“Right this way,” she says smoothly, putting me out of my misery.
Relief mingles with the delight at finding that my name must be on the hostess’s list, that my mystery man might really meet me here tonight.
She takes me to a pristinely set but empty table and asks if I want water. I perch in one of the table’s two chairs and order a whole bottle of red wine, house’s choice.
The hostess bustles away and leaves me sitting solo at this table for two, wondering how much of a romantic idiot I am.
I should run for it.
It’d be easy to get away before a server stops by with the wine, before any of the other patrons realize how pathetic I am.
But I can’t.
Not unless I’m ready to regret this night for the rest of my days.
I’m not.
No matter how things turn out, I need to see it through.
I curl my fingers around the seat of the wooden chair and force myself to stay in it.
My wine comes.
The server offers it for my inspection.
I nod like I have any idea what makes a good wine.
He pours it and departs.
I drink deeply.
All the while, my eyes are glued to the foyer that’s just visible from my seat, wondering and wondering and wondering.
Jasper
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.
Dressed in a black suit, black shirt, and black tie, I’m standing outside the Interlake Inn and wondering if maybe I’m having a psychotic break.
Because surely no sane person who realized out he’d been texting with a woman that thought he was someone else entirely would show up for the fancy date he’d asked her out on.
Right?
I’m honestly not sure.
This afternoon I’d called Frank for more advice.
“Go for it,” he’d said on the phone.
“Um . . . why?”
He laughs “How’d she make you feel?”
“Fucking fantastic,” I admit. “But—“
“Then you go. Explain everything. If she’s really the woman you think she is, she’ll be open to you.”
I’d frowned at the phone. “You think so?”
“Absolutely. Go get the girl or die trying.”
Then he’d hung up on me.
Thanks, Frank.
But here I am, trying to get the girl. I hope I don’t die trying.
Setting my shoulders, I stride up the walk and into the Inn, prepared for disappointment. I give my name to the hostess and she shows me into the dining area.
I’m fucking seeing things.
The evergreen aroma that’s filling this place must be laced with crack. Or psychedelic drug scents or something. Is that a thing?
Because there’s Bethany Nave, dressed in white and looking at me with stars in her eyes.
The English language has so many words to describe her.
Exquisite.
Angelic.
Radiant.
None of them are good enough. Not for her.
“Bethany,” I croak as the hostess leads me to the table. I stand gaping down at her. “Bethany.”
She stands, squinting at me. “Is that . . . Jasper? From work?”
I try to speak but end up gulping like a damn goldfish that’s launched its dumb ass out of the water. I nod instead.
Her face explodes with light.
Er, I mean she smiles.
At me.
And laughs.
The sound is like a choir of bells on Christmas Eve.
“You really do look so much different without your Santa suit.” She draws closer, eyes traveling my face like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “So different. So good.”
“Bethany,” I say again. I’m a drowning man and her name is the only thing keeping me afloat. “You’re here.”
Her smile softens, grows more shy. “I’m here. I thought I was crazy to come.”
“Me too. I mean, I thought I was the crazy one. Not you. You’re perfect.” My voice is harsh, every syllable blurted. I don’t care because she’s fucking here, with me, in this moment.
I’d come to the Inn in the hopes that she’d be here, but I’d never truly believed she would show.
The fact that she did feels like a miracle. A true Christmas miracle.
“I’m sorry—“ she begins, and I laugh.
Yeah. I straight-up laugh in the face of this impeccable woman. Smooth, right?
“You’re sorry? When I basically ghosted you?” I say. “No, I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “I thought you were someone else. I feel so awful, putting you through what I did.”
I feel my mouth draw into a hard line. I try to soften it and fail. “Sexton.”
She nods, but somehow her eyes are still full of apology. Why?
“I had the hots for him,” she admits.
“He’s pretty damned attractive,” I say, digging my own grave. Why the hell am I complimenting her crush?
“But today . . . well, he showed me who he really is.”
“And?” I all but gasp. Everything feels like it’s hinging on her answer.
“Well,” she says, plucking at the skirt of her white dress, looking everywhere but at me, “he’s not, um, you.” Now she peeks at me from beneath her thick lashes.
My heart freaking explodes.
At least, that’s what it feels like.
I’m probably dying, just like Frank said.
Maybe somebody should call an ambulance.
Or maybe I’m finally living? Living an existence where I’m not the outlier, the oddball, the weird one that never fits in.
I look around.
The other diners at the Inn are going about their meals, curious about the two of us standing next to our table but otherwise unperturbed.
The hostess and waitstaff don’t seem concerned for my health.
I’m not in any pain. Like a weirdo, I pat my body down just to be sure.
I conclude that I’m not dying.
I’m just so fucking happy.
“You still want me, even though I’m not Sexton Kail?” I rasp, voice tremulous with emotion.
She nods, suddenly bashful. “If you’ll have me.”
I do it again. I laugh, loud, and this time the other patrons do deal me severe looks.
But I don’t care. Because the woman I want wants me right back.
I’m so damn lucky.
“If I’ll have you?” Carefully, I take her hands in mine, afraid that if I move too quickly she’ll disappear. “Bethany, you’re all I want.”
Her eyes turn hard, mischievous. “Then kiss me,” she murmurs, her voice the most exquisite tease. “Show me how much you want me, Jasper King.”
And I do, gathering her into my arms right there in the middle of the restaurant, disapproving diners be damned.
They can all go to hell. I’ve got all that I need here in my arms and I have no intention of letting go.
Bethany
Jasper orders us the best meal I’ve ever eaten. Like, it’s orgasmic level. There’s roasted Brussels sprouts, dill pickle creme fraiche, and fresh-caught salmon that melts in my mouth.
I barely taste any of it.
Because all I can think about is Jasper, my photo shop co-worker, turning out to be my mystery man.