by J. L. Berg
This was it.
A date.
Sawyer wasn’t just casually popping over to bombard me with a flurry of questions or to help me with my grandmother’s journal. There would be no couches and blankets to hide behind, no dinner preparation to occupy us.
Nope.
Just the two of us. In a restaurant. With actual people.
“Holy crap on a cracker, what was I thinking?” I asked the dead plant in my living room.
It had no answers. Mostly because it was plant. And it was dead.
Okay, I just needed to keep calm.
I needed to keep calm and make a list.
To-do lists always kept me cool under pressure.
So, first things first.
What did one do to prepare for a date? It had been ages since I’d actually been on one, so my knowledge was rusty at best, but thanks to my heavy dose of Netflix bingeing, I’d watched just about every romantic comedy known to man in the last few months.
And if there was one thing rom-coms were known for, it was a glow-up montage—an opportunity for the heroine to go from zero to hottie in under a minute, making her downright irresistible to her potential mate.
The upside to this cheesy cliché was that it gave this rusty heroine the refresher she needed.
And the first thing I needed was makeup.
Lots of makeup. My dress was obviously already picked out. Hopefully, the weeks of pizza-eating wouldn’t cause me to bust the zipper. I guessed we’d soon find out.
Taking the steps two at a time, I marched my butt into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I wasn’t sure why; I didn’t particularly need a shower. I’d taken one that morning, and to be honest, I wasn’t that sweaty from my mini freak-out, but the idea of hot, running water soothed me.
And I needed some soothing.
Of course, I didn’t think about the fact that hot water on top of my hair would also constitute me having to restyle it.
“Shit!” I yelled the moment the water hit my nearly perfect curls.
Well, too late now. I guessed I should add a blow-dry and a curling session to my list of things to do.
Now that I’d basically doubled my to-do list, the soothing feeling of the shower did little for my stress relief. Finishing up quickly, I dried up, threw my now-sopping-wet hair into a towel, and found my way into my bedroom.
Plopping down on the bed, I let out a heavy sigh.
Why did people do this?
Was it worth it to get all dressed up, put on a crap-ton of makeup, and spend a fortune on dinner, only to have a few hours alone with someone?
Thinking about those few brief moments with Sawyer today—the way his eyes had lit up when we spoke, the heavenly feeling of his hands on my body—I couldn’t help but smile.
Yeah, it was worth it.
It was definitely worth it.
Feeling a bit more confident now, I took a deep breath and got up. Heading for the closet, I pulled out the black dress Sawyer had mentioned and walked over to the full-length mirror in the corner by the dresser. Holding the dress up, I tried to remember the last time I had worn it.
Had I ever worn it?
I’d picked it up on a trip to Asheville—a girls’ trip back when life was simpler and I had time to spend on things like frivolous weekends away.
A friend of mine had talked me into it; she’d said it made me look hot, but “not in a slutty way.” I’d just liked the way the material felt against my body. Taking it home, I’d planned on wearing it at the next big event Reed and I attended, but none ever came.
Our life had fallen apart, and the dress had remained in my closet, untouched.
Maybe it was just waiting for tonight.
I hung it up back by the closet, and things began to flow after that. My makeup went on with little fuss, and I spent extra time curling my hair, making sure it had that subtle, relaxed wave I loved. By the time I slid the dress and heels on, I was feeling pretty good about myself. Now, it was just time for the final touch—lipstick. I still had the samples I’d gotten from Aunt Sally, but when I pulled them out, the application process she’d given me was a little rusty.
Had she said darker color all over or just on the outside?
Or was it lighter color everywhere?
Looking at the two tubes, I began to bargain.
Maybe I should just pick one and go with it.
Oh hell, I thought, grabbing my phone of the bed. Why the heck not?
“Hello?” the familiar voice answered on the second ring.
“Aunt Sally, it’s Elle. I have a question about lipstick.”
If I could imagine her expression, I would guess it resembled something similar to the face a toddler would make when a puppy came along. That, and maybe a little surprise. Hell, I was surprised I’d called too.
“Lipstick? Well, okay! I can definitely help with that!”
I went over what I was struggling with, and within two minutes, I had a perfect, understated nude pout.
“Wow,” I said, giving myself a once-over in the mirror. “That looks amazing. Thank you so much. You really saved me tonight.”
“Oh, yeah? Got fancy plans?” she said in that nosy neighbor sort of way. You know the type—the one who asked why you weren’t drinking at the cookout because her own kids lived too far away and she was just dying to pinch some little kids’ cheeks.
“Yes, a date,” I answered, deciding to go with the truth and give her the details she was so obviously fishing for. The woman had just helped me with a lipstick emergency.
“Is it with that handsome man I spoke with the other night?”
“Yes—wait, how did you know he was handsome?” I asked.
“His voice. He had a very handsome voice.”
Well, that was definitely true, but I wasn’t sure one equated with the other. “Okay, anyway,” I moved on, “he’s taking me out, and I want to look nice.”
