I exhale a choppy breath and roam my eyes down her body once more.
“I’m at a loss for words,” I admit. “You’re fucking sexy, Meadow.Christ.”
Her eyes go wide.
“Oh—okay,” she coughs, taken aback by my response. “That’s… flattering,” she recovers.
She tilts her head, her eyes sweeping over me. “You look handsome, by the way,” she adds. “In case you wanted to feel weird too.”
That causes a laugh to rumble from my chest.
I smirk. “Nothing weird about telling your husband he looks good, Mrs. Brooks.”
She snorts, shaking her head as she grabs her purse. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”
“Hell no,” I shake my head. “Mrs. Brooks for life.”
If only that were true.
Meadow rolls her eyes, but the blotches of red creeping up her neck tell a completely different story.
“Come on,” she adds, already moving toward the door. “We’re going to be late for our reservation.”
I don’t give a damn about our reservation.
I have all I need right here in front of me.
“Okay, okay,” I drag out and follow her, but right as Meadow reaches for the handle, instinct takes over.
I catch her gently by the forearm, spinning her back toward me. My palm tingles against her warm skin.
“Meadow.”
“Yeah?” She replies, her gaze darting up and down my body with confusion.
“About earlier today…” I take a breath. “I want us to have a good night. And before we go, I just want to say that I’m sorry you had to see me like that. Thatangry.” I search her face. “But I’m not sorry for what I did to that bastard. Not for a second. I’ll never apologize for that.”
Her mocha eyes hold my stare as a moment of understanding passes between us. Then a soft smile breaks across her face, slow and genuine.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she reassures me. “That guy deserved every second of it.” She pauses, then adds quietly, “Seriously, Owen… Thank you.”
My fingers gently squeeze her forearm in response.
I forget how to string together words when she reaches for my hand, her fingers sliding easily between mine in a perfect fit. Just the simple press of our palms together sends a shockwave all the way down to my toes.
“Come on,” she says, tugging me toward the door. “I’m starving.”
As Meadow leads me out of the room, hand in hand, one thought hits me square in the chest.
I haven’t even kissed her yet, and I think I’m already falling for Meadow Riley.
Less than ten minutes later, we’re sitting across from each other at The Palms.
The restaurant glows under the open night sky, shadowed by swaying palms and strings of warm, white lights that cast a golden haze over the tables. Tiki torches burn along the perimeter, their flames dancing lazily in the ocean breeze. Set up in a corner near the entrance is a small band, playing steel drums and humming along to the beat ofMargaritaville.
I glance around, noticing some diners swaying along in their chairs, others singing the lyrics to the person beside them.
Beyond the tiki torches, palm trees, and flickering lights lies the perfect backdrop: the Caribbean Sea, washing in and out with slow, effortless waves.
