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Great. Now she’s going to think I have nothing to discuss but the exterior design of my potential second bar.
This is why I don’t deserve nice dates. “Just for a few seconds,” I say, then do my damnedest to right this ship. “Then, I entertained deep thoughts about whether mojitos are better than martinis, the best cock art for a woman I very much wanted to impress, and if I had gloves for tomorrow’s beach cleanup.”
“Don’t tease a girl. Tell me more about the lighting thoughts. I haven’t met a man before who copped to thinking about lighting. Now, I need to know.”
Dragging a hand down my face, I groan, thoroughly busted. “Fine,” I say with a you caught me shrug. After a trio of men dressed more dapper than Zane pass us, chattering about the best sushi ever, I tip my forehead to the twinkling lights. “I thought those would look good with a little outdoor eating area at a potential second bar. You got it out of me, woman. You happy now?” I ask with narrowed eyes and a faux grumble.
“So very happy. Also, do it! I love fairy lights outdoors. They make everything feel like a secret garden. And gardens are sexy.”
Maybe I do get to have nice dates. “Glad I have the Elodie seal of approval.”
“Definitely. Also, are you opening a second location?” she asks, and she sounds fascinated by this topic, so maybe Zane was wrong. But then Elodie’s attention catches on something else. She’s pointing to the busy hotel entrance, and the evening crowds milling nearby. Well, to a little archway next to the entrance and then a storefront just beyond. “Is there a pop-up shop in the courtyard? Wasn’t that one selling those must-have cakes in a jar recently?”
“No idea,” I say.
Clasping my hand tight, she leads the way a few paces. The small courtyard is flanked by ivy-covered walls on one side. In the center sits a cobblestone fountain, the water sounding a little like chimes as it falls. A pack of girls who could be the cast of a Webflix ensemble show toss coins into it. Next to it is an empty storefront—formerly home of the jar cakes, I guess.
“Look at that,” Elodie says in a whisper, a little awed. Well, clearly she gets off, too, on talking about leases and retail space.
“Let’s see it.”
Her smile is magic. “Don’t you just know the right words to say to a girlie-girl business owner.”
I brush a few strands of her lush blonde hair from her ear, then whisper, “Don’t worry. I’ve got lots of other words I want to say to you later.” I keep my hand in hers as we bound up the steps to the courtyard. Beyond the fountain, an older man with a trim dark brown beard, warm bronze skin, and curious eyes sweeps the cobblestones. Looking our way, he gives a chin nod. “Good evening.”
“Don’t mind us. We’re just admiring the shop. This place is stunning,” Elodie says immediately.
“Want to check it out? It’s available next week,” he offers, an eager salesman it seems.
I’m not at all in the market for a pop-up shop, but maybe she is. “Sure,” she says, then looks to me with mischief in her eyes. “Let’s check it out…honey.”
I roll with the affectionate nickname, giving her one of my own. “After you, cupcake.”
The man chuckles to himself as he swings open the door for us. The space is tiny but clean. The inside looks like something out of a fashion magazine—one exposed brick wall, a sleek modern chandelier, and a clean, white bar.
Another wall is painted a warm yellow color. The chandelier illuminates some of the art on the wall—caricatures of San Francisco and Hayes Valley. “It’s sexy and fun,” she says as she drinks in the space, running a hand along the counter. “I could test out new flavors here. Tropical chocolates. Tea-infused squares. An extra spicy line.” It sounds more dreamy than real. But it’s a dream she’s enjoying, it seems. Sparking with ideas, her eyes meet mine. “What about you? Oh, I know! You could offer cocktail taste tests! Find out the answer to whether mojitos are better than martinis on Friday night.”
“Martinis,” I say decisively.
“Mojitos,” she declares with a bob of her shoulder.
I shake my head in dirty, flirty admiration of this woman. “That’s it. I have no choice.”
Her brow furrows. “You actually have two choices—martinis or mojitos?”
I close the distance between us and cup her chin. “I mean…I have no choice but to kiss you.”
“Oh,” she says, her voice feathery. She sounds and looks a little flustered. But the glimmer in her blue eyes says this is the good kind of flustered. “And why does that give you no choice?”
I don’t look away from those gorgeous eyes or her beautiful face. My focus is solely on her. “Because mojitos are sexy. Just like you. And I can’t wait any longer to kiss you, Elodie.”
Her pretty red lips part, and I’m dying, just dying, to taste her. “Then stop waiting,” she says.
I don’t rush in and crush her lips. I don’t slam my mouth to hers. I come in slowly, so we can both feel the tease, so we can climb the stairs up to this kiss together, savoring the anticipation, the final seconds till a kiss becomes more than a wish. Then, when she’s inches away from me, I drop my lips to hers, in a soft, slow kiss that lingers for several tempting seconds.
Seconds that could become all night long. That could become my kisses on her thighs, my hands on her ankles, our bodies tangled together. I finish the kiss with a bite, nipping on her lower lip, a little fiery, a little rough. Letting her know that I might start sweet, but I’ll finish hard, full of passion.
When I let go with a brush of my stubble against her cheek, she wobbles.
