by Lisa Shelby
“Fine, you don’t know what you’re missing then. Have you ever even tried one?”
“I can’t say that I have, ma’am.”
“Well, that is just not something that I can’t live with. You are going to share this with me and because I think your kinda cute, I’ll let you have the last bite. Then you can eat the frosting off the stick too.”
I can feel the blush rushing to my face! I should never try to be cute!
“Adorable,” he says under his breath with a little chuckle.
I take a couple of bites and then hand him the rest. He lifts that cocky little eyebrow again and then puts what’s left of the foodgasm on a stick into his mouth. As he pulls the stick out of his mouth and chews, I’m momentarily distracted by his perfect pink lips and am reminded how they felt on me just hours ago.
“Not bad at all,” he says. “Not sure I could eat a dozen of them but they are pretty good. Not as good as chocolate ice cream though,” he says with a wink.
“How can you even compare the two? They come from two different playing fields all together,” I say astonished while he escorts me to the jeep.
“I can compare them because I know it gets you wound up and I love it when you get all feisty. It’s kinda hot.”
He jumps in the jeep and starts the car. He goes about two blocks, parks, turns the car off and then jumps out and opens my door with his dimples on full display.
“Did we seriously just drive two blocks?”
“Yes, we did. I am giving you the full southern gentleman experience and no gentleman would make you walk in those heels,” he says as he offers me his hand.
Entering the small but beautiful Carbonara Trattoria Italian restaurant the delicious smells fill my head. I realize I haven’t eaten since our snack style lunch on the trail today and I’m starving. Thank goodness he made reservations and our table is ready. Jonathan motions for me to step in front of him and follow the hostess to our table. As I move past him there it is; that smell that is all Jonathan. I’m suddenly hungry for something besides this delicious smelling Italian food.
When we reach the table Jonathan pulls my chair out for me and helps me scoot my chair in. Just like he said, always the gentleman. The hostess hands us our menus and tells us about tonight’s specials, but I don’t hear a word. Jonathan’s eyes are staring into mine as she speaks and when she finishes, he says, “Thank you,” but his eyes never leave mine.
“You are so beautiful. You know that, right?”
“You aren’t so bad yourself, Georgia.”
“It’s going to be really hard to sit across this table from you when all I want is to be next to you. But I’m the one that requested a romantic table for two so here we are.”
“I think you’ll manage just fine. You’re a big tough Marine and I am pretty sure you’ve faced tougher adversity than a romantic dinner for two.” I reach out to pat his hand in a fun but patronizing way but he doesn’t let me get away with that. He takes my hand in his and starts to rub his thumb back and forth on the back of my hand. I had no idea how badly I craved his touch until I had it back.
“Thanks for coming to dinner with me tonight, Emily,” he says with true sincerity. “Now what sounds good?” Picking up his menu and releases my hand. I feel like a puppy with separation anxiety at the loss of his touch. “How does Mozzarella Caprese sound to start with?”
“You had me at cheese. Sounds great.” I say perusing the menu.
Our server, a cute Barbie doll-blond, comes by to take our drink orders. When Jonathan orders our appetizer he points to it on the menu and Barbie feels the need to put her hand on his shoulder, and make sure her plastic doll boobs are on full display. I’ll give it to him. Jonathan doesn’t take the bait and his eyes never leave the menu until she’s removed herself and her plastic tits from his space.
Does Barbie not see me sitting right here? I mean, I know he’s way out of my league, but still, is there no such thing as girl-code? I don’t recall ever having this feeling before. It feels like it could be jealousy, but it can’t be jealousy because I just don’t do jealousy. Green simply isn’t my color. No, I’m not jealous—just pissed at the blatant lack of respect Barbie has shown me. If I can’t handle this little incident how the hell did my mom sleep at night knowing what my dad was up to? It just makes me sick.
After she walks away Jonathan says, “Everything all right? You look kinda pissed at the moment.”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine isn’t going to cut it. Please tell me. Did I do something to upset you?”
