With the way I plan my meals—what to eat last, what to savor—Jackson is definitely my people.
A warm hand slides along my back as Kolton’s, “Let’s go,” brushes by my ear. He guides me to the front door but stops and faces me. “Wait here a sec.”
“Okay…” I say, drawing out the word.
His eyes twinkle, and I’m not sure if I should be concerned. I peek out the side window and watch as he gets into his SUV and drives away…without me. I’m not sure what kind of dates he’s used to, but leaving half of the equation behind doesn’t bode well for future sexy-time.
I cross my arms, the flutters from before disappearing.
A minute later, he pulls up the opposite side of the circular driveway, parks, and makes his way to the door. He rings the bell.
Still unsure what he’s up to, I open the door just wide enough to fit my shoulders. “Shay’s not here. No en casa,” I say in my best Spanish accent.
One hand is behind his back, and he scratches his chin with the other.
“That’s a shame. I’m here to pick her up.
Had a whole evening planned, and I wanted to give her these.
” He produces what’s supposed to look like flowers, but they’re sticks of candy, lollipops, and chocolate bundled together in a bouquet.
The flutters return in torrents, feathers dancing along my skin.
He holds the candy bouquet out to me. “You sure Shay no en casa?”
I snatch my gift. “Well played, Fabio. What else do you have planned?”
“I started with the big guns. The rest is just me and dinner.”
He could’ve said him and a colonoscopy, and I’d follow.
The sprawling restaurant is dark enough to be intimate, and our waiter leads us to a quieter table.
Soft red lights flood the dark walls, intermittent paintings of geisha girls spanning the room.
Each clear glass table is topped with tiny lamps.
Usually, I spend the first few minutes in a room redesigning it in my mind, but I’m suddenly nervous.
Once seated, we look at each other and smile.
We glance around.
We touch our cutlery.
We arrange our chopsticks.
We shift on our seats.
“I love the décor in here,” I say. “Warm and cozy.” I flip over my fork. Once. Twice.
When naked in bed the past week, our whispered flirting has been effortless. At work, there’s never a pause when we pore over sketches and samples. Side by side on the ski hill or eating a hurried lunch at work has always been easy, even if feisty at times.
Here, in this formal setting, the lull stretches.
And stretches.
Melodic techno beats float between us.
Kolton runs his hand through his hair like he does. “The menu is set up as more of a share-plate thing. Considering you like to taste your way through a meal, I thought it would be fun.”
More fidgeting. More glancing around.
There’s so much I don’t know about Kolton, like if he dislikes gardening like me or if he loves it? Does he prefer a fireplace or a bonfire? An ocean or a pool? Still, not a question passes my lips.
We trade a few pleasantries. Stiff. Formal. Like a couple of strangers. Upon our waiter’s return, Kolton orders a bourbon, and I opt for a glass of Riesling.
We study our menus as if there will be a quiz.
Knots form around my vocal chords, each word constricted before it escapes. When I can’t take it anymore, I blurt, “I stuttered as a child.”
Talk about offering up my most vulnerable self.
He exhales, the tight lines by his eyes softening as he reaches across the table to take my hand. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Your words flow pretty freely with me, especially when you’re annoyed.”
“What can I say? You bring out the best in me. But yeah, I stuttered. Made for an unenjoyable youth. I clocked lots of hours with a speech therapist.”
Quiet returns between us, this time warmer and cozy. Wine-by-a-fire quiet.
I press my thumb into his palm. “Your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.” I slip off a sandal, maneuver my foot over his, and wiggle my toes inside the cuff of his jeans.
His eyes flare then fall heavy. “I love your hair like that, wild and loose. I love when I notice you looking at me across a room”—I drag my toes higher—“and I’m starting to question why we’re in a public place when I could have you in my room.”
I ease my hands from his and place them on my lap, but my foot stays where it is. “You must have misunderstood the question, Einstein. I asked you to tell me something I don’t know about you.”
The waiter appears with our drinks, places them down wordlessly, and then disappears.
We each take a sip.
“Okay,” he says. “I do some occasional rock climbing, and I’m a black belt in karate.”
That definitely explains his physique. I picture the cut muscles below his shirt, the ridged lines of his abs. The sharp V of his hips. Escaping to his room is sounding better and better. “When did you get into martial arts?”
He swills his glass. “After Marina died. I needed to channel some anger to a more productive place.”
He doesn’t embellish, doesn’t get teary-eyed, but my heart breaks.
To be on the cusp of what is often the happiest time in a couple’s life, and to have it wrenched from you in such an ugly way is unimaginable. It could embitter a man, cut him down. The Kolton in front of me, though, the one who laughs and woos and loves his son, that man has overcome.
“Unfortunately,” he says, “over the last year, I’ve let the karate slide.
I train at home, but it’s not the same. I try to spend as much time as I can with Jackson, and work has exploded.