“You always look nice, dear.”
It was a very motherly thing to say. And speaking of…
“Have you spoken to your mother lately?”
I knew I shouldn’t have called.
Swallowing down my guilt, I tried to distract myself by nitpicking my appearance in the mirror. I triple-checked my mascara, turned to the side to make sure I was panty-line-free, and did that horrible grin people did to inspect their teeth. “Um, no. Have you?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Jack got her a new phone, and it took her a while to get used to it. She says all the gadgets—that’s what she calls the apps—are confusing, but she’s getting the hang of it.”
“That’s good.”
“She misses you,” she said simply.
Stopping what I was doing, I stared in the mirror, blinking several times to hold back the emotions. “Okay, well, I’ve got to go, Aunt Sally. He’ll be here any minute. Thanks for the help.”
And then I hung up without even waiting for a response.
Because if she was telling the truth—if my mom did indeed miss me—why hadn’t she called?
And why had she run away in the first place?
“Keep your eyes on the road,” I instructed.
“I would, but I keep getting distracted.”
We’d been driving for a full five minutes since he’d picked me up for our date, and I thought the man had checked me out at least half of that time. It was a miracle we were still alive, considering the amount of time he’d spent not looking at the road.
“You’re the one who suggested I wear this dress,” I reminded him.
He grinned, looking rather impressive himself in a fitted dark gray suit. I’d known Sawyer for years, decades even, so I’d seen him dressed for all sorts of occasions, but until recently, I guessed I hadn’t really seen him.
Before, he’d just been Sawyer, the brother of Reed.
Now, he was Sawyer, and he was mine.
Or at least, I hoped he would be after this night.
“Are you going to tell me where we are go
ing?” I asked, catching him eyeing me again.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“If you don’t kill us first,” I chided.
“I’ll take care of you, Elle. I always will. Don’t worry.”
And I wasn’t. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t worried in the least.
Driving into town, I couldn’t help but notice all the Halloween decorations. Usually, I was too busy driving to check them out, but now that I was in the passenger seat, I could finally sit back and enjoy the view. There were orange and purple lights on rooftops, those tacky inflatable yard decorations everyone seemed to love, and of course, lots and lots of cobwebs.
“Did you see that house on the corner with the two skeletons?” I asked as I turned my head, trying to catch one last glimpse as we drove by.
He nodded. “Yeah, if you pay attention, they actually change them daily. Last week, they were holding a Happy Birthday sign up for their son. Yesterday, it looked like they were acting out a scene from a play.”
I laughed, wishing I had seen it before now. “That’s awesome. Today, I think they were having a romantic dinner. They were both dressed up and seated at a table with flowers in the middle.”
He stole a look in my direction. “Well, how about that?”
Had he had a hand in that?
Before I could ask, we were parking. Our town was only but so big, so as I glanced around, I quickly found our destination and grinned.
“Roma’s? I love this place!”
“Yeah? I wasn’t sure, but I took a chance since you loved the gnocchi I made. Their Italian is out of this world.”
“I’ve only been here a handful of times. Reed didn’t—” I stopped, realizing I was starting our date by talking about my ex.
“It’s fine, Elle. We can’t ignore our pasts.”
I wanted to say I knew very little about his, but I merely nodded. “I like the restaurant.”
Smiling, he answered, “Good.”
Stepping out of the car, he walked around, and I took the moment to appreciate the way he looked in his suit. It was true; the man could devastate most of the female population in a simple T-shirt and jeans, but in this? We were all done for.
Opening the door, he held out his hand and helped me out, taking his time to admire my dress just one more time. “You really are stunning, Elle.”
“Thank you,” I answered, wanting to just forgo the whole silly date idea and go straight to the after-party.
And by after-party, I meant sex.
Lots and lots of sex.
He took me by the hand, and we headed across the street toward the restaurant. Roma’s was known in town as the fancy place. This was where you took your sweetheart for anniversaries or to pop that all-important question. It was, by no means, anything like a five-star dining experience you’d find in Asheville or New York, but the food was fresh, the chef was magnificent, and it was the closest thing to elegant we had in Pine Hurst.
Sawyer was pulling out all the stops tonight, making sure to step forward to hold open the door for me. It was a simple gesture but one that made me feel treasured.
The place was busy but not packed. Being a weekday, it had a subdued vibe that instantly made me feel at ease. The lights were low, the candles were aglow, and the air smelled of roasted garlic and Italian spices.
Sawyer must have called ahead and made reservations—one of those things he’d said he wanted to do this afternoon, I assumed—so the hostess led us right to our table, a small spot toward the back with a view of the patio. The twinkling lights, used mostly for the summer months, were gorgeous, making a beautiful backdrop for our meal.
When the waiter arrived, Sawyer ordered a beer, and I went with wine. Soon, the conversation was flowing.
“So, how does it feel? To be on a date with me?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat.
