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I should be tired. I only slept for a few hours before coming in for the Friday lunch rush, but I’m buzzing with pent-up energy. Because I know Bobby’s coming in for dinner again tonight.
“I told you. He was a perfect gentleman. We had dinner—”
“At Lookout Point,” Olivia says, interrupting me. She’s already heard this story three times, but I think she’s hoping that, in repetition, I’ll let her in on some new secret. Maybe she’s been paying attention to Chief Gibson? Or bingeing late-night crime documentaries like me?
“And watched the sunrise. He played his guitar and sang, and I took pictures. You want to see those again too?”
I took hundreds of pictures last night, playing with my settings to get the lighting just right to capture the stars, the town, the beauty. And Olivia has seen all those pictures, along with the select ones I posted to my blog last night and this morning.
I didn’t show her the ones I took of Bobby when he started really getting into his songwriting, though. It’d been like seeing a private side of him, and I’d felt like a voyeur but hadn’t been able to turn away from the gut-wrenching process he went through to get the song to come to life. He played the same few chords at least a hundred times, humming under his breath and finally getting louder as he felt it improve bit by bit. Eventually, the hums had become words, his every thought and emotion laid bare right in front of me with no filter or façade. It’d been beautiful to witness, a true gift, and those pictures are private. They’re not inappropriate, there’s no skin showing or anything like that, but Bobby’s heart is blatantly and vulnerably wide open in each and every shot.
Olivia sighs, disappointment written in the roll of her eyes. “No, unless there’s some naughty pictures mixed in there that you forgot to show me?” she asks hopefully, batting her lashes at me with her hands clasped below her chin.
I glare at her. “No naked pictures. But after Lookout Point, he drove me home, walked me to my door, and kissed me good night. Or well, good morning because it was after sunrise?” I shake my head, unworried. “He kissed me goodbye, how about that? And he said he’d see me tonight for dinner, like usual.”
“You lucky bitch!” Olivia exclaims. I shush her when a family of four glares over at her language, but she’s on a roll. “I am so excited for you. And for me.”
“You?” I ask, my brow furrowing.
“Girl, I got a front-row seat to the one and only Bobby Tannen falling head over heels for you and your getting swept off your feet so fast you didn’t know what hit you. Hell yeah, for me. This is exciting stuff!” The mom at that table lifts her hand and Olivia waves back to let her know she’s coming. “I want to hear the kiss part again after I get this lady another glass of tea.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “Can you say die-ah-beet-us? I mean, I could’ve given her a straw and pitcher if I’d known she was gonna go through five glasses before her burger is even ready.”
Quick as can be, Olivia is off, getting the lady a glass of tea with a smile that belies the smack she was just talking before checking on her other tables too. Truthfully, I’m not in a hurry for her to get back and needle me into repeating the kiss story again.
I kept it short and sweet and honest. Bobby walked me up to the porch of my little cabin and pushed my hair behind my ear. He’d gotten in close, pressing me against the front door. Sandwiched between him and the door, I’d felt just how much he wanted me. Let’s just say it was . . . a lot. Like more than I’ve ever had in so many ways type of a lot. Then he’d cupped my face like he had at the bar and bent down to kiss me as I lifted up to my toes.
That was what I told Olivia, but the real truth was that Bobby had knocked my socks off with that kiss. It’d been sweet and sensual, passionate and powerful. He took his time, his kiss a drawled-out, unhurried expression of need and desire. And if I’d been a different sort of girl, I probably would’ve done something slick like open the door behind me and pull him in with me. But I hadn’t. If I’d done that, I probably would’ve fallen inside and busted my ass on the wood floor, and Bobby would’ve laughed before helping me up.
He would kiss my boo-boos better, I bet.
I groan at the errant thought. I’m not innocent by any stretch, but I get the feeling that what I consider sex and what Bobby Tannen considers sex are two completely different things. And like my Mom always told me, I need to experience things with reckless abandon. I think Bobby Tannen is one of those things for sure.
