Shit. Was I late? I’d sneaked out a little bit early. I didn’t want him to get the impression that he wasn’t important to me.
“Hey. Sorry I’m late,” I greeted him, climbing out of the car and locking it in a hurry as I rushed over.
Rusty turned and waved a little bit as he recognized me, bouncing onto the tips of his toes. The beaming smile that he gave me made my chest loosen with relief. “You’re not late,” he greeted me. “I was just early, for once.”
As I walked up to him, he reached out a little bit with both hands and then dropped them, his gaze flicking between my eyes. The tip of his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.
It was so obvious what he wanted, and a thrill ran through my whole body. God, he’s cute.
I smiled and took one of his hands, squeezing. I licked my lips and leaned in for a quick kiss. A warm, soft brush—affectionate but not pushy.
Rusty smiled again as he pulled away. “Well, hello. Are you ready? I’m starving. Come here a lot? I’ve never been. I looked at the menu online, though—”
Before I could pull open the restaurant door, Rusty was already in full flow, chattering away. All I could do was grin and wait for a moment in the conversation.
I’d definitely picked an extrovert. That was a relief. Keeping up a conversation was never going to be hard.
“Wait, you never answered,” Rusty said when we were in line. He leaned in, conspiratorially whispering, “What’s good?” like the salad menu was full of state secrets.
Look at him, I thought, freezing before I could answer honestly. Rusty wore a T-shirt that showed every one of his tasty abs. His jeans clung to him so tightly that his bulge showed. Could I skip the salad and go straight to the meat course?
I walked around the neighborhood every evening after work, but that was the extent of my exercise. Compared to Rusty, who lived in a studio and twirled through the air like he was born to it, I’d never felt more dusty.
And I certainly didn’t want to admit that I’d packed on more pounds of fried chicken than he’d probably seen in his life. Rusty needed someone who could keep up with him.
So I forced a quick laugh and clapped his back. “Everything. That’s the beauty of salad, right?” I asked, desperately hoping it was true. In truth, I thought only a good salad dressing could rescue a bowl of greens.
“Right,” Rusty agreed and gave me a perky smile, then returned to staring at the menu board as I ignored the guilty prickle.
It wasn’t really lying not to tell him that I’d always hated salad, right? I was a new man. I was going to start liking it.
Now I just had to figure out what I’d order and pretend I knew what I was doing.
In the end, I went for a standard chicken Caesar salad while Rusty made his own mishmash of a salad. He seemed to love hovering in front of the display case and pointing at ingredients.
“What’s that supposed to be?” I made fun of him once we sat down at a table near the window. The combination of strawberries and avocados worried me.
“The Rusty, of course,” he said and winked. “Full of more enthusiasm than common sense.”
I laughed as I dug into my bowl. The tangy Caesar dressing danced over my taste buds, and the chewy bites of chicken made it feel like a real meal. “So, how’s today treating you?”
It worked to start the conversation and avoid any awkward silence: Rusty started talking at a million words a minute, while I steadily ate my way through lunch with just Mmmphs of agreement every so often.
I loved that Rusty talked about his family first of all, even if I hated seeing him frown as he told me how stressed his brothers were. He was also circumspect with the details, as if worried that I’d think they didn’t have everything under control.
I wished he’d come out and admit that so I could tell him that I trusted them as much as him.
And clearly, he loved his family despite their quirks. That in itself endeared him to me—not that he needed any help. He probably had no idea how many butterflies took flight in my body every time he opened those pretty lips of his, or smiled at me like the sun itself lived in his soul.
I could be around him for days and never get tired of him, I thought.
Holy crap.
This wasn’t just meeting a new friend and getting along well with him. Nor was it puppy love, admiration of a man who’d grown up in the very scene I’d ached to join for years.
It was something deeper—an undercurrent pulling me into him, slowly but irresistibly.
Rocked by the realization that nobody since Chrissy had made me feel like he did, it took me a moment to realize that Rusty had cut off talking in order to eat.
“It sounds like a crazy business to be in,” I finally said.
“Oh, you have no idea.” Rusty laughed. “I’m glad I’m on the fringes of the business. Not everyone buys my add-on lessons. A lot of people come up with their own ideas, or they do a really easy one-two step for the first dances. But everyone needs a cake and flowers, and a Dill in their lives.”
“I don’t know. I think everyone needs a Rusty,” I said with a smile.
Rusty turned as red as his hair, and picked up his fork to attack the salad. Little dimples appeared in his cheeks with the force of the smile he looked like he was holding back. “Thanks. So, um. I’ve talked enough. Now you tell me about your day.”
Suddenly put on the spot, I ummed and ahhed a little bit. “Well, nothing too exciting. Just mapping out a network for a new client today,” I said and smiled. “My work’s pretty boring to anyone who doesn’t live and breathe IT.”
“So what else do you do?” Rusty said. “What gets you fired up?” he asked. He glanced between me and the bowl, picking out the olives to eat first.
Apparently he had taste buds made of steel. I’d thought it was a bad idea, but he seemed happy with his choices.
Unfortunately, I had no idea how to answer that in a way that didn’t make me sound like the most boring man in the country.
“I like… long walks on the beach?” I offered, which made him giggle. “And my family.” That much, I was certain of. I straightened up and smiled. “Beth, of course. And Chrissy and Ken. I have dinner with them and their friends a lot. Sometimes I invite my friends and neighbors over for dinner parties, too.”
“Oooh. Dinner parties. So you can cook,” Rusty said, propping his chin on his fist.
“Nothing healthy,” I warned him with a laugh. Wait, isn’t it one of his brothers who caters for Best Men, Inc.? I’d better rein in his expectations so I don’t disappoint him, I thought. “And definitely not as fancy as your brothers.”
“Brother,” Rusty corrected with a wink, and it took me a moment to realize that he was being snarky. “Blaze is a great cook, but I’m sure you can out-fancy the rest of them. Don’t tell Dill or Alec I said that.”
I laughed at the comment. “I used to wish I’d had a brother.”
“You don’t?” Rusty asked.
I shook my head. “One sister, and my parents—they live up in Tacoma—and me. And assorted relatives scattered around the West Coast.”
Rusty grinned. “Well, if you want to know the definition of close-knit, meet my family.”