Page 20 of Lucky 22

Is this man the sweetest or what?

My eyes go wide as I take it out of the box and hold it up.“I love it!”

“Are you sure? In my sister’s research of you online, shesaid that she saw several pictures of you carrying these kinds of bags, so Ithought it was a safe bet.” Then he nods at the one I brought with me andgrins. “I’m glad I was right.”

“Are you kidding me? This is amazing. And so thoughtful ofyou.” Without thinking, I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. I inhale a littlebit of his natural scent because he smells so good. When I pull back, he looksa little stunned, and I know I am because I can’t believe I just did that. Butrather than address it, I simply thank him again.

“Happy birthday, Ella,” he says before starting the car. Theway he says my name, with his voice low and husky, sends a shiver down myspine. It feels like…a promise.

“Thank you. It may seem silly, but I collect Hello Kittypurses. I have over thirty bags, but I don’t have this one.” The bag is reallycute, pink with a quilted design, silver stitching, and, naturally, Kitty’sadorable face. It makes me happy.

We take the short drive around the stadium parking lot to mycar. “I’m honored you’re spending your birthday with me, but I’m sorry that Itook you away from celebrating with your friends.”

“You’re not. I promise. I went to lunch with some of themtoday, and we’re going to have a party next month.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “Why next month?”

“Because it’s also my friend Freya’s birthday in a fewweeks. We thought it would be fun to have a joint party. Plus, we’ve all gotcrazy schedules, and it was the first date we could all agree on that wouldwork.”

I’m already wondering whether I should invite him.

Maybe get through this date and then decide, silly.Don’t be pushy.

We round the corner, and I know I don’t have to point outwhich car is mine because it’s literally the only car left in the lot. I hadbeen a little self-conscious earlier about my old, rusty vehicle, but knowingthat Christian’s isn’t in much better shape makes me feel better.

He pulls up beside it, and I quip, “This is me.” We bothlaugh.

“The restaurant is only ten minutes away, and a straight runfrom the stadium.” He gives me the address in case we get split up in traffic,and before I know it, he’s getting out of the car to walk me to mine.

Which is three feet away.

Is he perfect?

He opens one door for me to get out and then opens the otherso I can climb in. We’re both smiling, and now I almost hate that we’re drivingseparately.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he says. “Follow me as bestyou can.”

“I will.” Then I wait for him to get in his car and pullaway before backing out and following him across the parking lot, then out theexit.

The radio is on, and Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” comes onthe radio, and I sing at the top of my lungs. Is this a sign? I am in such agreat mood. I wish I could dance around right now, but since I can’t, I do myown little moves behind the wheel. When I pull into the parking lot of Oak& Iron, I let out a fortifying breath because I feel like I’ve been waitingfor this moment for such a long time. I know that’s not accurate—it’s only beena few days—but I’m just so ready to be on this date.

I’ve never been to this restaurant before. The sign claimsthe Oak & Iron is a bistro known for upscale comfort food with a gourmettwist, and I am here for it.

Christian’s suddenly at my door and opening it for me, and Ismile as I put my hand in his and climb out. The best part? He keeps holding itas we walk inside.

“They rarely take reservations, but I called ahead and askedabout having a table held for us.” With a casual shrug, he adds, “I almostplayed the celebrity card, but that’s not something I’m comfortable doing.Tonight is about getting to know each other, so I was hoping we’d get a tablein a quiet corner.”

“And what did they say? Do you think they’ll accommodateyour request?”

Now, he grins. “I eat here a lot, and the manager knows me,so…yeah. He’s the one I spoke to.”

“So, you didn’t have to play the celebrity card. He alreadyknows you’re a big deal.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but…”

The hostess interrupts to let us know our table is ready,and I guess she knows who Christian is, too, because she calls him by his name,and they chat as she leads us to a table in the far back corner. It’s cozy andsemi-private, and I’m a little giddy as I slide into the booth.

She places our menus down, promising that our server will beover shortly.