“Hi,” she smiles brightly at me. And reaches for the flowers. “Thanks for these. How did you know peonies are my favorite?” She leans in close and kisses my cheek. I can’t help it, I wrap my right arm tight around her waist and hug her to me as she kissed me. I let go when she moves to step back.
“I didn’t. But Ms. Maeve said they’re called angel cheeks, and you’re my angel, so I figured…” I trail off feeling like a tool.
“Well, I love them. Come on inside while I put them in water and grab my jacket,” she says as she holds the door wide open. And not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I follow her in like a lost puppy.
Angel makes her way towards the back of the house and into a bright, sunny kitchen. She sets my flowers on the counter gently. Almost, lovingly. Then heads over to a big white buffet cabinet. She opens the upper glass cabinet door and stands on her toes but can’t quite reach what she wants. I make my way to stand behind her to see if I can see what she’s looking for and, I can’t be held accountable for what happened, it just did. I maybe leaned in a little too close. Her back to my front. My cock nestled lovingly between her cheeks. I bite my lip as I reach for the crystal vase she was reaching for.
Angel grabs onto the lip of the cabinet and holds on for dear life. She tips her head back against my shoulder and her eyes drift closed as I hear her breath catch in her throat. Maybe, my little Angel isn’t as unaffected as she would like to have me believe. Things are looking up! I carefully lift the vase and set it on the counter area of the buffet, leaning in so my lips are right by her ear.
“Here you go, Angel,” I say. My voice husky even to my own ears.
“Thanks,” she croaks out. I take a step back and release her from the moment we seem to be caught in, this pull between Angel and me.
I see her steady herself with a deep breath and a naughty smile she throws me over her shoulder and I can’t help but smile right back. She grabs the vase and heads over to the sink. Angel moves to the fridge and grabs a can of sprite and then makes her way over to the vase. She pops the can and dumps about a third of it in the vase and then offers the can to me.
“No thanks,” I laugh.
“Suit yourself, but my pretty flowers will appreciate it,” she fills the vase with water and carefully opens Ms. Maeve’s ribbon and paper wrapping. Then delicately places her bouquet in the soda and water mix. Afterwards, tying the ribbon around her left wrist. “There. Ready to go?” She says studying her work.
“Yes, ma’am,” I smile at her.
As she walks back toward the door, I really get a chance to look at her. Dark skinny jeans that could be second skin and a dark green, silky tank top that flows from her breasts just giving a hint of the glory that lies beneath. And Fuck me, she finishes it off with black heels. They’re nothing special. Not the designer labels girls I dated in New York wore, but they are shiny and have a tall enough heel to make her ass look great.
It takes a minute for her to lock the old door once we’re on the front porch and I reach around her with both arms to help shimmy the handle so the door with lock. I lead her down the walk to my truck and surprise her by opening her door for her.
“A gentleman? I thought you were a dying breed,” she asks with a fake shocked face. I wink and shut her door behind her.
“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her as I climb in and start the truck. “One of the last remaining.”
“You’re not what I was expecting,” she tells me softly.
“And what were you expecting?” I ask her back.
“I’m not really sure. But I like what I see,” she says softly.
The rest of the ride to the Bourbon Barrel, the best steakhouse in Texas, and only twenty miles outside of town, passes in comfortable silence. Angel is a gal who doesn’t need to fill silence nervously or awkwardly. I like that. I could almost see spending quiet nights at home with Angel and Steve, reading by the fire. Now where did that thought come from?
When we get to the Bourbon Barrel, I park the truck and quickly hop out and run around it to help Angel down. I offer her my arm as we walk into the restaurant and she takes it with a soft smile. I have a reservation and Maker’s is in a town about as big as Tall Pines so everyone knows everyone. When we walk up to the hostess she grabs two menus and leads us to a quiet booth in the back.
“Here you go,” then hands us our menus.
“Thanks, Amy,” I tell her.
“Thank you,” Angel tells her.
We study the menu for a while. I can’t tell if she’s a red wine or lager girl with her dinner. I’m about to ask her when she scares the shit out of me.
“Oh, this is a steak place?” She asks innocently. When I nod yes, she answers. “Damn, I guess I forgot to tell you, I’m a vegetarian.”
And just like that my brain seizes. I let out a wheeze thinking well, it was nice knowing you, Angel of my dreams. How could I fuck up a date so badly before we even order drinks? Jesus.
“Got you!” She laughs. And I’m stunned. “Seriously, how rare do you think they can make it?” She asks in all seriousness.
“Wait, you’re not a vegetarian?” I ask.
“No way. My mom was though. Hated the stuff. Felt we shouldn’t eat animals. Mable and I always felt that they shouldn’t be so delicious if we weren’t supposed to eat them,” she laughs and I can’t help but laugh with her.
When the waitress shows up, we both order prime rib with loaded baked potatoes, broccoli with salads and a bottle of red wine to start. The food is amazing but the conversation is better. I can’t believe how amazing Angel is. She’s more. So much more. But I still can’t bring myself to tell her that I remember her from the hospital in New York.
