"You're very sweet," I demurred, not sure what to say.
Nash snorted a laugh, turning our hands over so mine was face up. His fingertips stroked the sensitive skin on my inner wrist. His voice heavy and low, he said, "I think we both know the last thing I am is sweet."
"You might think so," I said, the light touch on my wrist turning my insides to liquid heat. "But to me, you're always sweet."
Nash gave a low chuckle and started to argue. The arrival of the waiter had him sitting back, accepting the menu, reviewing the wine list, all without moving his fingertips from their slow stroke, stroke, stroke of my wrist. "Champagne or wine?" he asked, catching my eyes.
"Champagne," I answered.
I wanted to celebrate, to forget all my doubts and questions and celebrate being here with Nash. Everything was different. I was divorcing Tyler. I had a job. A life of my own. I'd had my first ride on a motorcycle and it was all I'd dreamed it would be. And most of all, Nash was here. With me. On a romantic date.
I should ask him what all this meant. Were we a couple now? What about Tyler? His mother? What about–
Internally, I closed the door on my questions. Later. Maybe never. I wasn't going to ruin this by trying to figure out all the answers from the start. For now, I was just going to enjoy myself.
"Have you been here before?" Nash asked, glancing through the french doors back into the Inn's elegant dining room.
"Not in years. I forgot how beautiful it is up here."
"I'm looking forward to seeing more of the mountains."
"Is that why you brought your bike?"
"Partly. And partly because I thought you'd like it."
"Well, you guessed right on that one." Considering, I probed, "What else do you have planned?"
"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you." Nash lifted my hand and kissed my fingertips, releasing me just as the waiter returned with our champagne.
The waiter did his dance, presenting the bottle and popping the cork with a flourish. Nash sipped and giving a regal nod. Once the waiter had disappeared again, Nash lifted his glass. "To new beginnings," he said, reading my mind once again.
"To new beginnings," I repeated, feeling the flush in my cheeks. To cover, I sipped the champagne, the sharp sparkle of bubbles breaking on my tongue.
"Griffen mentioned that you're working on renovating another of the outbuildings on the property, in addition to the cottage. Tell me about it. Are you still enjoying it?"
He seemed to be interested, so I told him, filling him in on my progress and what we had to get done. I was still talking when the waiter arrived to take our orders. Nash sent him a congenial smile and said, "We need a few more minutes," before turning his attention back to me.
I picked up my menu and chose something at semi-random, not really caring what I ate.
"What are you having?" Nash asked, taking my free hand in his again.
"The trout," I said, more interested in Nash, sipping champagne and holding my hand, grazing his thumb across my knuckles, back and forth. The waiter returned and took our orders.
I'd almost forgotten what we were talking about when Nash prompted, "When do you think the plumbing will be finished?"
"Billy Bob's guy thinks he can have it done this week, but I'm not sure. It's a small cottage, but it seems like there’s a lot that needs to be replaced, and all of it is ancient."
As I explained about Billy Bob and the added complexity of security at the Manor shrinking my pool of available contractors, Nash seemed content to sit there, holding my hand and listening to me talk about my renovation project with what felt like genuine interest. For a few seconds, I had to wonder if I was dreaming. A smirk ghosted across my face.
"What?" he asked, his eyes fixed on my mouth.
I shrugged a shoulder. "Nothing. Just wondering if you're real."
Nash smirked. "I'm very real, and I'm far from perfect."
I laughed. No one was perfect, but Nash was giving me a pretty good approximation of it. Which made me nervous. I'd fallen for perfect once before, and I was still paying for it.
"Tell me what's wrong with you then," I challenged.
