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With summer in full swing, the town is ready to entertain the residents and tourists alike. The town goes all out each year for Fourth of July, and this year will be no different. Concerts, food, kid-friendly events, and fireworks. CKI sets up food tents and donates to the fireworks display. Most businesses in Stone Bay contribute in some way and each year is better than the previous.
The valet hands over the ticket as Skylar and I exit the car. Her arm hooks with mine and we walk to the open door of Calhoun’s Bistro. A young woman behind the podium stands taller and straightens her tie as we approach and she eyes Skylar.
What level of authority does Skylar hold at CKI?
“Hey Candace,” Skylar greets the young woman.
“Ms. York.”
More power than previously suspected. Which adds a new layer of fire to my little phoenix. A layer I am eager to peel off.
The hostess shifts her attention my way and gives a practiced smile. “Welcome to Calhoun’s Bistro.”
“Reservation for Howell.”
The woman scans the computer screen, then meets our stares. “Follow me, Mr. Howell.”
Seated at a table, the hostess hands us menus and rattles off the chef specials tonight. I don’t hear a word as I ogle Skylar in the candlelight across the small, cloth-covered table. Skylar’s foot crawls up my leg under the table and I stop breathing. It isn’t the casual nature of her open display that has my lungs frozen. More that I didn’t expect her toes to trail up my thigh as the hostess mentions bison tenderloin.
The hostess finishes her spiel, walks off, and I exhale.
I fist Skylar’s foot beneath the table, lock onto her jade-green irises—a hint darker with her choice of attire tonight—and lean forward. “Be a good girl, little phoenix.”
Her lips kick up in a half smile. “What if I’m not?”
I lick my lips as my thumb digs into the arch of her foot. “Then you may not get dessert.”
She studies me a beat, gauging the truth in my words. Would I deprive her when we returned home? No. Fun as it might be to tease the hell out of Skylar, I would be depriving myself in the process. Lucky for me, she doesn’t know how far I am willing to go. How long I can hold out. And I need to keep Skylar on her toes.
“Fine,” she huffs out, gingerly removing her foot from my lap.
Tonight is like no other evening we have shared. With our hormones stowed, we order dinner and settle into deeper conversation. We sip wine and learn more about our pasts, family, and hobbies.
Aside from her obsession with crime documentaries, Skylar loves the outdoors. Hiking. Camping. Swimming when the weather allows. If it’s in the thick of nature, she loves it. Her top bucket list item is to visit all the national parks. To date, she has visited three. As she describes the first, I formulate a plan to take her to the remaining sixty.
I share a glimpse of my past with her. Talk about my parents—both retired—and brother, Alton. Three years younger, Alton has always been my best friend. We don’t see each other often since work took him across the country, but we talk regularly and get together when schedules permit. After a brief glance around the dining room, I explain to her why I got a vasectomy.
Surprised she hadn’t brought up the subject sooner, I tell her about the woman I met in college. How she swore up and down she was on the pill, clean, and wanted me bare. I put too much trust in her. Two months later, she was at my doorstep with a pregnancy test. Needless to say, I lost my shit. Fought her for a paternity test. And then, miraculously, on the day of my appointment, she was no longer pregnant.
I am not completely averse to children, but that incident changed my outlook—on dating and family—for years. When I had the money, I made sure no one could trap me the way she tried. I wanted to choose when such life-altering decisions affected me.
We order dessert and I excuse myself to use the restroom. Less than three minutes pass before I return to a closed-off Skylar. She may not be the most outgoing woman, but I have never seen her cower.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, dropping to my chair and scooting closer.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s fine,” she mumbles, fidgeting with the napkin on her lap.
“Skylar.” I inch forward and reach for her knee under the table. “Look at me.” On a deep exhale, she meets my stare. “What’s wrong?”
Her shoulders slump, and her eyes frown at the corners. “Oh, you know. Just the fine people of Stone Bay talking shit in not-so-whispered tones.”
My brows pinch together. “Someone was nasty to you when I stepped away?”
“Not to my face, but the comment was directed toward our table. And meant for me to hear.”
“Who?” I growl.
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Law, no. I appreciate you wanting to defend me, I do, but please don’t stoop to their level.” Her grip tightens on my hand. “Let’s finish our beautiful evening. You can make it all better once we leave.”