“What do you mean? Does it feel weird? Or am I enjoying myself?”
He shrugged. “Both, I guess.”
Taking a look around, I tried not to notice the quick glances in our direction. Although they were being discreet, people had certainly noticed the two of us.
“I’m not going to lie,” I confessed. “It’s definitely different than baking cookies in my kitchen.”
“You mean, the eyes?” He grinned.
“Yeah,” I answered. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“That we’ll be the talk of the town by tomorrow morning?”
“Are you ready for that?” I asked.
“The question is, are you?”
Leaning forward, I reached out and took his hand, knowing the eyes that were watching would have a field day with that. “We’re doing nothing wrong,” I answered. “Let them talk. And to answer the rest of your question, yes, I am having an amazing time.”
He smiled, and it was a smile that could light up the room. “Good.”
Our drinks arrived just then, and we took a moment to order.
When I decided to try their gnocchi, his eyebrows rose in amusement. “Didn’t like mine?”
“No,” I countered. “I liked yours so much that I’ve been craving more.”
Although we were talking about food, the silence that followed felt more like static. Yes, we were both craving something, but it had nothing to do with gnocchi.
If I crawled over the table and mounted him, that would sure get the gossip mill going.
Clearing my throat, I decided that was probably not the best way to introduce our relationship to the town.
What had Sawyer said earlier that day—saving it all up for later? Yeah, okay, I could give that a go.
“Let’s play a game,” I suggested.
“What kind of game?”
“Twenty Questions?”
“Twenty? That’s amateur hour. Why not forty? I’ve got at least a hundred I could ask you right now.”
“Forty?” I laughed. “You’re insane.”
“You’re just not good at asking questions.”
Tilting my head to the side, I argued, “You’re not good at answering them.”
“That’s true,” he agreed. “Which is probably why I ask so many. It takes the attention off me.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made sense. “So, why don’t we play a game of Twenty Questions, but only I get to ask them?”
Looking slightly uncomfortable, he sat back in his chair and nodded. “Okay.”
“We don’t have to.”
“No, I want to. I’m just not used to being on the other end, you know?”
“So, why don’t I allow you a pass?”
“Just one?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. It can be unlimited. This is supposed to be a game, not an interrogation.”
“All right. Go for it.”
He looked like he was getting ready to take on the brunt of some brutal attack. This man truly didn’t like to talk about himself.
“Why don’t you like to talk about yourself?” I asked, deciding to go with the most obvious question first.
“I don’t know. I guess maybe it’s because no one really cared enough to listen or ask when I was younger.”
My heart hurt, hearing him speak. I hadn’t planned on such deep subject matter during our romantic date, but I guessed this was what I wanted—to finally know the man I was falling for.
“Why don’t you like your family, Sawyer?” I was getting straight to the point now, wasn’t I?
He opened his mouth. I could see words forming on his lips, but then he blinked, as if a second decision had been made. “Sorry, pass.” He must have seen my disappointment and hurt. Reaching out, his fingers touched the tip of my chin, and his gaze met mine. “It’s not because I don’t trust you. I just don’t want to unpack that tonight. This place is too beautiful of a setting for such an ugly topic.”
Nodding, I took him at his word.
Someday.
Someday, I would understand.
But not tonight.
“What’s your favorite color?” I blurted out, going with the first thing that came to mind.
A laugh broke free from his lips, instantly lightening the mood. “Well, usually, it’s red, but right now, I’d have to say it’s black.”
His eyes surveyed every inch of me, and I felt that pull again. The draw.
How had I never noticed it before?
How had we been near strangers for so long?
“Have you dated anyone serious?”
“Serious,” he repeated with a jovial smile. “No. I only go for jokesters.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” he answered, “I do. And the answer is no. Nothing serious.”
“Ever?”
There was that shrug again. “I’m not saying I’m a saint, but no. I guess I’ve just been waiting for the right woman.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“Ah, now, that’s a good one,” he replied, his mood returning. “Braveheart.”
“Braveheart?” I made a sour face.
“What is the matter with Braveheart?”
“It’s just so …”
“What?”
“Boring!”
He pretended to look shocked and offended. “Have you even seen it? It’s got everything—action, romance, emotion, honor, and bravery.”
“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so passionate about Braveheart.”
He grinned. “We’re going to watch it. You’ll love it. Promise.”
I was doubtful, but he looked quite sure of himself.
“Okay, if you’re so sure what makes a great movie, what is your favorite? Wait. Let me guess… is it—”
I held out my hand, stopping him. “If you say Legally Blonde, I will kill you.”
“So, you’ve heard that joke before, Elle Woods?”
“About a hundred times a year since the movie came out,” I answered.
“Well, damn. And here I thought I was an original.” He paused before asking, “So, what is your actual favorite movie?”
I thought about it. There was no doubt I’d seen a billion lately. But the one that stuck with me was a classic. “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“The old Christmas movie?”
