by Iris Trovao
She swallowed hard. She didn’t want to have to keep this a secret, but she also didn’t want to destroy her friendship, either.
Before she could get all up in her own head, her phone buzzed in her hand, and she glanced down at it, warmth blooming in her belly as she read it.
Carson: I can’t wait to see you.
She laughed and blinked rapidly at the rush of emotion that overcame her. “Don’t fuck up your makeup, idiot,” she muttered to herself as she took a deep breath.
I can’t wait for you to see me either, she sent back, I look amazing.
She added a little smirk emoji and sighed, flopping down onto the couch. Thor let out an indignant prooowwww and leapt up onto her chest, his furry ass right in her face.
“Ugh, dude,” she groaned, gently picking him up and moving him next to her instead, so she could pet him without suffocating.
Carson: Well that doesn’t make this any easier lol.
Jolie cackled. It definitely made her feel marginally better that she was making him nervous. Perhaps even as nervous as she was. I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to do with myself, LOL.
Carson: I thought you were working until 5?
She wrinkled her nose. Janos sent me home early because I was annoying him with my excitement. She stared at the words for a moment, taking a deep breath before hitting send.
Carson: I will admit, I ducked out of work early as well. Couldn’t focus.
She threw an arm over her eyes, but quickly removed it, checking to make sure she hadn’t dragged any eyeshadow along her elbow.
When I think we can’t get any lamer, she sent, adding an emoji with its tongue sticking out.
Carson: If being excited to see you is lame I’m fine with the title.
Her chest constricted, stomach fluttering, and she blinked rapidly again. “Why do you have to be so fucking charming?” she muttered. Okay Dr. Dork, I need to de-cat hair myself for the millionth time, she sent back. See you soon.
Those last three words sent her heart into her throat and a thrill up her spine.
Carson: See you soon, Jolie.
Jolie had specifically timed her cab ride so that she wouldn’t arrive at the restaurant early. She didn’t want to be sitting there awkwardly waiting, watching the door and wondering if every man that walked through it was him.
When she stepped out onto the salt-covered sidewalk, she suddenly realized she should have come early, that now she had to stand out here in the cold to muster the courage to walk in there. Insecurity gripped her chest like a vice.
Insecurity that she was too young, too inexperienced, too… She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the icy air morphing it into steam around her face. Buck up, Buttercup, she thought, and straightened her shoulders.
She very gracefully almost slipped on a patch of ice still melting from the salt before regaining herself, resetting and brushing her hair back over her shoulder.
“Madam.” A gentleman in a three-piece suit stood at the door, holding it open for her, and Jolie blinked at him.
I should have looked this place up before coming here, she thought. This shit is way too fancy. She’s known it would be like a real restaurant, because when she’d asked about dress code he’d said to dress up, but damn she felt out of her element here. She’d occasionally been to five-star places with John and his family on special occasions but it wasn’t often, and she’d always had a boisterous Alicia to make her more comfortable.
Okay, okay, shut up insecurity face, she thought as she stepped into the front lobby.
“Name?” the maitre’d asked, producing a hanger out of seemingly nowhere and extending a hand.
She shrugged out of her pea coat, hooking her purse back over her arm, and held the coat out to him. “Uh, Wessex?” she stammered. Carson Wessex. The name floated through her mind, sending a shiver up her spine. Doctor sexyfuckingass Carson Wessex, must your name be so gorgeous?
“Right this way, madam,” the man said with a flourish, motioning her to the left. As she entered the restaurant proper, her brain barely registered the soft lighting and crisp white tablecloths. The smattering of people about, each table far enough away from one another so they could have privacy even in a public space. The cream marble floor clacking beneath her heels.
All of this ceased to exist the second she laid eyes on him. And she knew it was him.
He stood up from a table in the far corner, candlelight reflecting off of his soft eyes. His salt-and-pepper hair was a bit tousled, and her fingertips twitched, wanting to run through the satiny strands. Stubble sparkled along his jaw, giving a ruggedness to his put-together appearance.
She felt like she was floating along the floor, moving towards him as if magnetized, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his shale-grey dress pants, seeming to change his mind as he pulled them back out, those large hands attached to broad shoulders attached to… My god, look at him.
And then he smiled, and she thought she might faint. The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled, his whole face lighting up, and it was as if the world exploded in vivid colour, like nothing else mattered but the happiness settling over her like a warm blanket.
The maitre’d said something that didn’t pierce her haze before disappearing.
Carson extended his hand to her. “Hi,” he said, and his voice was husky like rocks brushing together in a babbling stream.
Jolie felt dizzy with it, her own words failing her, and placed her small hand in his. The contact was like fire, as if their skin had always been meant to mould together, and he brought her knuckles up to his lips, those soft-looking, satiny lips.
She stifled a gasp as he kissed her hand, gaze never leaving hers, and she was sure that her heart would explode in her chest.
A thrill zigzagged up her spine, and all she could think was, Oh, I am so fucked.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Hold still,” Lily huffed, and if Carson wasn’t so nervous, he would have laughed at her parental tone. She finished adjusting the knot in his tie before stepping back to appraise him like one would a work of art.
