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We’ll see. It’s a first date. I’m not getting my hopes up.
Too late. We both know you’re already a goner.
And damn, wasn’t that true?
I sighed and tossed my phone back into my purse. I stripped out of the green pants and white puff-sleeve top I’d been wearing all day. I rummaged through the closet I had of my pieces in development and withdrew a pink satin dress that fell to mid-thigh and hugged my curves in all the right places. My hair was still in the high pony I’d put it in this morning with little wisps framing my face. I reapplied a coat of pink lipstick and called it good enough. I didn’t have time to go home if we were going to make our reservation.
Still, I didn’t hurry through the store. I walked fondly through it, running my hand over the few racks of dresses, noting what was selling out and what was still here. Cataloging what would work for next season and what I’d scrap. All my career dreams were in this building. It felt good to see all my hard work pay off.
I crossed the street to my BMW and got behind the wheel. Ash’s house wasn’t far from the store. He lived in a Victorian downtown that was much too big for him. My place was smaller. A townhouse away from all the tourists. But Ash had always liked to be in the thick of it.
All the parking was gone by the time I got over to his house. I circled the block three times before parking a few streets over. Damn tourists.
The walk was well lit, and with so many people on the street, it didn’t feel unsafe for once, being a woman, alone. I jogged up the few steps to the front door of Ash’s house and knocked twice.
I waited a few seconds before the door cracked open. Ash’s smiling face greeted me. He was in khakis and a button-up, rolled up to his elbows. No jacket. No tie. The first two buttons were undone at his throat. His hair was gelled to perfection, and those blue eyes were all for me. I could barely breathe at the sight of him.
“Hey,” I muttered.
“Hey. Come on in.”
“Aren’t we going to be late for our reservation?” I asked but followed him into the house.
He closed the door behind me and gave me a bedazzling smile. “I might have canceled our reservation.”
“What? Why?” I checked the time and winced. “I’m not that late.”
“You’re not late at all, but it felt like a lot after the week you’ve had. I didn’t want to put more on you. I thought we could do something else instead.”
Dinner had felt … uncomplicated. It had felt like an easy first step. We’d never done anything like that before, and I’d thought it would feel more like a normal relationship.
“But … we can go out if you prefer,” he said quickly. “I should have checked with you first. I just did this instead.”
And that was when I realized there was music playing softly from the dining room. Music I recognized.
“Is that … Sinatra?” I asked.
He grinned. “It’s not a record, but I know you love old music.”
“Classic music,” I corrected.
“Right. Classics. Like red roses.”
I looked at him in surprise, and he drew me through the living room and into the dining room. My mouth dropped open when I saw the table had been set for two with candlelight and red roses waiting in a vase.
“What’s this?”
A timer dinged in the kitchen.
“Hold that thought. That’s the potatoes.”
I blinked. “Potatoes?”
Ash rushed into the kitchen and opened the oven. The smell of garlic filled the room. I breathed in deeply.
“Did you … cook for me?”
“Technically, I grilled.”
My heart soared. This was so … not Ash. I hadn’t even known he could cook. I knew he could use a grill, but he certainly never had for me before. Ash was the kind of guy who threw money around to show how he felt about people. He didn’t set dinner to candlelight while playing Sinatra and cooking. But he had. For me.
“I have wine,” he said, gesturing to an open bottle of red on the counter. “Help yourself.”
I set my purse down on the island and poured each of us a glass of wine. Ash carried dinner to our place settings. I took the chair next to him at the table, still sort of shocked by everything happening. I’d thought I knew what to expect with Ash. I’d known him my entire life after all. But I’d been wrong. I liked being wrong.
“Is this okay?” he asked. “Next time, we can go out.”
“No,” I said quickly. “This is perfect.”
Not only was it perfect, but the food was also delicious. The steak had a chimichurri sauce on top that made it succulent. The potatoes were well seasoned and melt in your mouth soft. There was even a crusty French bread.
