“Oh?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, then.” He raises his watch and navigates to the timer. “Five minutes.”
I grab his hand before he can start it. “Okay, okay. Maybe I was exaggerating a bit. I do need to make a few calls.”
He smiles and releases my hand. “And I need to file a couple of reports. How long do you need?”
I rub my lips together and think. “Two hours.”
“Two hours and counting.”
Two hoursand eight minutes later, I walk up to Beau’s door, take a deep breath, and knock three times. I’m wearing white shorts, a pink off-the-shoulder top with flutter sleeves, and white strappy sandals. And my hair…is curled. Miracles do happen.
Since it’ll be frizzed beyond recognition in an hour, it’s really just a gesture to let Beau know I want to look my best for this date. It’s why I texted him to dress to impress.
Impressme, of course. Which isn’t hard because Beau would impress me in a Chewbacca costume.
The door opens, and my jaw slips open.
Beau’s wearing a tailored black suit, a crisp white shirt, and a black tie. His hair is perfectly coiffed.
His gaze drops to what I’m wearing, scanning me slowly from my head all the way down to my toes. “You look…amazing,” he whispers, letting his fingertip graze my hair and down my bare shoulder. “And…a little less formal than me. When you saiddress to impress, I thought?—”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s my bad. I mostly just meant not to wear your cop uniform.”
“I’ll go change,” he says, turning.
I grab his hand, keeping him from going. “Don’t. Please.” This is not how I’d pictured him tonight, but now that I’ve seen it, I need it.
His mouth quirks up at the side, but he looks unsure.
“Beau, if I’d known you looked like that in a suit and tie, I’d have given you very specific instructions to wear exactly that.”
He chuckles. “Okay. Fine. I’ll stay in it. For you.”
I narrow my eyes slightly. “Can you drive a boat in it?”
“I’ll be driving a boat?”
“Yes. And there’s a chance you could get wet or sandy.” I clench my teeth. “How attached are you to that suit? Because I’mveryattached to you wearing it for our date.”
He looks down at it and shrugs.
“Great,” I say, pulling him out of his house before he can change his mind.
“So, you’re telling me you planned a date to knock my socks off—your words, not mine—and it requires me to drive?”
“Where much is expected, much is required,” I say.
“I don’t think that’s how it?—”
“Shh.”
We get to the dock, where his boat is swaying gently with the water. He helps me in, then follows. I stare unapologetically at the way the suit hugs his thighs as he climbs in. I’m very happy with his clothing choice.
I’m even happier a few minutes later when he’s standing at the wheel, steering us through the canal waters. Have you ever seen a man in a well-tailored suit driving a boat? It’s a bucket list item, and my bucket truly runneth o’er.
