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We had gone to a small restaurant in town that neither of us had been to. It was relatively new. The chef was a transplant from Charleston who had bought the dying restaurant from a local who’d needed to retire. What they’d transformed it into was something truly special. Intimate. Expensive, of course, but amazing nonetheless.
We dined on pasta and seafood, and all the while, I watched Marin as her mouth purposely lingered over her fork just a moment longer than necessary. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips with slow, meaningful purpose.
“You are evil,” I said, giving her a pointed stare.
Her brow rose as her hand reached across the table. She stroked the skin just about my collarbone. “Am I?”
I grinned, remembering that moment on the patio at lunch. Such an innocent caress, but I had known what it did to her. I could feel her breath hitch and the way she sort of melted into her seat.
“Do you want dessert?” I asked after our plates were cleared.
“I absolutely do not want dessert.” She pressed her lips together, stifling a laugh. She did not want to stay here a minute longer. “Do you?”
“Oh, I do,” I answered, leaning forward so my voice was low enough that only she could hear. “But not here.”
Her cheeks flamed red again.
The blessed waiter brought our check shortly after that, and we were on our way a bit quicker than was probably considered polite. The blocks between the restaurant and Marin’s house, once short, now felt endless as the anticipation grew.
I considered throwing her over my shoulder like a caveman and making a run for it, but we were already the source of too much gossip in this town.
I didn’t need to cause more.
So, we walked hand in hand again. We talked. We kissed under the stars, and I found myself looking down at our intertwined fingers.
I remembered the first day she’d slid that hand in mine. She was a fucking force of nature, putting the sheriff and Kristy in their place without even batting an eyelash. I hadn’t known what to make of her.
I still didn’t.
How did I reconcile this gift I’d been given? How did I look at her and not drop to my knees in fucking gratitude every damn day? I had known the moment I held her hand that day on the patio that I didn’t deserve her.
Not her kindness or her friendship.
And not a single thing that followed. I still didn’t. But I’d spend every damn day trying to make myself worthy.
Because there was one thing I was certain of.
I loved her.
Maybe I always had.
Since the moment she had stepped onto the patio.
Since we had collided in her dark house.
Or even years before, when I had helped out a beautiful woman in a coffee shop.
When we finally reached the house, I went to my truck and grabbed my bag.
Turning back to her, I saw her waiting and asked, “Are you sure?”
I didn’t want regrets. I didn’t want this to be a rash decision based on need. It was why I’d asked for time in the first place.
Because I knew when I went into that house, there would be no going back.
“I took my time with Curtis,” she said. “I took so much time that I forgot the point of it all.” She stepped into my embrace, her hand cupping my chin. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”
My lips spread into a smile under her palm. “It’s been three days,” I reminded her.