With a huff I say, “You didn’t do anything at all but Barbie, our server, has a lot of nerve. I know that we aren’t exclusive but she doesn’t know that. There is this thing called girl-code and you do not just blatantly shove your boobs—fake or not—into a guy’s face when he is clearly on a date with another woman. I just cannot stand women that don’t have respect for other women. That’s all.”
After I finish my rant his face slowly breaks out into that beautiful smile of his, dimples and all.
He then shakes his head and his face grows serious when he states, “First, I do want to make one thing clear. We are exclusive. When we agreed that it would be you and me for a week, we may have said no expectations but that did mean there would be nobody else for either of us this week.” He says this while pointing back and forth between us. ”JUST. YOU. AND. ME.” As he finishes his statement he puts his forearm on the table, leans toward me, lifts one eyebrow and looks me dead in the eye as if to dare me to disagree with him. I simply nod my understanding
“Second, you are too cute when you’re jealous.” The smile and dimples that light his face say just how pleased he is with himself.
And…enter blush. “I am not jealous, it’s just basic girl-code. She broke it and her tip will reflect it,” I say matter-of-factly as I pretend to look over the menu so I don’t have to look at him.
“Gracie,” he demands in the lowest, sexiest voice I have ever heard. He waits in silence until I look at him. “I only see you. Since the first moment I laid my eyes on yours in Ole’s, it has only been you.”
The passion and intensity of his words flip me inside out and I’m so glad he can’t feel my internal quivering. “Ok,” I barely get out on a whisper.
“Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page and don’t you worry about Barbie either. I will be sure her tip reflects her blatant disregard of the girl-code. So, what looks good?”
“Jonathan, I don’t want you to think you have to pay for every meal I eat in a day. I can pay for my dinner, but thank you.”
I can tell instantly that I’ve said the absolute wrong thing. Once again, he leans across the table only this time beckoning me with his forefinger. I put my hands on the table and lean forward so we’re only a few inches apart.
He gathers himself and on a quiet growl tells me, “Emily, you are only giving me a week. You and me for one week, that’s the deal we made. That means for one week you are mine and I take care of what’s mine. It may be my southern up-bringing, the honor I feel being a Marine or just the need of a man who wants to take care of his woman. It’s just the way it is, Emily. I said I would be willing to take only a week. If I am willing to do that then the least you can do is let me be the man who finally treats you like you deserve to be treated. Got it?”
“Got it, Jonathan.” I answer on a shocked breath.
He sits back in his chair with crossed arms and just stares at me with those beautiful hazel eyes. His eyes have the longest, most beautiful lashes I have ever seen on a man. He captivates me and scares me. The Emily I have built to be strong and independent over the years would never tolerate a man talking to her the way he just did, but here in this moment his words fill me with a comfort and relief I didn’t know I was looking for. I want him to take care of me like I have never wanted anything before.
“Jonathan, I am so sorry if I offended you. It wasn’t my intention, I just wanted you to know that I didn’t expect
…”
“Shhh…” he says reaching out to take my hand and start his soothing circles on the back of it again. “We’re all good and I’m not offended. I just don’t want to waste our time going back and forth arguing about who’s paying. I’m also frustrated that I finally meet a woman like you at a time that isn’t ideal for either of us.”
“Here you go,” Barbie says placing our drinks in front of us. “So, are you ready to order?” she says as she puts her hand back on Jonathan’s shoulder.
“Gracie, baby, why don’t you go ahead?”
That bitch…Barbie…finally gets a clue and removes her hand from his shoulder, takes a step back and looks my way.
“What can I get you?”
“I’ll have the Fusilli Pugliese please.” Smiling, I shake my head at his obvious attempt to prove to me that he meant what he said just moments ago. It also doesn’t escape me that he not only called me Gracie, but he also called me baby. Hearing him call me baby…well that sends the butterflies in my stomach into overdrive.
“And you, sir?” Barbie asks without looking him in the eyes with her plastic tits this go ‘round.
“I’ll take the Chicken Marsala. Thank you,” he says handing her his menu.
“Thank you both and I’ll have your Mozzarella Caprese out in just a moment.”
