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“I love red meat,” Grace moans digging in.
Think about puppies and grandmas, Buck. Stop thinking about her mouth.
“How is it? Is the steak cooked to your liking?” I ask. “I’ll send it back. Speak up.” I’ll say anything to get a reprieve from the sight of her lips wrapping around her food.
Grace laughs. “It’s perfect.”
At my urging, Grace finally says more about her dream home. What she would do with the kitchen, the bathrooms, the living room — all of it. “…and I think, if it were my house, I would love to turn the turret into a little fantasy playroom for kids. A mural with a forest, with fairies and twinkle lights.”
“So you want kids. That’s great.”
“One day.”
“How about you?” Grace asks me.
“I want to find a wife and have kids soon. I love being in business with my brothers, but something’s gotta give. I want to go home at the end of the day and concentrate on my family. I want someone to cook with and share chores with. I want a wife to spoil with everything she ever dreamed of.”
I notice now that Grace is sitting there with her fork hovering over her plate, gazing at me.
“I’ve been talking too much. Tell me more about you, Grace.”
She shakes her head. “Sorry, no you were not talking too much. I got lost in my imagination for a second.”
Her cheeks are beet red now.
I can’t hold back anymore.
“I should have been straight with you from the beginning. I like you, Grace.”
“I like you too,” she chirps, tearing into her baked potato slathered in butter. Gosh, she’s cute.
But she still doesn’t get it.
“What that means, for me, is I want to date you.”
Finally, she sets down her fork and knife, studying me hard. “You do?” The barest hint of a smile pulls on her top lip.
“I thought it was obvious.”
She chuckles nervously. “Well, I did think the fussing when you picked me up was a little dramatic. Then, offering me your arm felt like blurring the lines, but I thought maybe you were just an old-fashioned gentleman, like my dad.”
Immediately I lay it all out. “Old-fashioned. Dramatic. That’s me. If you date me, there will be more of that. More than you can handle, sometimes.”
Grace sips her wine and blinks, looking down at the table as she swallows.
She’s thinking.
I hold my breath.
Here it comes, the moment she pulls me up for crossing the line between professional and personal, or she decides to dive in. What’s it gonna be, Grace? A sexual harassment complaint on LinkedIn, or will you give me a chance?
Another moment passes and she says, “You think I can’t handle a man like you, Buck?”
Yes, yes, yes. It’s happening. It’s her. I knew it the moment I saw her.
I lean forward, unable to keep my wide grin under control. “Oh, you can.” My voice is rougher than intended, but the effect on her works for me. She squirms in her seat. “If you let me, I’ll put all of me into you.”
Her lips part. “All of you…into me?”
