Everything was fine.
If I kept saying that, it would eventually make it true. Right?
Eight
Why had I agreed to this again?
Just a friend.Just a friend.
I could say it all I wanted—it still felt like a date. But Tate and I had dinner together all the time. We hung out, went to movies, did stuff, and we were just friends.
That’s all this was. A dinner with a friend.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror of the public restroom of my work building. Ugh. But I knew why I was doing this. To convince Tate I wasn’t a pathetic loser and to dissuade him from ever setting me up with one of his friends again. I couldn’t actually tell that to him—as evidence by my speech lockup three nights ago—so I’d have to let my actions speak for me. But did that mean I was using Landon?
My stomach flipped once more as I braced my hands on either side of the granite-inlaid sink. I let my head hang down, the muscles in the back of my neck stretching. Should I call Landon? Back out of the date? He was cute in an outdoorsy–Paul Bunyan kind of way, and so far he had been nothing but kind. He’d also said the dinner was between friends.Just afriend. Nothing more.
I lifted my hand and pulled down the elastic tie holding my mass of curls back in a ponytail. Strands of hair sprung back around my face. I bent over with my head down, ran my fingers along my scalp a few times, then whipped my head back up. A big poof ball of frizzy brown ringlets circled my head like the aureole that glowed from Catholic paintings of the mother Mary…except more poodle-like and less holy looking. I didnotneed to be seen in public like that.
I flipped my head back down, gathered all my hair at the back of my head, and started twisting, finally securing the frizz bomb with the elastic again.When all else fails, a bun comes to the rescue.Glancing at my watch, I exited the bathroom. I needed to skedaddle if I was going to catch my bus.
With my purse hooked over my forearm, I shimmied my opposite arm out of my fitted blazer, switched my purse to the other arm, and continued to rid myself of the jacket. The bus doors slid open just as my foot landed on the sidewalk. I scanned my city pass and took an empty seat halfway back. Depositing my purse and jacket beside me, I unbuttoned the top button of my blouse, pulled the material out slightly, then blew a long puff of air down my shirt to where perspiration had gathered between my breasts. For the most part, the Pacific Northwest’s climate was temperate, but there were some hot days in the summer, and almost none of the buildings had air conditioning.
The bus deposited me on the other side of the city, the restaurant another two blocks to the west. I trekked the rest of the way in my ballet flats, my copy ofThe Rock Creek Ranch Collectionmaking the strap of my purse dig into the crook of my elbow. Probably wasn’t a good idea to bring the four-book compilation in hardback along. A kindle boxed set would weigh a whole lot less.
Landon sat on a low cement wall that terraced colorful flowers on either side of the stairs leading up to the restaurant. He smiled and hopped down when he saw me, extending his hand to take my blazer and purse. Or at least that was what I thrust at him. Maybe he had been going for a handshake or a hug—how was I to know?
With a grin, he lifted my purse by the straps. “What do you have in this thing, bricks?”
My cheeks flushed, but I refused to be embarrassed by my love of literature. “Books.”
His brow rose, not quite as high as Tate’s did, but it had the same effect. Did all guys practice that move in the mirror or something?
“Ah. Should have known.” He leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “Dad warned me to be careful with the library types. Said underneath that quiet facade lay a wild woman.” His green eyes sparkled. “So tell me, Emory, are you hiding a wild side?”
I looked at him with a bland expression. “I’m about as wild as a snail after a rainstorm.”
Landon laughed, rich and full. It sounded like he didn’t hold back, and from what little I knew about him, I think that probably just about summed him up. My opposite. A woman who treaded carefully, bottled up thoughts and words, and lived in a world I kept small for comfort’s sake. A thread of envy wove its way into my consciousness. To be able to say anything, express the deepest parts of myself without fear—what would that be like?
My mind slammed shut on the thought. It would probably feel light and freeing for a moment, but the repercussions of such thoughtlessness would be like a noose closing around the neck of all my relationships.
Landon held out a crooked elbow—much like the lords did for the ladies in my Regency novels—and I slipped my hand in the groove. He opened the entrance door for me, then with a light touch at the small of my back, led me to the hostess podium. We asked for a seat on the patio even though the long, glass wall of doors had been slid open, creating one large indoor/outdoor experience. The hostess led us past dining couples to an empty table on the far side of the patio, where the wrought iron fence held up trailing ivy.
Landon opened his menu. “This is a nice place.”
“Very. You should try the salmon. I hear they get it fresh from the fishing boats every day.” I didn’t bother looking at the menu. After a year of weekly dinners here, I had the thing memorized.
Landon glanced up at me. “Is that what you’re getting?”
I shook my head. “I’m not really in the mood for seafood today, even if it is the best I’ve ever had.”
His lips kind of pushed to the side as he looked down at my menu, then back up at my face. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Their strawberry spinach salad is to die for.”
“Oh yeah?” He laid down his menu and folded his hands on top. “What else is good?”
I shrugged. “Everything. They can cook a steak to the perfect temperature, and their chicken dishes are always moist. The pasta is good, but nothing spectacular.”
