Jason sat across from me. I found his eyes trailing downward from my neck to my chest, lingering on the swells of my breasts before continuing their slow, perusing path, ending at my painted nails. The color I’d chosen, aptly named Cherry Popping Red, matched the color of my underwear. I liked doing this; it was a secret source of confidence.
He licked his full bottom lip like he’d already guessed my secret, drawing it into his mouth to bite it.
Pressing my knees together, I released an unsteady—albeit silent—exhale and reached for my water. “I like that suit,” I said, then took a sip, inspecting him over the rim of the glass. Unable to stop myself from giving him an admiring once-over—because that suit fit him like it had been tailormade to show off every perfect line and angle—my gaze snagged at his jaw.
Where before he’d had a neatly trimmed goatee, he now wore a neatly trimmed, close-cut, salt and pepper beard. I blinked, my eyes darting up to his. The side of his mouth was still quirked, his bottom lip still caught between his teeth. His eyes sparkling with interest as they moved over my hair. He seemed a little dumbfounded, amused but entranced. I liked this look on his face.
“How’d you know I like champagne cocktails?” I asked, pleased by how calm I sounded.
“I guessed.”
I gave him a coy look. “Are you saying I’m predictable?”
“In some ways.” His eyes moved between mine, as though searching. “But definitely not in others.” Leaning forward, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Is it just really dark in here, or are your eyes brown now?”
Grinning, I set my elbow on the table and also leaned forward. “Dear Henry. My eyes have always been brown.”
He returned my grin, shaking his head.
“But it is dark in here,” I went on, peeking around the barrier of plants surrounding us, doing a double take as I looked out the glass at my left. “Oh my. How beautiful.” The sparse candlelight now made more sense. Beyond the wall of windows, we were offered a view of the stars.
“My thoughts exactly.”
That statement had me giving him an appreciative side-eye. “I stepped right into that one.”
“From where I’m sitting, you are surrounded by starlight, Diane.” He’d already reclined back into his chair, his posture relaxed, his voice conversational, and I marveled at his quiet confidence.
I’d never been around a man who seemed so comfortable in his own skin. In my profession, I’d delt with plenty of men, business owners big and small.
The waiter arrived with our cocktails, breaking our little staring contest, and I realized I’d never been given a menu.
I was just about ask for one when the man said, “We do have one wine substitution this evening. With our cheese plate, we have a new madeira, but everything else on the chef’s pairing menu is as planned.”
Jason nodded his head and the man left us.
“Pairing menu?” I lifted the cocktail and took a sip. It was stronger than I’d been expecting, but it tasted good. “Did you take it upon yourself to order for me?” I didn’t like that, and would have no problem telling him so.
“The menu here is set,” he explained, resting his hand around his whiskey glass. “The only choice I was given was whether to have a dry dinner, or one with wine pairings.” He paused, seemed to consider me for a long moment, then added, “I didn’t order for you. I know you like fine food, and I didn’t want to spend any part of the night focusing on something other than you. That included what to eat, or whether to order dessert.”
“Oh.” Well then. How nice.
“There’s seven courses,” he continued, a flicker of doubt passing over his expression. “I figured, if we didn’t like something, we’d just move on to the next. Did I—”
“No, no.” I patted the table. “You did exactly right. I freely admit, sometimes it’s a relief to be freed of having to make decisions. But—and maybe this doesn’t make much sense—if you’d been the one to decide everything for me, I wouldn’t have liked that.”
My words seemed to settle his momentary concern and he relaxed once more. “I also liked the idea of being surprised together.”
“You don’t know what we’re eating either?”
“No. They don’t tell you ahead of time. You just get what you get.”
“And you don’t get upset.”
He grinned. “Something like that. Though, if you want to throw a fit at any point, be my guest.”
“No, no. I don’t do that.” I took another sip of my drink, opting to continue to hold it this time instead of putting it down. I didn’t throw hissy fits with those in the hospitality industry. Waitstaff were some of the hardest working folks and certainly didn’t deserve all the petty complaints they received, and I knew this because I’d worked almost every job at the Lodge. Even now, whenever we were short staffed in the dining barn, I’d bus tables and take orders.
But Jason didn’t know this about me. How could he? Maybe he thought I was one of those pushy and particular ladies who was never satisfied. Sometimes I could be, but only with my own staff and only when I knew they were capable of better.
Somehow, we’d found ourselves in an uncanny dating valley. This wasn’t a proper first date between two people who didn’t know each other, who had no perceived notions, true or not. I’d wanted our first date to be a real one; I wanted us to think the best of each other, like we were strangers, and anything was possible.
Licking my lips of residual alcohol, I had an idea.
“So, Henry. What do you do?”
His eyes narrowed, gleamed with amusement. “I’m a criminal. How about you, Beth?”
“Come on. Play along.” Setting my drink down, I tapped my fingers on the table.
“Why are we pretending? I’m here for you, not Elizabeth.”
“We’re not pretending. We’re just going to make things pleasant, because it’s our first date and everybody puts their best foot forward on their first date.”
“Is that so?”
I cocked my head to the side. “Haven’t you ever been on a date before?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“Oh. Well, I haven’t been on one in thirty years, but I do know how they’re supposed to work.” A spark of worry had me forcing a smile. I’d told him at my house that I wanted a relationship, but were his definition of that word and my definition the same? He’d never even been on a date. Had he ever been exclusive with anyone? “I suppose we should back up. Have you ever been exclusive with anyone?” I worked to keep my tone conversational. If he’d never been in a relationship at his age, then tonight was likely hopeless.
His focus turned inward, like he was working through a puzzle. “What do you mean by exclusive?”
“You know.” I fiddled with my earring, trying to appear nonchalant. “A relationship with just one person, where you don’t—uh—have intimate relations with anyone else.”
Now he looked at me like I was odd and maybe cute. “Of course.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t help it, I breathed out a relieved laugh. “Good. That’s good. But y’all never went on a date?”