Page 107 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“Scared?” he asked softly.

Sutton slid her hand into his elbow. “Of dinner? No.”

He dipped his mouth to her ear. “Of wanting more?”

Her throat closed so tightly she couldn’t answer.

Colter smiled like he already knew. And Sutton—against every rational instinct—felt hope loosen something inside her chest. Maybe plans were overrated. Maybe second chances wore suits.

“Give me ten minutes to change.”

CHAPTER 40

Colter could stitch up a half-wild mutt in a thunderstorm, but sitting across from Sutton in a restaurant had him sweating through his damn suit.

The fact that he was in a suit said something. He hadn’t worn a tie on a date since he was living in California during vet school.

The restaurant wasn’t big, but Barrel & Bloom—a bistro that liked to pretend it was upscale—was the perfect first-date size. Brick walls washed in amber light, white tablecloths that had definitely met an iron, and a low run of olive trees separating the entry from the dining room.

He opened the door for Sutton, and she stepped in first—her floral scent brushing against him.

One tiny woman in a silk top and a skirt that hit mid-thigh left one hell of a big impact. The soft fabric of her blouse skimmed curves, her knee-high leather boots looked like a dare, and she carried enough quiet confidence to make a grown man forget his own name.

In contrast, he felt like a linebacker trying to tiptoe through a crystal shop.

He’d driven her here—watched her climb into his truck, watched her smooth her hair, watched her stare out the window like she was trying not to overthink. He’d joked about the weather and she’d given him a noncommittal “mmhmm,” which was woman-code for ‘Don’t push me yet.’

Now she was only inches ahead of him, and his heart was being an absolute jackass.

He tugged at his cuffs and the suit suddenly felt like a straitjacket. Sutton looked over her shoulder at him, eyes curious and maybe a little amused and—holy hell—that made it worse.

He’d requested a table in the corner that was private, but not suspiciously so. The kind of table a man chose when he wanted privacy but didn’t want a woman thinking he had basement killer energy.

His pulse refused to slow.

He’d been bucked, kicked, bitten, and damn near shot, but sitting down to dinner with this woman felt like stepping into a pen with a bull he actually cared about impressing.

She slid into the booth in this graceful and unbothered way that he envied the hell out of. She might only be twenty-four, but she was all woman.

He took the seat across from her, trying to look relaxed—his knee bounced anyway.

She eyed him. “You okay over there?”

He swallowed—tried for a shrug and failed. “I’ve just never worn a suit for someone who scared me before.”

Her lips parted in a slow, startled smile and—god help him. Dinner hadn’t even started, and he already knew he was in trouble.

Sutton tilted her head, studying him like she was cataloging truth from bravado. Then, quietly, she asked, “Have you ever been in love before?”

The question caught him off guard.

He leaned back, dragging two fingers across his jaw. “I guess we’re jumping right into it.”

“Again, mom time. Why waste my time talking about things that don’t matter?”

“Then, no.”

She blinked, like she was waiting for qualifiers or excuses—the usual romantic resume.