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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.