“Well?” he asked hoarsely. “How do I look?”
“You look beautiful, dad!” Rose exclaimed.
Lily jammed her fists onto her hips. “Men aren’t beautiful, they’re handsome,” she said, raising her chin. “You look very handsome.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll take both,” he said, and Rose grinned.
“Girls,” he said, clearing his throat as the smile fell from his face.
Lily held up a hand. “Dad, if you ask us if this is okay one more time, I will scream. Seriously. We’re happy for you.”
Rose slammed into his side for a hug, and when he wrapped his arms around her, he marvelled at how the top of her head nearly reached his shoulder. “How are you both so grown up?” he asked, another question he’d asked a million times.
“Duh, you raised us,” Rose mumbled into his chest before stepping back. “Also, when do we get to meet her? You won’t tell us anything about her.”
He ran a hand through his hair, and Lily hissed, rushing forward to move his arm so she could fuss over the careful styling he’d just messed up.
“Well, there’s not much to tell, just yet,” he said.
Lily tsked and stepped back, frowning. “Did you meet her on a dating app?”
“Ah, no,” he replied quickly, shaking his head. “Not that there’s anything wrong with… No, I didn’t meet her on an app.”
“Then why isn’t there anything to tell?” Rose asked, cocking her head.
He took a deep breath. “Because,” he replied, pressing his lips into a thin line.
“Jeez, you really like this girl, huh?” Lily teased, and a flush crept up his cheeks.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “I am the adult. I shouldn’t be cross-examined by my own daughters.”
They both laughed, and he fought the smile threatening to creep over his face.
“You deserve to be happy,” Lily declared.
“I am happy,” he protested.
She gave him a pointed look, one that rivalled her mother’s stern gaze. “I know you’re not unhappy, dad,” she said. Her gaze faltered, and he had a feeling that she’d been about to compare his alone status with Gina’s not-alone status.
“Well, I appreciate you both being supportive of your old man having a night out,” he said, diffusing the tension of the moment.
Lily smirked deviously. “I can’t wait to meet her and embarrass the crap out of you.”
He reached out and pinched her nose between his knuckles gently. “Silly girl, I don’t get embarrassed.” It was a bold-faced lie, but his girls were kind enough not to call him out on it.
“Have fun, Daddy,” Rose said, and gave him another hug.
He kissed the top of her head and gave Lily the same treatment before putting his coat on.
“Be home by curfew!” Lily pointed a finger at him in her best parental impression.
He laughed. “Enjoy your pizza. There’s cheesecake in the freezer.”
“Really?!” Rose shrieked, and both girls tore off towards the kitchen.
Carson chuckled, shaking his head and grabbing his keys and phone before heading out the door.
Carson cursed his planning. He’d wanted to be early, so that he could greet Jolie when she arrived, so that she didn’t have to wait for him. But now that he was sitting there, every time the maitre’d moved he glanced hopefully towards the door.
Nerves twisted his guts. He didn’t know what she looked like—any woman could walk through that door and he might not know it was her. Rationally he knew that the maitre’d would lead her to the right place—he’d told her the name on the reservation—but irrationally his brain played out all the ways he could send everything spiralling horribly wrong.
Relax, relax, he chanted in his head. When he’d told Emilia about his date with Jolie, she’d been supportive—or at least as supportive as an impartial doctor could be. Again, his rational brain knew this was all a good, normal, okay thing. But worry and nerves…worry and nerves.
He ran a hand through his hair, inwardly cursing himself. Lily had spent so much time doing whatever it was that she'd done to it, and he kept tousling it without thinking.
He checked his phone for the time. Too late now, he thought. It was too close to six and he risked missing her if he went to the restroom to fix it. Or at least try to fix it—he wasn’t sure how without whatever products Lily had used.
He checked his phone again with a sigh, shoving it deep into his pocket instead. If she texted to cancel it would buzz, and he knew he didn’t need to keep checking it. If something came up, she’d let him know.
He choked back a sudden panicked thought—what if she’d come in already and seen him then left? What if she’d taken a look at him and decided he wasn’t—no. He swallowed the thought. He trusted her to be honest with him.
He folded his hands on the table then moved them down into his lap, interlacing his fingers. He didn't know what to do with his limbs. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as insecurity clawed at his chest. He was so much older than her. He could take her out for fancy dinners but would he be able to offer her the kind of things she really wanted to do? She was in her twenties, a time of carefree fun and freedom, and he had a career and kids and—
The maitre’d opened the door, and as his gaze locked on the woman entering, he knew straight away it was her. It was as if she’d brought sunshine inside with her despite the freezing January day. She handed over her coat and turned towards the dining room, soft brow knotted as she looked around.
Her large, curious eyes glimmered as she scanned, pouty lips pursed. The maitre’d invited her to follow him, and she gave him a small smile, high cheeks pinking as she began to move, gliding across the marble floor. She seemed so familiar, as if he’d known her in a past life…
He rose out of his seat almost in slow motion, without even registering that his body was moving. Her gaze found his, and it was as if everything else in the world ceased to exist. A smile erupted on his face, the brightness and sunshine she’d brought with her washing over him, and the shy curl of her lips sent his heart rate skyrocketing.
