Chapter 12
After Jordan andI escaped Joy and Sheri’s dire predictions about the entire big island of Hawaii blowing up with lava bombs smashing into our cabin, Jordan asked me to dinner, as in an official date.
It’s unbelievable if you think about it. I diss him and he asks me out? He must be getting paid, but hey, a candlelight dinner at the Italian bistro on board the cruise ship is as good as it gets for Christmas dinner.
Jordan sits across from me, wineglass in hand, hair slicked back, with a glint in his eye. “A toast to my Christmas partner. We had a memorable day, didn’t we?”
I knock wineglasses with him and agree, “Thanks for spending Christmas with me. I’m usually with family, but spending it with a stranger was worth it this year.”
He swirls the wine and sniffs the bouquet before taking a taste. “Strangers may very well be family you don’t have yet.”
“We’re neither stranger nor family.” I sip my wine and try to look like I’m not affected by his hint that I could possibly be included in his future family. “Two ships passing in the night, together in this mere blink of time. Have you ever wondered how many people are out there who you’ll never get to know?”
“Not really. Do you believe in fate?”
I can’t help staring into his mesmerizing eyes and wondering what tricks he’s pulling on me now. Is he trying to get me to fall for him merely to prove he can?
I lob a question back at him. “Do you believe everything happens for a reason?”
He sets the wineglass down and leans toward me. “Finding reasons is our puny way of trying to gain control, to make sense of things that happen, to explain away chance. Every meeting is chance, random atoms bouncing every which way, and here we are, having Christmas dinner together. That’s fate for you.”
I’m not sure what he’s getting at, and somehow Jordan being serious makes me more nervous than when he’s jesting or teasing. Is he saying we’re fated to be together?
At least for tonight?
The waiter places our dinner salads in front of us, giving me a break from Jordan’s line of interrogation.
“Guess I’m fated for a wonderful meal with a scintillating dinner companion.” I give him a teasing smile. “Bon appétit.”
“Likewise.” He winks and breaks bread. I can’t help but notice how sensuous his mouth is with every bite he takes and how carefully and thoroughly he chews his food.
No slurping or wolfing or gobbling.
Dang. I didn’t realize how sophisticated and suave Jordan Reed had grown up to be.
Goosebumps prickle my bare shoulders, and I feel like a bug under a microscope. My palms sweat, and I’m worried that I might have a sheen of sweat over my nose. My heart is fluttering on overdrive, too.
I could be hyperventilating.
This my official first date with Jordan Reed.
We’re tucked in the corner of the bistro in an intimate booth.
With candlelight.
On Christmas night.
And I have butterflies dancing in my belly.
Two nights ago, Jordan offered me two alternatives when I asked him where I would go from here.
Predictability. Order. Believing I’m in control of my own life.
Or total chaos. Surprises.
And him.
“This was impeccable,” Jordan says, wiping his lips with a napkin as he finishes his flat iron steak. “How was your duck breast?”
