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“Shall we?” He loops his arm and I thread mine through it as we place our names with the hostess and wait to be seated.
We’re sat in a corner booth and moments later, obligatory chips and salsa arrive along with our drinks. Before the server leaves, Kellen asks him, “Can we please get some of your chorizo and cheese dip. Large bowl. Thanks.”
My eyes light up. “You love that, too?”
He smirks. “Of course. It’s only the best dip I’ve ever had.”
As I spread a napkin across my lap, I find myself pleasantly surprised to be okay with this. Every date prior was a disaster, resulting in long nights of binge-eating ice cream and lamenting with Greyson why the world has chosen me to test drive all the inadequate and strange men available. Perhaps tonight will be different.
“I’m thinking of ordering a sangria. You want one?” Kellen closes the drink menu, picks up his napkin and also places it in his lap.
Surprised again, I smile. “Yes, that would be great. I love those things.” It was years before I ordered any alcoholic drinks while out with Greyson, and still I ask him beforehand if he minds. I’d never forgive myself if he relapsed on my account.
“The little swords that come with the fruit just kill me. I take them home to give to my nephews and watch them have sword fights.” His eyes crinkle as he fiddles with the fork.
“Are you serious? I do the same thing. Drives my brother insane when he has to separate the two kids, and a blade gets inevitably stuck in someone’s skin. I’m a masochist, but I find it hilarious and my auntie duty to provide fun for the little monsters.”
We both laugh and he enchants me as we talk some more about our lives, mostly sticking to safe topics. I elect not to tell him about Theo yet. My son will, of course, be at the forefront of my mind and my actions, but I’m not ready to introduce him to anyone and Kellen is still a stranger—no matter how attractive or interesting he is.
“What made you want to get into construction?” I ask around a bite of my chicken burrito.Damn, this is good.
He relaxes against the booth back and wipes at his mouth with his napkin. “I grew up in Wyoming, Dad owns a ranch, so after college, I opened my own business as a contractor. I always enjoyed working with my hands.” He holds up a rough, work-hewed palm dotted with calluses.
“What made you want a career working with horses?”
I keep it vague because going too deep hedges into territory I’m not ready to talk about.
Dinner conversation slows to a comfortable crawl as we finish up our meal and at one point I stare at his lips and the image of Grey’s floats to the front of my mind. The softness, the fullness of his bottom lip, his warm scent of home. The way they curved around mine as if they were molded just for me.
“I was thinking of ordering the sopapillas for dessert, you game?” Kellen’s question breaks through my runaway thoughts and I clear my throat.
“Oh, uh, sure, yes. Those are delicious.” I fan myself, blaming the sangria for my off-track mind and vow to keep all my attention on Kellen. After all, he’s sweet and weirdly likes all the things I do. It’s rare for me to find someone who has the same tastes as I do besides Greyson.
Several glasses of water later, a belly full to the point of bursting, and swollen cheeks from all the talking, we spill out of the restaurant doors onto the sidewalk.
“Well, Miss Scarlett, I had a great evening.” He reaches out to place a stray hair behind my ear. Licking his lips, he leans in, but I stop him with a hand to his chest.
“I had a good time too, Kellen, but I’m the type of woman who likes to go slow.” And two men’s lips on mine in one night doesn’t sit well with me.
He smiles and rubs his abrasive thumb along my cheek. “I can respect that. Does this mean you’ll join me on another date?”
His green eyes plead with me, but I pause. Do I want another date with him? I have no reason not to, and what better way to erase those unsolicited thoughts about Greyson than to create new ones with someone else? I nod and promise to look at my schedule for free time and get in touch with him soon.
After a brief hug, I head to my car and blow out a big breath once I’m on the road toward home. However, on the lonely stretch of tarmac, with no distractions save for the country singer crooning through my radio and the breeze whistling in from my open window, that kiss replays in a loop.
