“I’m loving the whole sexy librarian thing you’ve got goin’ on,” Emily said, her voice bubbling with laughter. “Do you think Deacon will try to check out some books tonight?”
“Oh, Emily…”
At seven o’clock on the dot, there was a soft knock at the main door. Emily let out a squeal, then jumped from her strategic position on the couch and hurried to answer.
“Hello, Emily,” Deacon said with a smile.
Emily said, “Hey,” and hugged him. From the kitchen, Vivienne watched Deacon’s eyes widen at whatever she whispered into his ear. “Vivienne! Deacon’s here!”
“There’s no need to shout. I’m right here.”
The color of Deacon’s shirt made his beautiful eyes sparkle, while the fitted dark denim jeans slid low on his hips. His hair was slightly mussed, and his cheeks were flushed. “All set?”
Fireflies were everywhere. Like they’d had a bunch of firefly babies and they’d just woken up from a nap.
“Yeah. Let’s go.” The quicker they got out of there, the less likely Emily was to say something embarrass—
“Have fun on your date!” Emily shouted.
Something embarrassing, like that.
“Sorry about Emily,” she blurted, following Deacon down the stairs and out into the cool evening air. “I told her this wasn’t a date but—”
“It is a date.”
Wait. What? Did he just say . . . “But…you don’t date.”
“Perhaps I decided to make an exception,” he murmured, leading Vivienne to his black car parked in the stone driveway outside the Hall.
An exception? What the heck did that mean? Like … how much of an exception was he talking about? Was this just a date or did he want more? Did he want the labels and the relationship and everything that went along with it?
The heavenly smell of leather surrounded her as she slid into the passenger seat.
“Emily is quite protective of you,” he said, starting the car and shifting to drive.
Oh no. “What’d she say?”
A smile. “She told me that if I hurt you, she’d cut off my…um…certain parts I’d prefer remained attached.”
“Ignore her. She says crazy stuff all the time.” She chuckled to herself.
“Like?”
“Like, she keeps insisting we’d have cute kids and—”
“We would have very cute kids.”
In order to have kids, the two of them would have to do something else first. Her eyes fell to Deacon’s lap before darting back to the window. Why was it so hot in the car? She adjusted the temperature on her side and focused on the classic rock anthem playing in the background.
Kensington’s gates jerked open, and the car turned toward the hazy, glowing aura crowning Worcester. The moon followed them down the road like an attentive chaperone.
“Isn’t Worcester that way?” Theirs was the only car in the line not turning toward the city.
“We’re not going to town,” he said, rubbing his thumb along the steering wheel’s leather stitching.
With the moon no longer in sight, she became aware of how alone she was with Deacon and had to turn on the AC. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
There was something familiar about the neighborhood she couldn’t place until Deacon pulled into the driveway of a picturesque two-story house. She leaned forward to look out the windshield, finding the moon waiting for her above the roof.
“This is your place.” It looked different without the snow.
“It is.” He shifted into park and unhooked his seat belt. “Thankfully, it’s a lot quieter than the last time you were here.”
Alone. In his house. Together.
She followed him up the stone stairs, breathing through her surge of adrenaline as quietly as possible. The last thing she wanted to do was fly away, but her body didn’t seem to know how to process the excess energy.
His keys jingled when he turned them in the lock. Inside, a lamp on a shelf beneath the picture window created a vignette around the otherwise dark living area. Light from a second lamp in the corner reflected off the marble countertop. She could also make out the silhouette of candlesticks between two place settings at the island.
A date and a candlelight dinner? Deacon was pulling out all the stops.
“Something smells yummy.” She unbuckled her shoes and set them beside his at the door.
“Before you ask, no, I didn’t cook any of it.” He took her jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “If I had, you’d be eating toast for dinner.”
“Toast is good too.” She smoothed a non-existent wrinkle from her skirt.
Deacon held his hand out to her. “Viens avec moi belle.”
“I didn’t know you spoke French.” Even after studying the language for three years in high school, her skills were more observational than conversational. But if she ever went to France and saw three small cats, she’d know exactly what to say.
Looking up from their joined hands, he said, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” and led her to the kitchen island. “That’s why I asked you to dinner.”
“Are you going to tell me your deepest, darkest secrets and then bury me in the backyard?” She peered out the back windows before sitting on one of the high bar stools. Remembering what had happened on the moonlit patio that winter made her shiver.
“You have the first part correct.” He brought a jug of water and a bottle of white wine from the fridge, then returned for two bowls of salad. “But if I tell you my secrets, will you tell me yours?”
Like she had any secrets worth telling. “Okay. Here’s a secret: I don’t really like wine.” She lifted the glass by the stem and inhaled even though she had no clue what she was smelling. Wine had always reminded her of dyeing Easter eggs in vinegar when she was little.
“It makes the table look fancier,” he laughed, lighting the candles with a match. When he blew it out, the smoke undulated between them.
“That smoke smells better than the wine.”
He turned the dark bottle and frowned at the label. “I’ll have you know this was a very expensive bottle.”
She had a taste; it wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t good. “You wasted your money. Because I can’t tell a difference between this”—she raised her glass—“and the stuff that comes from a box.”
“Prepare yourself for my first deep, dark secret of the night.” He clinked his glass against hers and leaned close to whisper, “Neither can I.”
When he stepped away, he left behind a void.
“Is that eggplant parmesan?” she asked when he retrieved a silver tray from the oven.
“You ordered it before, so I thought it was a safe choice for dinner.” He cut two slices and carried them on plates to the island.
“Looks great.” She inhaled the steam rising from the plate. It smelled even better. “Where’d you get it?”
“Audrey, the head chef at The Glass House, did me a favor.”
“That was nice of her.” Vivienne stabbed a piece of lettuce. And she was sure Audrey didn’t expect anything in return.