I reach across the table, not to fix it, but to be here. To be a safe place for her, because it seems her home was taken from her, too.
“I love your words,” I say gently.
She smiles at me, tears spilling down her cheeks as she puts her hands in mine.
“All of them,” I add.
She gives me a quizzical expression before saying, “What do you mean all?”
“How much do you want me to admit to?” I tease.
“All of it.” She grins.
“Well, Grant Calloway is a more interesting person than he should be for being a politician,” I reveal. “And Colt Lawson, that guy is amazing.”
“Wait?” She gasps. “Colt Lawson was a bull rider I interviewed for my high school newspaper.”
“Yeah. I did a deep dive,” I admit.
“And?” she asks, squeezing my hands.
“I’m thinking about buying a cowboy hat and some boots,” I say.
Rachel laughs loudly, and she doesn’t care that she’s loud, that people are looking at her. And I realize, I don’t think she knows people are looking at her. I don’t think she cares with the way she’s looking at me.
“My writing can’t be that convincing,” she says.
“Well, you’re right. I don’t want to run for governor any time soon,” I add.
She smiles at me. “I’d vote for Evan Michaels.”
I’ve been thinking about what happens after this all day. The walk back to the hotel. The ending to the night. The right way to write this part of our story, and I keep remembering what Rachel said about a perfect first date.
While we didn’t have food, we are having a great conversation, and I can give her the rest of the perfect first date.
After leaving Candace a hundred-dollar bill on the table for a tip, we walk slowly back to the hotel, her hand wrapped in mine. We don’t say anything. We just feel this moment, because it reallyfeelslike a moment to remember.
We ride the elevator up, and I continually sneak glances of her reflection in the mirror, memorizing every one of her curves, her freckles, her strands of hair, her bare feet. I could close my eyes and still see her perfectly.
When the elevator stops at her floor, I walk her to her hotel room door.
“I had a good time,” she whispers into the thick space between us—thick because I can feel everything.
Every anticipation. Every desire. Every nerve. And I want to feel hers.
I lean in and she stops breathing.
I gently brush my lips against her cheek, lingering, taking in the heat of her skin. Wanting to taste her lips. Wanting so much more of her.
Yet, I resist trying to give Rachel the delayed gratification she described the night before. She mentioned wanting a man to wonder a little bit longer.
And now I know why.
Because this is going to drive me absolutely insane.
Her lips. Her scent. Her laugh. Her smile.
Her everything is going to fill my every second until I see her again. In fact, I don’t think I’ll even have to really think about her. She’s just going to live in my thoughts. Take up permanent residence. And she can have it all.
