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We pull into the parking lot of a cute little Italian restaurant that I’ve never seen before, despite it being a ten-minute drive from my place. I’m grateful that he didn’t take me to some fancy, over-the-top place. I just know I’d be uncomfortable the whole time and feel a lot of pressure. This feels more casual. More authentic.
“This is one of my favorite places,” Wyatt says. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but they have the best lasagna in the city. Possibly the whole country, though I haven’t tested that theory out yet,” he says with a wink.
“It’s perfect,” I tell him honestly.
Wyatt smiles and squeezes my hand, which he’s been holding the entire car ride. He even comes around to open my door and help me out. A girl could get used to this kind of treatment. Like I’m a princess. Like I’m precious.
Once we’re seated and have placed our orders, Wyatt reaches out and takes my hand in his. I feel almost delicate watching his large hand engulf my much smaller one. His thumb rubs lightly over my knuckles, causing my stomach to flutter.
“Thank you for coming out with me tonight, beautiful. Something tells me it took a lot of courage to agree to this date.”
“It’s been a while,” I say softly, looking down at the tablecloth. “I guess I’m not really sure how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Go on a date. Be here with you.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. I’m sure it’s not exactly a great way to start things off.
Wyatt squeezes my hand in that reassuring way of his. “It’s just us,” he tells me, his rich voice putting me at ease. “No pressure. I want to spend time with you, buy you food, make you smile. All you have to do is let me.”
I finally allow my gaze to meet his. I’m blown away by the kindness I find there, his ocean blue eyes radiating warmth and sincerity. I give him a small smile, which he returns easily.
After my little moment of insecurity, the conversation flows easily. I tell him about my job as an editor and he tells me more about the company. The subject of family comes up, but I avoid his questions by asking him about his family. His eyes flicker at my obvious deflection, letting me know he knows what I’m up to, but he lets me have this out.
When we’re done, Wyatt suggests a stroll through a nearby park. Winter in Nashville isn’t harsh by any means. It’s a bit chilly, but not too bad at all. The perfect weather for a walk. It’s dark out, but the path is well lit by lamps and the Christmas lights hanging from every tree. We walk hand in hand, a comfortable silence spread between us as we just enjoy each other’s company.
We approach a group of Christmas carolers, and while I want to shuffle past them, Wyatt stops us and pulls me into his embrace.
He leans closer to me, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “Dance with me,” he whispers. It’s not so much a question, but I find myself nodding my agreement anyway, despite my inner turmoil and lack of dance moves.
Wyatt grips my hand with one of his and places the other on the small of my back, keeping me close. I relax into him as we sway to a beautiful rendition ofWhite Christmas.
One song flows into another, and I get lost in his embrace. Somehow my hands end up around his neck while his hands hold my hips. I’m suddenly hit with a wave of sadness. The music, his closeness, this perfect date that I want to tell my mom about but can’t. The tears bubble up to the surface and I try to look away from him so he doesn’t see it.
Wyatt cups my face and turns me back to face him. He wipes away the first of my tears with his thumb, his tender touch only bringing more tears to my eyes.
“What’s wrong, angel? Did I do something to upset you?” He asks, his beautiful eyes tinged with worry.
I shake my head, trying to collect my thoughts and figure out how much I want to tell him. In the end, I opt for honesty. He’s been nothing but open and vulnerable with me, so I owe him the same transparency.
“My mom,” I finally say once I’m sure my voice won’t crack. “She passed away in May. She loved Christmas. She would love all of this. The lights, the music, the dancing. It’s perfect.”
“Oh Ember,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” Wyatt gathers me up in his arms and hugs me, rocking us back and forth as he nuzzles the top of my head. I feel small in his embrace, but totally safe and protected.
He doesn’t offer any platitudes or generic condolences. No, he just holds me and lets me feel my loss as well as this sense of wholeness and belonging I never thought I’d have again. It feels healing.
Wyatt somehow knows when I’m all cried out. Leaning back slightly, he places a sweet kiss on my forehead and breathes me in. One hand reaches out and combs through my hair, tugging slightly so my head is tilted up towards his. He bends down and kisses me so sweetly, sipping at my lips and making me feel precious with his tender attention.
Even though it’s supposed to be a comforting kiss, I find myself getting worked up. I open my mouth for him, wanting more. Wyatt doesn’t hesitate. He slips his tongue in my mouth, stoking a fire deep in my core.
He senses the change in my body language. I love the way he can read me like he knows what I need even before I do. His hands slide to my hips and then over my ass, squeezing and pulling me closer so I can feel his hard length press against me.
One minute I’m drowning in lust, Wyatt’s tongue, lips, teeth, and hands all working together to drive me crazy with need, and the next minute he pulls away, panting as heavily as I am. I give him a questioning look, but he just kisses my temple and starts dancing with me again.
“If we kept kissing, I might have done something indecent and scarred the poor carolers for life,” he whispers, his gravelly tone sending goosebumps across my skin.
“Yeah? Like what?” I answer. I’m not sure where this boldness comes from. I guess it’s just the way he makes me feel. Sexy and confident.
Wyatt groans quietly in my ear, making me smile and bite my lip.
