“Just, thank you for this.”
“For strong margaritas and cheap Tex-Mex?”
I playfully slap his hand, laughing. “No. For talking me into this. I needed a night away from real life.”
Tyler raises an arm, stretching it across the back of the boothand gives me a contemplative look like he really sees me. “I like you like this, Jo.”
“Already tipsy with a mouth full of chips and salsa?” I quip.
“Carefree. Happy. Like last night when you won the competition. I love seeing your goofy side.”
Tyler directs a tender smile at me, but the moment is interrupted when we hear a series of gasps from across the restaurant.
“Jo,” Tyler starts, “Move to my side. You’ve got to see this.”
Turning, I crane my neck, and when I realize what he means, I swap to his side of the booth to witness the whole event. I’m halfway into my margarita and I keep giggling and leaning into him.
“This is actually happening, isn’t it?” I ask, between quiet gasps of laughter.
A young guy has dropped to one knee, holding open a ring box to a woman with tears streaming down her face.
“It’s happening,” he murmurs into my ear, and I feel it down to my toes. I’m completely aware we’re both talking about a full on Chili’s proposal, but it also feels like we might be talking about something more.
The entire restaurant erupts into applause, and since the tequila has really hit my system now, I let out a whoop, laughing into Tyler’s bicep.
When the applause dies down our food arrives, and rather than moving back to my side of the booth, I stay next to Tyler and we sit like a couple of love drunk teenagers.
“I can’t believe we witnessed a Chili’s proposal,” I say between bites of quesadilla. And then, because my mouth keeps forming words without my approval tonight, I ask, “Do you still want that?”
“A marriage proposal in a Chili’s?” Tyler teases.
I bite my lip, shaking my head at him. “Marriage. You were almost there once. Is that something you still think about?” Ittakes a second for Tyler to respond, instead he reaches over to brush a strand of hair from my face.
“Yeah, sweetheart. I think about marriage.”
He watches me for a long beat, his thumb idly rubbing the condensation on his glass. There’s something soft in his eyes again—something that makes me want to lean over and kiss him stupid.
“Tyler?”
His thumb pauses and he looks at me expectantly. “When you said this dinner doesn’t have to mean anything? What if I—well, what if I want it to mean something?”
Tyler studies me for a moment before he speaks. “This night can mean whatever you want it to mean. If it’s a dinner between two friends who happen to have a child together…well, I’m fine with that. And if it’s a date between two people who want something more…” He pauses, brows raised. “I hope I’ve made it clear how much I’d like that.”
Overcome with nerves for at least the tenth time today, I drop the topic before I can say something I can’t walk back from and grab a chip from the basket, chasing it with a gulp of margarita.
Tyler orders the molten lava cake because he remembered my love of sweets, and we share it, polishing off every last bite. A smile is permanently plastered to my face when we walk to his car, my arm looped through his. Tyler’s reaching to open the door for me, when I notice a dab of chocolate on his chin.
“You have chocolate right there.” I point to the chocolate, and he runs a thumb in the vicinity I’m pointing, but he doesn’t get it. “You missed it. Here.” Stepping closer, I swipe my forefinger across the side of his mouth, the chocolate now on my finger.
Before I know what’s happening, Tyler’s circling my wrist with his hand, pulling me closer, his smoldering gaze landing on mine. Bringing my finger to his lips, he closes his mouth around it to suck the icing off.
“Oh,” I breathe out in one lazy syllable.
“I wonder, Jo. Do you taste this sweet?”
As a woman who is usually so verbose, words simply fail me right now. Tyler smirks at my speechlessness, opens the door for me, and I get in, my mind going a mile a minute. What the…what was that? It seems Tyler brought his A-game tonight and everything about it is working.
The drive home is quiet. I’m pleasantly fuzzy headed, not only from the heavy handed Margarita, but I’m also still reeling from that comment. Soft music plays from his speakers and I close my eyes, smiling when “I Was Born to Love You” by Ray LaMontagne comes on. Reaching forward, I punch the volume button to turn it up. I can feel Tyler glance over at me, but I refuse to look at him.
