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I pull the spoon away from my mouth. I hadn’t even realized I was biting it.
“No. I…” I glance down at my empty ramekin. “I’m full. Well, almost.”
“Sure? Because you look like you’re still not satisfied.”
I do? Wait. He’s not saying I’m a big eater, is he? Or that I’m fat? Or does he think I’m trying to take advantage of him?
I set my spoon down. “I’m sorry I ate so much – I don’t usually – but I’m done now. I – ”
I stop talking as Rainier reaches across the table to touch my face. The next thing I know, he’s gently wiping the corner of my lips with the pad of his thumb.
“Chocolate.” He explains his gesture with one word as he slips his thumb between his lips.
I let go of the breath I’ve been holding and look away.
“I thought you didn’t like chocolate.”
“Well, it looked good on you,” Rainier says as he puts his hand down. “And it’s even better off.”
As I look at him, I catch him glancing at my sweater. Then he slowly drags his gaze up to meet mine. The smoldering look in his eyes sends a rush of excitement through my body. My toes curl inside my socks and sneakers.
I’m not going to get out of this intact, am I?
I clear my throat and call the waiter.
“Can I have a glass of wine, please?” I ask him. “Same one he’s been having.”
I glance across the table.
“Yes, ma’am,” the waiter answers.
Rainier throws me a puzzled look. “I thought you didn’t drink.”
I shrug. “I guess one won’t do me any harm. Besides, it’s Thanksgiving. We should celebrate.”
All bullshit. The truth is, I need the courage I’ve been told it provides, what with this man making me feel things I’ve never felt before. Or maybe I’m just trying to prolong this dinner.
He nods. “Okay.”
“Also, my… doctor advised it,” I add in an effort to make me feel less stupid.
“I see. May I ask what for?”
“She,” I correct him. “And apparently, it’s for my sanity.”
Rainier chuckles.
The waiter comes back to the table with my glass of wine. It’s barely landed when I lift it up.
“Cheers!”
Rainier lifts his glass, which has just about a mouthful of the burgundy liquid left in it. “Cheers!”
Our glasses clink. Then I bring mine to my lips and drink. The warm, sweet and slightly sour liquid cascades smoothly down my throat, so smoothly I manage a few gulps.
Afterwards, I stare at the wine. Well, that wasn’t so bad.
Or so I think until my throat catches fire and I feel a buzz inside my head.
Okay.
“You okay?” Rainier asks me.
“Yeah.” I set my glass down. “It… doesn’t taste so bad.”
“Not this one,” he says. “Though you’re still not supposed to drink half the glass, especially not on your first try.”
Now he tells me.
“I’m fine.”
I give him a reassuring smile. I don’t want him to think I’m some wimp, after all.
“And I did not drink half the glass.” I look at it.
Alright. Maybe close to half.
Rainier gives another chuckle.
I narrow my eyes at him. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs. “I can tell you’re a little more sane already.”
I frown. Why then do I feel the opposite?
“What else did your doctor tell you?” Rainier asks.
I try to remember Dr. Carver’s words. “To… dance?”
He looks around. I’m confused. What is he looking for?
Then he grabs the table napkin off his lap and tosses it on the table. In the next moment, he gets out of his chair, approaches mine, and offers me his hand.
“Shall we?”
My eyes grow wide. “Shall we what?”
“Dance,” Rainier says with a grin.
What?
I shake my head. “No.”
No way. I don’t dance. I can’t dance.
“Come on,” Rainier urges.
I shake my head again. “I don’t dance. Besides, this isn’t a club. There’s no dance floor.”
“There’s a floor,” Rainier says.
I glance around. “But no one else is dancing.”
“Because there’s barely anyone here,” Rainier says. “Everyone’s at home eating turkey or lining up in front of their favorite store in anticipation of Black Friday, which means…”
He grabs my hand and pulls me out of my seat. The napkin on my lap falls to the floor. I’m about to pick it up but he gives my arm a tug and I lose my balance. Wisps of hair fall across my forehead as I crash against his chest. When I tilt my chin up, I find myself gazing into hickory eyes. His thin lips curve into a grin.
“You and I can dance all we want and no one will care.”
I try to say something but I can’t. His gaze makes me unable to come up with another excuse. I can hardly breathe. Each time I try, the scent of his cologne drifts into my nostrils and sends my nerves into disarray.
And we haven’t even started dancing.
As a new song starts, he whirls me around. Then he pulls me against him. He puts my free hand on his shoulder. His own grips my hip.