After she walks away I take a deep breath and ask the question that has been on my mind all day.
“Why do you keep calling me, Gracie?”
“Does it bother you?”
“No. It should, but it doesn’t.”
“Why should it bother you?”
“It was something special between my grandparents. It was his way of telling my grams that she was special and that he loved her without having to say it,” I shrug my shoulders. “It was something intimate and personal between the two of them. It was their thing.”
“If it bothers you I can stop…”
“No!” I step over his next words, afraid to hear them. “I didn’t mean that I wanted you to stop. I was just curious that’s all. It’s not like you use it all the time anyway,” and at barely a whisper I tell him, “I like it.”
“Well, I don’t want to wear it out so I’ll use it sparingly, but don’t forget Emily, you are special and you deserve to feel special every day.”
Where did this side of him come from? He can be so playful one minute and then so serious the next. I think it’s time to lighten the mood.
“So, Georgia, I know you can’t be as perfect as you seem, so tell me one bad habit you have.”
He seems to be thinking rather hard if his scrunched-up forehead is any indication.
“No can do. I simply do not have any.” he says as he takes a sip of his beer. His Stella leaving a shine of beer on his lips that he has to lick away. Now, I am jealous of that beer! Oh. My. God. Those. Lips. I silently pray that I will get to lick those lips by the end of the night.
We’re interrupted by another server dropping off our appetizer and we both dig in the moment the plate hits the table.
“I had no idea I was so hungry,” he says taking his first bite.
“Nice try,” I say in between bites. “Give me one bad habit. Okay, not a bad habit just a strange habit or tidbit that would surprise me about you. It doesn’t have to be anything serious, just something little that only you would notice about yourself.”
He continues chewing.
Wiping my hands off on my cloth napkin and sitting up straight in my chair I huff. “Fine, I’ll go first. Let’s see, there are so many to choose from…I know! I am a sticky note whore, addict, abuser…whatever word you choose would be acceptable. I have them in every size, shape and color. I use them for everything. To leave myself notes, as bookmarks, as ways to make notes in my text books without writing on the pages—so I can get more for them when I sell the books after my classes are over. I use them so much that when I leave poor Cami notes now she doesn’t even notice them. She actually rarely sees the notes I leave her because they all just blend in to each other.”
He looks at me like I am a crazy person and simply says, “Sorry to let you down, but I really don’t have any bad habits like that.”
“Oh, come on Georgia! Of course you do, everybody does!”
“Sorry to disappoint you, little missy but nothing comes to mind. If something does though I will be sure to let you know. So, have you ever sought treatment for your sticky note problem?”
“You suck, you know that, right?” I say as I stick my tongue out at him.
The rest of the meal is full of laughter, teasing, easy conversation and some of the best Italian food I’ve ever had.
Barbie returns and offers us the dessert menu.
Jonathan takes a quick look at the menu and turns to Barbie and says, “We’ll take one Love Cup and two spoons please.”
I just roll my eyes and shake my head.
“What?”
“It’s just a little cheesy, isn’t it? The Loooooove Cup? I mean come on, Jonathan.” I laugh.
“I can’t help it if chocolate mousse, strawberries and whipped cream sounds good to me. I didn’t name the damn thing, I just ordered it. If you’re too cool to share it with me, no biggie. I’ll just eat it myself. Not a problem at all. I’ll just let your friend, what was her name again? Oh yeah, Barbie, that’s it. I’ll just let her know we only need one spoon when she comes back then.”
“Well, I don’t want to be rude and make you eat all by your lonesome. I’ll take my spoon and be a team player,” I huff out a heavy sigh like it is truly a great sacrifice.
One hour and one Love Cup later we’re walking hand in hand on the beach. Jonathan has thought of everything and has a blanket and an extra hoodie for me over his arm as we leisurely walk.
“You know, a gentleman would have let me have the last bite of dessert, don’t ya think?” I say as I giggle at the memory of our spoons fighting over the last bit of chocolate mousse. Then the stare down that took place while we tried to wait each other out to see who would take the last piece of the chocolate almond brittle shell that once held said mousse.
