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Vase in hand, I went to the table and removed the small decorative centerpiece that I’d completely overanalyzed, replacing it with the bouquet. Thankfully, since my vase was short, and I’d cut the flowers accordingly, they wouldn’t block our view of each other when we sat down to eat. I rubbed my hands down the front of my dress and smiled at the pretty picture it made. “There.”
“Perfect,” Paul said from where he leaned casually against the counter.
I turned to him, then moved forward, impelled involuntarily by the look in his eyes. It didn’t necessarily saycome hither, but it was close enough. And I was powerless against it. When I got within a few feet, I stopped, clasping my hands together in front of me because I wasn’t sure what to do with them. “So.”
“So.”
“This is weird.”
He let out a low chuckle, looking down. “Yeah, it kind of is, isn’t it?”
“Is that a bad sign?” I asked, a nervous hitch in my voice.
He straightened from the counter then, reaching up with one hand ever so slowly. Keeping his eyes on mine, his fingers grazed my cheekbone as he pushed a curtain of hair behind my ear. His thumb tickled my jaw as he brought his hand down, letting it follow the curve of my face before it fell to his side again. “I don’t think any of this is bad. Different, for sure. But definitely not bad.”
I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to push him back against the counter and wrap my arms around him, feel his arms come around me with a fierce enough grip to make my breath catch in my throat. But there was apprehension mixed in with the desire in his gaze, and it caused me to take a step back instead.
“Should we eat? We can talk over dinner.”
His eyes flicked over to the table, then he nodded. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
I went to the oven and took out the baked ziti I’d made from my mom’s recipe, and I grinned when I heard Paul groan in response to the heavenly aroma that filled the small space. This was his favorite dish, and every time he’d come to town while he was living outside of Bluffton, my mom made it just for him. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“I thought so when I walked in, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”
I gave him a sheepish smile. “I can’t promise it’ll be as good as my mom’s, but I tried my best.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great.” He retrieved two plates, handed one to me, and moments later we were seated at the table with the fragrant flowers between us. I watched as he took his first bite of the meal I’d put way too much time and energy into perfecting earlier today, and my stomach flipped at the look of pure bliss on his handsome face. “Oh, wow. It’s not great. It’s amazing.”
“Good,” I replied, digging into mine, relieved that I’d pulled the recipe off on my first attempt.
We ate in companionable silence long enough for me to imagine this as a regular thing. If Paul and I started dating, this was exactly what it would be like. We’d share meals together at my place or his. We’d relax, totally at ease with each other, no awkward silences or pointless chatter. Even though I was incredibly nervous about the potential for making things romantic between us, he was right, it wasn’t a bad feeling. It was exciting.
“Okay,” he said when he was halfway through his plate of ziti, “one of us is going to have to rip the Band-Aid off. You know that right?”
I laughed. “I know.”
“So, first thing’s first. This is a date.”
“Yes,” I agreed, nodding once. “Our first date.”
“Meaning you want more of these?”
“Yes. Do you?”
He gestured to his plate with his fork. “Oh, absolutely.”
I shook my head with a grin as he smiled back at me, the warmth in his eyes telling me he meant more than just the yummy food. He was still my Paul, but he somehow also looked different in this light. And it wasn’t just because of the candles. “How did we get here?”
“Well, I walked.”
“Paul,” I cried, leaning back in my chair, “you know what I mean. A couple of weeks ago we were friends. I was helping you plan your proposal for another woman. And now… we’re on a date. Because we’re both feeling things that we’ve never…”
“Acted on,” he finished when I trailed off.
“Right. Feelings we’ve never acted on. But feelings we’ve felt for a long time?”
