Who does that?
I mean, I’ve known this guy for a week, and he orders me hundreds of dollars’ worth of spa treatments?
I don’t know how to process any of this, mainly because…I could like him. I could, and I don’t want to because I know I’m not ready. It’s just… I don’t know how to make it stop. This building crush I’m developing for him. I have no idea if this pampering is out of friendship, or pity, or something else entirely, but I’m scared to ask.
Scared because I don’t know what I want the answer to be.
I’ll be conflicted no matter what.
I spend almost five freaking hours in the spa, and by the time I emerge, I feel and look like a new woman. I haven’t been this relaxed in years, since before Maggie was born. Recharged? Yeah, I’m that too.
My room is decorated in a very New Orleans French way, full of heavy fabrics, gold and damask patterns. It’s gorgeous. I wish I had someone here with me to share it. Eric wouldn’t have liked this, though. He would have thought it was too ostentatious, which it sort of is, but come on.
Ryan texts me that dinner is set for eight. Perfect. I have time for a nap.
I wake at seven to shower, loving how smooth my skin is as I change into a dress—a sexy as hell, silver mini dress that I almost threw out when I was packing, but decided to keep at the last moment. I’m glad I did. I want to look how I feel. Radiant. I pair it with my silver strappy wedge sandals.
When Ryan opens the door to my knock, he pauses, taking me in from head to toe. “You’re breathtaking, Katie. So absolutely gorgeous.”
I smile, unable to help it, and then I launch myself into his arms. He catches me with an oomph and a laugh. I want to wrap my legs around him, but I don’t dare. Instead, I hold him, and he holds me, and wow, this is just so…
“Thank you, Ryan. Today is on my list as one of the top five best days ever, and it’s all thanks to you.”
He steadies me, running his hand across my cheek and staring at me the way only he does. Like he sees me. Like he cares, and that’s only making this growing ache in the pit of my stomach worse.
“I’d do it every day to see you smile like this.”
Normally a comment like that would make me frown and feel sad, but it doesn’t for some reason. For some reason, it makes me feel bubbly in a way I can’t really express. He means it. And it only makes me want to smile more for him just to see the way he looks at me when I do.
“You ready, Katie?”
“I’m ready, Ryan. Dinner and drinks are on me tonight, and you can’t complain, challenge, or protest,” I smirk, throwing his words back at him.
He laughs, but begrudgingly agrees.
I don’t really give him a choice anyway.
We walk out of the hotel into the balmy night, and even though the rain has stopped, the air is heavy and humid. I can feel my hair raising up to a frizz factor of five, so I run my fingers through it and start to try and tame it into a ponytail.
“Don’t,” Ryan stops me with his fingers in my hair. “I like it down like that.”
I give him a look that says, you must be joking. “My hair is a frizzy mess in this humidity.”
“No,” he disagrees. “It’s sexy.”
“Fine,” I surrender. “But promise me that when it becomes an out of control puff of hair, you’ll let me put it up.”
He laughs. “I promise.”
We walk around the corner to Bourbon Street, and even though it’s a Tuesday in September after a day of rain, the streets are packed. The majority of the one and two-story buildings are brick with a lot of wrought-iron balconies with intricate balustrades and spindles. Bright neon lights beckon you into each of the different bars, all promising real New Orleans jazz.
And there are people selling sex everywhere.
Lots and lots of sex.
Oh, and you can drink openly on the streets. I’ve never experienced that before.
“Despite the obvious debauchery, it’s really a very pretty city. I mean, the architecture and the old world classic vibe are unique, but I don’t think I could live here.”
“Why not?” he asks as he opens the door for me to some restaurant I didn’t even pay attention to.
“The weather,” I tell him as we enter the dimly lit room that is filled with a lot of red silk and velvet. “I’m not a fan of super-hot and humid. I think the south is out for me.”
He nods in agreement. “I’m the same way. We can head north after this if you’d like. See if any of those places appeal to you.”
“Sure, though I’m not sure if I’m a Midwestern girl either. I love the ocean,” I laugh at myself. “I’m sort of a walking contradiction, huh?”
“No, just particular with what you want. That’s a good thing, especially when looking for a new place to live.”
I smile at that as I slide into the plush, red velvet bench seat. Our table is set up so that Ryan has to sit next to me in the small space instead of across from me. A lot of the tables are situated this way, and I can’t really figure out why.
Ryan is a big guy and he takes up a lot of space, and given the confines of our table, our thighs and arms are touching.
“Do you want me to see if they have something bigger?” he asks, noting our points of contact.
I look around the very crowded restaurant and it doesn’t appear to get any better anywhere else.
“Nah,” I wave him off. “It’s a good thing I like you, though,” I tease. An unexpected blush creeps up my face at that. Whoa! I clear my throat. “What made you pick Seattle? Or was it the job that drew you there?” And then I realize in the week that I’ve known Ryan, I have yet to ask about what he does for a living. “God, you must think I’m the biggest bitch in the world.” I cover my face with my hands, leaning my head against his arm. “I’m so sorry I never asked about your work until now.”
He nudges my head with the arm that I’m resting against. “I don’t think you’re a bitch and in truth, I don’t like to talk about my work all that much, so I don’t mind in the slightest.”
I look up at him. “Why not?”
“Because some of what I do is… sensitive.”
“Okay.” I draw out the word scrunching my eyebrows.
“Seattle seemed like as good of a place as any for my company to grow, and I have a good buddy there who wants to run a particular portion of it that I’d rather not, so it all works out.”
“Wait,” I hold up a hand. “You own your own business? I don’t understand.”
He stares at me with the most serious of expressions. “Well Katie, much of the world’s consumerism and wealth are driven by business and many people own their own. There are large companies and small companies—” I hit his arm, making him laugh.
“That’s not what I was confused on, you dick.”
He laughs even harder before leaning down to kiss the top of my head. Like it’s all so normal. His touch. His kiss. “You’re just adorable, aren’t you? Yes, I own my own company. I have for years, and as much as I love Philly, I need a change.” He raises an eyebrow. “Surely you can understand that.”