He stops walking and releases his hand and brings it to his heart with a bewildered look of pure confusion on his magnificent face.
“I must say, I was under the impression I was spending my week with an independent woman who didn’t need a man to take care of her. A woman who has made it perfectly clear she could take care of herself. The opportunity was yours and you chose not to take it. I must say I am confused by your accusation to say the least,” he says as he brings his hand to my face to push a rogue hair behind my ear.
His touch is all it takes, and instead of giving him the smart ass comment I know he’s waiting for, I place my hand over his as it cups my jaw and lean my face into it. The warmth and electricity I feel from this little bit of contact is something I’m not sure I will ever get used to.
“Gracie, I have to kiss you, now.”
Without waiting for my reply he drops the blanket and hoodie to the sand. He brings his other hand to my face and his lips are on mine. I can’t help the moan that comes from deep inside my chest. His kiss is soft, warm and gentle. He’s kissing me like he doesn’t want to rush a thing and wants to make this last. He makes me feel like I am all his and that this kiss feels as special to him as it does me.
This moment is pure perfection.
Moonlight, sand, the sound of the ocean and the most alluring man I have ever met. I pray to the heavens above not to let this moment, night, week or any of it ever end.
His hands have moved to my hair and he’s holding my head as though I’m fragile. Things become heated as our tongues start dancing with one another. The pace has picked up to the point that we both feel almost frantic, but he pulls his lips from mine. Still holding my head in his hands, he brings his forehead to rest on mine and whispers, “Gracie.”
At the sound of this name on his lips everything inside me soars to another level and a shiver runs through me that I can�
�t control. I can feel my entire body start to shake with…with…I don’t know what. Is it adrenaline, excitement, anticipation, happiness, lust?
“You’re cold, here let me get my hoodie for you,” he says as he bends down, collects the hoodie he brought for me and shakes the sand off of it.
As he dresses me in his sweatshirt, that smells deliciously like him, I tell him with my head lowered in embarrassment, “I’m not really cold, I just…”
“What?”
Why did I open my mouth when I don’t want to go there?
“Emily, you can tell me anything. As long as it’s the truth, there isn’t anything you can’t tell me.”
On a heavy exhale I lift my eyes to his, “I don’t know what is about you, Jonathan. You just make me feel things I haven’t felt before. I feel like my emotions are all over the place. Not in a negative way, just in a new and scary way that I’m not used to. You’re the kind of risk I never take, but I feel like I’ll regret it if I don’t. I promised Cami, and myself, more importantly, no regrets. I know I’m probably not making any sense. It’s just overwhelming but incredible at the same time,” with a shrug I turn my face to the waves of the Pacific in the hopes that I don’t see rejection or regret on his face.
The silence that follows is deafening as I turn my body to face the ocean and take a couple of steps towards the incoming waves so that my feet get wet. This feeling, that is starting to overtake me, is exactly why I don’t get involved. It hurts too bad and I have only known him for a matter of days.
I hear movement behind me and figure he’s picking up the blanket and my shoes that were dropped from my hands during the moment we just shared. But not a second later I feel his warmth on my back as his arms come around my waist and pull me tight to him. As I wrap my arms around his, I look down and see that his shoes are now off and his feet are bare and getting wet with mine.
With his lips just above my ear, so that I can feel his warm breath, he speaks and takes my breath away. “Em, if you are feeling even half of what I’m feeling in this moment or hell, any time I touch you, then baby you are making perfect sense to me. What you do to me and how you make me feel is unreal, unexpected, and all-consuming. I’m not sure why I agreed to one week because I have a feeling it’s going to kill me to let you go, but right now I need to be with you, right here, in this moment. I want to get to know you. To explore everything about you, that you’ll let me. I want to make you feel as special as you deserve to feel. I want to make it so hard for you to say goodbye to me at the end of our time together that you just don’t,” I try to speak but he gives me a little squeeze and says gently, “No. We aren’t talking about the reasons you can’t give me more than a week tonight, so please don’t go there.”
