I laugh. “Tell meanyway.”
I don’t tell himI’d listen to him recite the dictionary just to hear his gravely, masculinevoice. When he talks, my skin prickles in delight.
He tells me abouthow his grandfather started the real estate business back in the sixties, andthen his dad took it over. But his dad is kind of an asshole and alcoholic, andran the company into the ground, and it wasn’t until Gabe finished college andgot his real estate license, that he decided to take over the crumbling familybusiness and build it back up again. It’s really sweet listening to him talkabout his grandfather and how much it meant to keep his company alive.
“Do you sell housesor business properties?” I ask. A while back, the building I rent for my bakerywent up for sale and I had wanted to purchase it, but it ended up being way tooexpensive. No mortgage company would even consider lending me that kind ofmoney. As it is, some corporation bought it and continues to rent me the shopspace for a whopping two grand a month.
“We do both,” hesays. “Commercial properties bring in the most money, but people always needhouses, so we sell those, too.”
“Cool,” I say.There’s something else right on the tip of my tongue that I’m dying to ask.It’s just a few words but I can’t seem to manage to get them out.
Where do you live?
If I ask, and hetells me, then this night is over. He’ll obviously live too far away from MableFalls, and all my dreams of living happily ever after with the man will shatterinto a million pieces. Texas is a huge place. There’s no way he lives close tome. So instead of asking what I want to ask, I choose random questions abouthis job instead of his private life.
Our waitress walkspast us carrying a tray with two cocktails on it that are made of red white andblue liquids that rest on top of each other like some kind of high schoolchemistry project.
“What is that?” Iask her.
“It’s our signaturecocktail,” she says with a smile.
I look at Gabe andhe grins. “Can we have two of those?”
“Sure thing,” thewaitress says.
“I’m not much of adrinker,” I tell him as I take a sip of my sweet tea. “But those were just reallycute.”
“Ah yes, I alwayschoose my liquor based on its cuteness,” Gabe teases.
I throw my waddedup straw wrapper at him. With a swift motion, he catches it and throws it backat me.
I lift my eyebrows.“Nice catch.”
“Nice throw,” hesays.
Our drinks arrive,and soon our conversation feels easier. I don’t ever want this dinner to end,even though we both finished eating half an hour ago. One drink turns into two,and then a third. This red white and blue thing is delicious. I’m not a hugedrinker, so I can’t tell what kind of liquor it is, but the red tastes likecherry, and the blue tastes like blueberry and when Gabe laughs, I can see histongue is a little bit blue too. When I realize that I’ve been spending thelast few minutes picturing his slightly blue tongue in my mouth instead oflistening to the story he’s telling me, I blush.
“Maybe three drinksis enough,” I say, pulling the straw out of my mouth. My third drink is mostlygone now, and his is empty as well.
“I’m not much of adrinker,” he says, running his hand over his hair. I want to touch that hair sobad. He grins. “I might be more of a lightweight than you.”
I smile. “Well, wecan go out to the parking lot and give ourselves sobriety tests to see whowalks in a straighter line.”
The parking lot isthe last place I want to be, and for a split second, I think he might he thinkingthe same thing.
And then ourwaitress comes and drops off two slips of paper. Our bills for the evening.
Gabe swoops up bothof them and places his credit card on top. “Dinner is on me tonight.”
My mouth opens toobject, but then I think better of it. If a guy wants to do something nice forme, who am I to stop him?
“Thank you,” I say,hoping he knows I truly mean it. I’ve been single for so long, and the lasttime I went on a real date, the guy insisted that we pay for our own meals tokeep it fair. It feels nice to be treated like someone special.
“Thank you forhaving dinner with me,” he says.
“You’re way bettercompany than my phone,” I say playfully.
After he pays, weget up to leave, and I realize the alcohol might have been too much for me. Istand up and feel shaky, like the floor is moving just a bit.