” He looks up, brightness in his chocolate eyes.
“But I checked out a place yesterday—that’s why I took off from the shop.
Wanted to meet with the teacher to make sure I liked the vibe.
Anyway, I’m taking a class tomorrow morning.
I’ve been promising myself for months I’d find more balance in my life. Figured it was time to make it happen.”
“Is Sawyer helping out more with the business end of things, then?”
He snorts. “No. Not his strong suit. Stella’s been doing some online accounting courses, though. She’ll be tackling more of the workload soon. She’s smart. Knows our business inside and out, and she helps more than she should with Jackson. Not sure what I’d do without her.”
The waiter returns to ask if we’re ready to order, but we wave him off.
Kolton leans onto his elbows. “My turn. I’ve heard you joke with the girls about South Park and have wondered—how is it the woman who can’t stand action movies and frivolous comedies loves a ridiculous cartoon that is nothing but inappropriate and obnoxious.
Hilarious, sure, but I can’t picture you watching it. ”
Unable to sit this close without more contact, I trace circles on Kolton’s ankle with my pink-painted toes.
He shifts his leg closer to me. “South Park was Raven’s thing.
I hated it at first. If she and Lily were watching, I’d spend most of the time hurling insults from the sidelines, averting my attention.
Then they’d double over giggling, and Raven would pout and beg me to watch, too. Eventually, I gave in.”
He leans back in his seat and cocks his head. “Interesting.”
At his judgmental tone, I pull my foot away. “Interesting, what?”
“Put your foot back, then I’ll tell you.”
He stares me down, his gaze darkening like it does when he takes control in the bedroom. My body responds as always. Compliant. Obedient. His to command.
In life, I covet independence. Sexually, I revel in his dominance.
I brush my foot over the dusting of hair at his ankle.
He smolders at me and says, “I find that nugget interesting, because the Shay I know is often too stubborn to compromise. She holds pretty fast to her opinions and rules, and I’m just wondering if what went down with your ex is entangled with that a bit.
Sometimes, when we experience bad things, we swing too far in the opposite direction, wanting to avoid those bad things from happening again. ”
There’s a different inflection in his tone, something more tense. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“Me?” He rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head. “No, I’m just worried that you’re so intent on your independence now that you’re not as open to new experiences as you could be. And kind of isolating yourself from your friends at times. Like, not telling them when you’re struggling.”
He’s peeling back my thick hide, exposing the scars Richard left in his wake. The same issue I was stressing over yesterday with the girls. “I told Lily and Raven everything, if you must know. And it felt good,” I admit.
His lips tug upward. “That makes me happy. And just so you know, you can tell me when you’re struggling, too, without me happening to be there when things go sideways.
You can even do stuff you don’t normally do with me, like when you watched South Park with the girls. You might enjoy the unexpected.”
I might, and I hate how the notion still makes me clench.
Opening myself up to Kolton’s influence doesn’t have to be negative.
I may watch an action movie to make him happy.
I may try rock climbing, because he loves it.
I may change parts of myself to fit with parts of him, but if I’m mentally healthy, I’ll still be me at the core.
Surely, I can manage that?
“Challenge accepted,” I say. “As long as you’re open to doing activities I like, too.”
“Name it, and I’m in.”
Ooh. Now, this could be fun. “Pole dancing class?”
He smirks. “I’ll buy spandex shorts.”
“Spa afternoon?”
“Sure, Connor. I’ll even let you pick the nail polish.”
I shoot him a mock-glare. “If you don’t tell me who this Connor is, it’ll be hot pink.”
He shrugs. “I’ll take the pink, thanks.”
“You’re maddening, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told. Also, do you know how fucking hard it is sitting here like this, without having my hands on you? It’s like the more I have of you, the more I need.” He blinks, like he’s surprised he admitted as much, and my hand trembles on my wine glass.
God, this man affects me. “In that case, as long as you don’t embarrass yourself on this date, I’m happy to test if me being more open to doing new activities with you heats things up in the bedroom.” If he only knew what I have planned for later.
Grinning, he checks his thick, leather-banded watch. “Noted. We should order. And eat really fast.”
But we don’t.
The waiter returns, and we wave him off. Twice.
We talk. We touch. We laugh.
I tell Kolton about the design game I play in my head, redecorating interiors, and he prods me to reimagine the space we’re in. Black tables instead of glass. Miniature bamboo plants on the edge, not lamps, understated and sexy.
Eventually, food is ordered, eaten, and enjoyed. The Asian slaw we share is an orgasm on a plate, each bite different and exotic. I moan, and he shifts on his seat.
The check is brought, the bill paid, and we hurry to Kolton’s car, eager to get to the hands-on-each-other part of our evening. Kolton wasn’t wrong: the more I have of him, the more I need. He nearly gets in a car accident as my hand inches up his thigh. Then we’re at home.
Where things are about to get even hotter—literally.