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A few minutes later, I came back to the table, saw Ryan had dragged a chair over, leaving my spot next to Billie vacant, and thus ending (also thank fuck) our thigh-to-thigh connection. I slid the glass of Napa Valley in front of her, dragged the beer over to my spot, and shifted so I could start to scoot in next to her.
Not realizing she’d frozen, eyes wide.
“What’s this?”
For a second, I didn’t process the question.
“What’s that, baby?” I asked, pausing in the booth’s opening, my eyes flicking to hers, then down to the glass of wine I’d bought for her. “It’s Napa Valley.”
She sucked in a breath. “But…”
I leaned close. “No more beer, baby.”
Her air whooshed out in a hiss.
Then she was shoving past me, darting out of the booth, slipping through the crowded floor of Monroe’s, and dashing out of sight.
What the—
I didn’t wait to see if the guys were just as dumbstruck, didn’t wait to see if they’d even noticed. I just took off after my woman, bumping into people on the floor, caching a sight of blond curls just as they disappeared through the back door.
I slammed into the metal latch, shoved the wooden panel wide…and paused.
Breathed.
Because she’d stopped near the gazebo, wrapped her arms around it and rested her head on the wood.
Then I moved to her.
“Baby,” I whispered, tugging her away from the gazebo, wrapping my arms around her. “What’s going on?”
Silence. Long enough for worry to gather at the base of my spine.
Then, “You bought me wine.”
I paused again. Because… “Yeah, baby, I did.”
“Why?”
Okaaay.
A breath in. An exhale.
Why were we covering this again? I knew her. I wanted to take care of her.
That was what boyfriends did.
“You already know the answer to that,” I whispered.
Another breath in. Another exhale, her nails digging into the column. “Do I?”
“Baby.” I cupped her cheek. “You know the answer is because you like wine and hate beer.”
Earnest blue eyes on mine. “That’s why.”
A statement. Not a question. And yet…itwasa question.
“Yes.”
