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She sucks in a breath. “What time?”
“Eight.”
“I’ll be there.” She smirks. “Probably.”
That mouth is going to get her into trouble. In one swift movement, I cage her in the chair, placing a hand on either side of her head. I push her legs together with mine. “Don’t stand me up, Little Dove.”
The reaction I expect from her never comes.
She shoves me hard in the chest, all while remaining seated, and I stumble back. And when I meet her eyes again, they are full of fear. All warmth drains from me.
“I-I’m sorry.”
I reach out for her hand. But she pulls away, looking embarrassed.
“Don’t be. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shoved you. If you don’t want to go to dinner now, I’ll completely understand.” She drops her gaze to my chest, and her demeanor has completely shifted.
Once again, I’m wondering who in the hell hurt her.
Placing my fingers under her chin, I lift her head, and she meets my eyes.
“Please don’t apologize. I won’t do anything again before telling you, I promise. I would love to get dinner with you. On one condition,” I tease slightly.
“What?” she quietly asks.
I chuckle, not realizing we have gone this long without exchanging this information. “Tell me your name.”
She smiles, but her eyes are still pained. “I’m Nikki.”
I stick my hand out between us. “Cam.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Cameron.” She smiles, and this time, it reaches her eyes.
“Just Cam,” I say lightheartedly.
She nods. “I suppose you’d better get back before they start to worry.”
“Yeah, we should probably go,” I say.
I offer her my hand. She takes it and stands up, then releases it. Baby steps—that’s okay.
We walk in silence out of the back room.
When she is about to turn and walk over to Chloe, I say, “Ask for me when you arrive. I’ll have the reservation in my name.”
Alec, Laura, and Jack are all leaning against the counter. I acknowledge them once before turning back to Nikki.
She smiles and says, “Eight o’clock—got it. See you tonight, Cameron,” she says mockingly.
I shake my head, smiling. Even if it’s not my actual name, it sounds damn good, coming from her mouth.
“Thank you,” I tell the waiter as he sets two waters down on the table.
My palms are sweating. They are fucking sweating. When have I ever been this nervous for a first date?
I check my phone for the millionth time. Seven fifty-five p.m. I made sure to be here twenty minutes early because I wanted to be here first. And I wasn’t sure how early she usually got to things, so here I am, sitting here for almost twenty minutes, trying not to pathetically look up every time a waiter brings someone to a table.
This restaurant has the best atmosphere. The lights are dimmed. Red, black, and gold decorate every table and room.