“A server will be with you shortly,” the maitre’d said, but the words were far away, as if echoing through the haze of a dream.
Carson extended his hand to her. “Hi,” he breathed, cursing himself for the underwhelming word, but he didn’t know what to say.
She placed her small hand in his palm, electricity zipping through him at the contact, the feel of her soft skin against his so right. He brought that gentle hand up to his mouth, leaning down to brush his lips against her knuckles, a subtle sweet scent of jasmine lingering as he breathed her in.
They stared at each other for a long moment, even after he lowered their hands, not letting go of one another.
“Hi,” she finally whispered, her voice like liquid silk.
After a pregnant pause, where it seemed as if they were going to be rooted to the spot forever, she giggled, and time seemed to snap back into vivid focus.
Carson couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling out of his own throat, and Jolie’s intensified, until the two of them were gasping for air and collapsing into their chairs. As he caught his breath, he watched her put a hand to her chest as she calmed herself down, cheeks and neck flushed from the exertion.
She curled her fingers around the waiting glass of ice water, pulling out the straw and plonking it on the table before tipping it back and gulping deeply. She smacked her lips when she was done, setting the glass down hard before folding her arms on the white tablecloth in front of her.
“Well,” she said, dragging out the word, “this is me.”
It is, indeed, he thought, and he fought the urge to run a hand through his hair again. “And this is me,” he replied, reaching for his own glass to clear his parched throat.
“It was very hard not to look you up to sneak a peek when you gave me your last name,” she admitted. “Cruel and unusual torture.”
He couldn’t help but smirk. “I suppose I could have booked the reservation under Dr. Dorky McNerdface.”
She laughed again, a guttural, wild sound that sounded so natural, so free, that he wanted to make her do it again and again.
“I would have loved to hear the door guy say that,” she gasped, and straightened her shoulders, assuming a haughty expression. “Dorky McNerdface for six o’clock,” she declared in a regal tone.
He nearly spit his mouthful of water, shaking his head to avoid doing so as he struggled to swallow. He couldn’t believe he’d been nervous. This was just the same as their conversations. Only better, because she was in front of him, with her chin resting on her fist, staring at him with amusement twinkling in her eyes.
His mouth went dry again just looking at her smile, and he took another sip of water, trying to calm his racing heart.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jolie couldn’t stop staring at him. Seeing Carson in the flesh, hearing his voice, it was surreal. It was comforting and familiar, like a dream of a balm in her darkest time.
Their server appeared just in time to save her from more awkward gawking at him, and Jolie realized she hadn’t even looked at the menu yet.
“Welcome, my name is Elle and I'll be your server tonight,” the woman greeted with a bright smile. “May I start you off with a drink? We have a wonderful wine menu.”
“Just the water is fine for me,” Carson said.
Jolie laced her fingers before her on the table. “You can drink if you want to, it won’t bother me.” She glanced up at Elle. “Do you guys do milkshakes?”
The server’s smile didn’t falter, though her brow tilted in confusion. “We…can.”
“Great, chocolate, please. With whipped cream if you got it.”
“Excellent,” Elle replied, and scribbled on her little notepad before turning back to Carson, e
yebrow raised in a question of whether he wanted to change his water to something else.
“I’ll have one of those, too,” he said.
“Two chocolate milkshakes,” she repeated, voice chipper, and strode off.
Jolie shook her head, the dangly bits on her earrings jingling. “I need to perfect that level of customer service face. I legit couldn’t tell if she loves her job or is just a really good actress.”
“What, you don’t love serving customers?” Carson asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
She wrinkled her nose. “Janos usually hides me in the back to bake.” She held up a finger. “Because he is a smart dude.”
“You said you enjoy making coffee though, too, as well as the baking.” He raised his glass of water to his lips.
“I do,” she agreed. “I’m even getting better at making all the pretty designs with the steamed milk so that it doesn’t look like a blob elephant or a limp dick.”
He sputtered, water shooting all over the inside of his glass and dribbling down his chin, and Jolie laughed into her hand, trying to hold it back and failing miserably.
“Sorry,” she mumbled through her fingers, but she wasn’t really. He was adorable when he was nervous, cheeks pink as he struggled to compose himself.
Carson set the glass down, clearing his throat as he lifted his napkin to wipe his chin. They grinned stupidly at each other for what felt like hours, or minutes, or some measure of time that seemed unquantifiable.
“Here we are,” Elle said, swooping in with a tray of the most decadent milkshakes Jolie had ever seen.
“Oh my god, these look bomb,” she blurted, blinking down at the parfait glass in front of her. “Thank you.”
Elle tucked her tray in front of her and her smile widened. “You’re very welcome. Our mixologist enjoyed getting creative. Do you need a few minutes to look over the menu?”
“What’s your favourite thing you guys make here?” Jolie asked as she swiped a finger through the mountain of whipped cream and popped the sweet treat into her mouth.
