AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My eyes lock onto his. I’m suddenly very hot and very breathless. “Look at us, the art critics.” I smile abruptly, a bit nervous.
“Just like with tires and shoes, you manage to take something ordinary and make it fascinating.” He fingers a strand of my hair before tucking it behind my ear and placing another chaste kiss on my lips. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.” We collect our terrariums and walk hand in hand back to the truck.
Chris drives us to a Mexican restaurant around the corner. It’s too soon for the dinner rush, so we only have to wait a few minutes for a table. As we take in the menu, I feel the pull of Chris’s stare, and my heartbeat kicks up a notch. Being the focus of his gaze is both empowering and a little unsettling. It makes me burn with need, and I’m not sure what to do about that. He says he wants to go slow, but that stare has my body thinking it’s time to pick up the pace. Should I let him take the lead, or should I take over? The tension is driving me crazy.
“What?” I finally meet his eyes.
“Why did you think I’d like making terrariums?”
“You didn’t like it?” I cringe.
“I did, actually. I’ve never made anything artistic, and that was fun. I’m just curious what made you pick that instead of, I don’t know, a fancy dinner.”
“I thought about it. A fancy dinner. But that seemed sort of mundane.”
The waiter comes to take our order and refill the basket of chips we’ve been nibbling on. When he leaves, Chris says, “Mundane?”
“Yeah. You know, boring, typical.”
“I know what it means.” He smirks, nudging my foot under the table. “Is that bad?” He stares at me intently.
“No, it’s not.” I shrug. “But nothing about this feels typical, so I didn’t want our date to be, either.” My breath catches in my throat as I realize what I said. But my gaze doesn’t waver as I wait for his response.
“You don’t think this feels typical?” he asks.
“Do you?”
“No, this feels different,” he says softly.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “Is this weird? I mean, this is still pretty new. How can we know it’s different?”
He reaches for my hand across the table, lightly caressing my thumb with his own. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “But in just a few short weeks, I’ve learned more about you than people I’ve known for years, and I still want to know more. I haven’t felt that way about a woman in a long time.”
“So not typical is good for you, too, then?”
He nods, never breaking eye contact. “Very good.”
“Good,” I repeat. “What do you want to know?”
He grins, the hard line of his jaw momentarily distracting me. “How in the world did you become interested in tires?”
“You’re really hung up on this tire thing.” I laugh.
“You’re the first woman I’ve met who has an interest in them so, yes, I’m curious. Is your dad or maybe a brother into cars? Did you grow up on a racetrack? Or did you just pick it up on your own?”
“Dad liked cars, but he didn’t know anything about them,” I say. “He just got a new one every few years because new ones usually didn’t have any problems. My brother loves sports more than cars, and while I have an appreciation for cars, it’s really trucks that hold my attention.”
“How did that happen?”
“In high school, a classmate, a girl, got the biggest pickup I had ever seen when she got her license. It was so big and imposing. In those days no one, not even the boys in class, had a giant pickup, but this tiny girl did, and I thought it was so cool how she would climb up into this cab instead of sitting down like you would in any other car. It was just different. And I was hooked. I've wanted trucks ever since then. The tire part came later, after a friend took me off-roading, and I learned the difference between road tires and off-road tires. Since trucks are built to haul stuff and go off-road, I just decided a truck really wasn’t a truck without the right tires.”
Chris smiles, stroking my hand again. “That totally fits.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything you do is unique. Small women in a big truck, tennis shoes with dresses, getting excited about writing a paper. It’s adorable.”
Adorable? I’m not sure that’s the image I want Chris to have of me. Desirable or irresistible sounds better. I’m about to ask what he means by adorable, but the waiter picks that inopportune moment to deliver our food, and when he leaves the table and my gaze returns to Chris, he’s busy with his plate. The moment is gone.
