“This is the most romantic place I’ve ever been.” Across the table from me, Amanda’s smile was brilliant. “You did a good job, Vincent.”
I glanced around the dining room of the old inn. I’d been here before to eat, but I’d never made use of the quaint bed and breakfast side of the business. When Amanda and I had been trying to work out the best way to see each other around her schedule and mine, I’d remembered The Crestview Inn, and happily for us, they’d had a room available this weekend. It was perfect; just about equidistant from my house and the city, staying here meant that we didn’t have to deal with distractions like family or friends or work or school. That was a winning proposition in my book.
“The food’s good.” I took another bite of my steak. “And our room is nicer than I’d expected. Usually old and charming equals dated and worn.”
“Not always.” She cut a little bit of her chicken breast. “I’ve been to lots of places older than this that are beautifully preserved. And as I said, this is romantic. I like it.”
I felt the same pang of discomfort that I often did when Amanda mentioned how well-traveled she was. I didn’t feel inferior to anyone. I knew that my skill set and my brain were a match for any challenger, plus I was fully aware that more often than not, common sense trumped book knowledge, and I had that in spades. But my life so far hadn’t offered much opportunity to roam the world, seeing as I spent the majority of my time in the same kitchen I had since I was a toddler.
Amanda, on the other hand, spoke about far-off cities and remote countries as casually as she did Delaware. She didn’t do it like she was bragging; I’d discovered early on that there was nothing snobby or elitist about her. It was simply her life, as much a part of her growing up as gnocchi and grappa had been part of mine. Still, I wasn’t always sure what to say when she mentioned a summer vacation in Greece or a spring break in Scotland. My getaways in Atlantic City or Florida didn’t really compare.
So instead now, I focused on something else. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romance girl. You’re not like Ava or Angela, going on about books or movies, with all the sighing and dreamy men and shit.”
Amanda leaned her chin onto her hand and studied me thoughtfully. “I’m not really a typical girl, I guess, when it comes to that sort of thing. I’ve always been the woman who makes fun of what others think are romantic. I dated a guy once who was all about the big gestures—you know, flowers on every occasion, even if it wasn’t really one, gifts on all the Hallmark holidays, making a big deal of sweeping me off to New York City for dinner and a show ... and it meant nothing to me. I felt bad about it at first, because he’d put all this time and effort into doing something that he thought would please me, and instead, I felt like yawning. It was just too much, you know? It made me feel like squirming.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I can see you doing that. Rolling your eyes and making smartass comments. But the bigger question is ... did he back up all the flowery shit with moves in the bedroom?”
Her green eyes sparkled with barely contained mirth. “How’d you guess? Nope. He was less than stellar there. Big build up, disappointing delivery.”
“See? That’s why it’s better to be real and not worry about flowers and poetry and shit. You already know I come through where it counts.” I set down my fork and winked at her. “Multiple times, even.”
“You’re not wrong,” she agreed, a little bit of pink staining her cheeks. “But this kind of romance, the kind where you find the perfect spot for us to meet and have a weekend to ourselves ... that’s perfect.”
“I aim high.” I held her gaze as I finished my wine. “Speaking of romance, I hear Giff finally popped the question. I bet he pulled out all the stops.”
“He did.” I wasn’t sure she even knew she was doing it, but Amanda smiled dreamily and folded her hands. “I was in on the secret, so I knew when it was happening, and I was sitting by the phone all night, waiting to hear that he’d said yes. I think Jeff was completely shocked, but of course, he did say yes. One of the waiters is an old friend of Giff’s and took pictures for them, so I got to live vicariously. It was beautiful. I’m so happy for them.”
“Is he going to plan his own wedding?” I figured that would be tricky, but knowing Giff, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t pull off.
“Not really. They’re doing a destination wedding, getting married in the islands. Date to be determined, depending on Giff’s schedule of events, but I don’t think they’ll wait too long. I’ve been invited to go along to be best woman for Giff, and Jeff’s taking his brother, too. Other than Giff’s mom and Jeff’s parents, I don’t think they’ll invite anyone else, unless Ava and Liam can get away.”
I frowned. “So it would be just you, the parents and Jeff’s brother? Is he single?”
Amanda cocked an eyebrow at me. “He is, yes. And just as cute as Jeff is. He’s kind of a party boy, though—he’s the younger brother, and Jeff says he’s with a different woman every week. He’s a real flirt.”
I didn’t like the feeling I was getting right now—a sense of wanting to somehow brand Amanda as mine, to claim her in a weirdI had her firstway. I’d never been the jealous type, probably because I’d never stuck around long enough for that to be an issue.
“Are you allowed to bring a date to this wedding?” I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “I’ve never been to the islands. It sounds like it could be fun.”
This time, Amanda’s smile was almost blinding. “Seriously? You’d want to come with me? I’d love that, Vincent. I don’t know when it is yet, but I didn’t think you’d be able to get away from the restaurant that long. I knew it was hard enough just for these two nights.” She paused. “I also wasn’t sure you’d be interested.”
“You, me and a tropical setting? Sounds like a hell, yeah to me.” I lined up my fork with the knife on my plate, keeping my eyes on the silverware as I spoke, not sure of what I really wanted to say. “We haven’t really talked about this thing between us—not since the wedding. But just so you know, in case you were wondering, I’m not seeing anyone else. I haven’t even looked at another woman since that night.”
She leaned forward and slid her palm under mine. “Are you asking if we’re exclusive, Vincent? Because if you are, from my point of view the answer is yes. I haven’t seen or slept with anyone else, either. I don’t have plans to do so, as long as we’re ... whatever we are. Friends and then some, I guess.”
“Good.” I was more emphatic than I intended to be, but I hoped that maybe she’d understand what I wanted her to know. “That means if you’re running off to the islands with anyone, it’s me. And same goes on my side. Not that I’m planning to run off to any islands, but if I did, I’d take you with me.”
“Who says romance is dead?” she teased. “Look at you, Vincent DiMartino. Holding hands at a candle-lit restaurant after a wonderful dinner ... it just doesn’t get any more romantic than that, babe.” She lowered her voice. “Now let’s hope it doesn’t take away from your performance upstairs, because let me tell you—I’m horny as hell and my expectations are sky-high. Our phone sex raised the bar, and now I’m pretty sure you’re only going to have to touch me once before I go off.”
I grinned. It hadn’t been easy to keep from throwing Amanda across the bed the minute we’d opened the door to our room, when I’d carried up our bags, but I’d managed to hold myself in check, mostly because I didn’t just want a fast bang from this woman. Not anymore. Plus, I was thinking that once we hit the sheets, we might not end up getting out of bed for the rest of the weekend, and I didn’t want her to miss the food here.
But now, dinner was over, and the small glimpses I kept getting of her tits through her low neckline when she leaned forward had my dick straining against the zipper of my fly.
“How was everything?” Our server appeared at my elbow, reaching for my empty plate. “I hope the steak was done as you liked it.”
“It was perfect, thanks.” I smiled my thanks as the guy cleared our table with smooth movements. Being in the business, I noticed details like how he arranged the silverware to make sure nothing slid off the plates and how he was careful to avoid spilling anything on Amanda. I’d been trained in the art of bussing tables by my mother, and Frannie DiMartino never missed a trick. She’d had me on table-clearing duty for most of my pre-teen years, until I was able to accomplish the task with skill.
“May I bring you our dessert tray? The chef has a few tempting specials tonight.” The waiter gave us a wink. “I can personally vouch for the Black Forest cake. It’s amazing.”
