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At that, Gigi and I stand, and I place my hand on her lower back as we follow the hostess, electricity shooting through my fingertips. I help Gigi into her seat, and I can’t help but feel as though we’re getting off to a flying start. I know it’s only just begun, but I feel like it couldn’t be going any better.
Gigi takes another sip of her wine, and I watch as she finally starts to relax. She’s comfortable here with me, just as I am with her. In fact, I’m more than comfortable with her. She helps me breathe again.
We look over the menu, and I realize this shit is a little fancier than I thought. I honestly don’t understand what the fuck is on this menu. I look up at Gigi and see the crease between her eyebrows as she studies the menu, trying to figure it out. “Do you have any idea what the hell this shit is?” I question.
She looks up from her menu and a guilty grin tears across her face. “No clue,” she admits.
I nod toward the exit. “You want to go get pizza?”
Her grin turns into a beaming smile. “Would that be too rude?”
“Hell no,” I say as I push back out of my chair and come around to her side. I offer her my hand, and she greedily finishes what’s left of her Moscato before placing her hand in mine. And the moment we touch, the fire burns between us. She looks up at me, our eyes meeting over the table as my future becomes set in stone.
I’m fucking breathless as I help her out of her chair, and I find myself holding onto her hand a second longer than necessary. I put cash down on the table for their troubles and lead Gigi out of the restaurant.
We cross the street and once again, I find my hand resting on her lower back, though it’s begging to wrap around her waist. But she doesn’t dare shrug away from my touch.
We walk straight into the pizza place and put in our order before making our way over to the liquor store to grab a bottle of wine. And judging by the way Gigi so easily navigates her way around the store, I’d dare say she’s a frequent flyer to this particular place of business.
By the time we get back to grab our pizza, it’s ready to go. When we take our order and step out into the street, an idea hits me, and I find myself sliding my hand into hers, leading her away.
“Do you have a coat?” I ask as an afterthought, pausing in the street.
“Yeah,” she says, pointing across the road. “It’s in my car.”
Quickly crossing the road, she dives into her bag and finds her keys before unlocking the car and scrambling through it for her coat. Then with one hand in hers and the other balancing the pizza, we walk five minutes down the road to the deserted park, and I lead her to one of the picnic tables that sits right under a lamppost.
As I set the pizza down on the table, she smiles and takes a seat, unzipping her heeled boots and kicking them off. She crosses her legs under her and makes herself comfortable, and I love that she’s this carefree. “The heels aren’t you?” I question as I pop the cork out of the wine bottle.
She thinks about her answer for just a moment. “Sort of,” she finally says. “I love heels. I have quite an impressive collection, but I actually hate wearing them.”
“Hurt your feet?”
“Yep,” she smiles. “It’s like dudes who collect expensive watches and have them lined up in their closet like a fancy display, but every morning, they still pick out the same old cheap watch they got as a graduation present a million years ago. I think I just like to look at them.”
I laugh, never having felt more called out in my life, and as we get stuck into our pizza, I can see it so perfectly—me and Gigi having a night in together, completely at ease with each other as Georgie runs amuck.
She eyes the bottle of wine before that same crease from earlier appears between her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“How am I supposed to drink that? We have no glasses.”
Shit. I knew I was forgetting something. “You’re not opposed to drinking out of the bottle, are you?”
“No,” she laughs. “I just didn’t want to look like a slob on a first date.”
“You’re good.” And with that, she surprises me and picks the bottle straight up to take a drink.
We fall into easy conversation, and I’m having the best fucking time. She’s always got something to say, and there hasn’t been a single awkward moment between us. We’ve just about finished the pizza when she looks up at me with hesitation brimming in her bright eyes. “Can I ask you a question?”
