“Well, if you ask my little sister, she’ll tell you I am quite the jerk.” And something about his having a little sister–I think it’s because I imagine him as quite the amazing big brother–makes me like him a little more than I already–unreasonably–do.
“You have a big family?”
But he shakes his head. “My dad died a while back. Mom’s a pediatric intensive care nurse and my sister is a labor and delivery nurse.”
“And what do you do?” I don’t care if he robs banks. But I want to know everything about him.
“I’m a mechanic in the shop my dad started.” His voice is softer now and I lay my hand over his.
It’s endearing. Even his sadness is hot, but more, it’s real. And I don’t take for granted that he’s let me see it.
Instead, I give his hand a squeeze, and he looks up at me. “I’m sorry, Walker.”
“He saw his dream come true. Saw that I’d keep it going.”
I should probably pull my hand back, but I don’t want to stop touching him. “I’m sure he’s proud of you.”
“We used to work on cars together when I was young and this is my way of keeping that tradition alive. His memory.” He shakes his head and chuckles. “I’m sorry. This…”
“It’s beautiful, Walker, the way you honor him.”
And this time, he turns his hand palm up and squeezes my fingers. “What about you? You have ten big brothers I should be worried about?”
“Just two, but you don’t have to worry about Brax or Chandler.” Braxton and Chandler aren’t the kind who would interfere. Not unless I asked. And I’d never. “They’re pretty focused on their own stuff. They’re roommates who live about twenty minutes away.” And like he’s asked, which he hasn’t, I continue. “My folks live in Minneapolis.”
“And how do you spend your days?”
His thumb is stroking my hand, and it’s a miracle that I can think at all. “I, um, I sell real estate.”
“Must keep you busy.”
Oh, yeah. I should probably explain a few things. “It’s why I’ve been so weird about the times I text.” At all hours of the day. But he’s always a quick reply.
“I’m just glad a busy girl like you has time for me.”
Oh Lord. Have time? Of course I have time. I’d make time if I didn’t. Talking to him has become a part of the day I enjoy.
But my stomach is unsettled. I’ve been out with men before who seemed good and kind. Not to this extent, and that worries me. He’s too good to be true. And me and my churning stomach are waiting for the other shoe to drop.
How is a guy like Walker single? I can’t wrap my brain around it.
I did the responsible thing and Googled him before I ever considered dating him. Of course, I didn’t know much about him then except his name but I used it to check his social media. I was prepared for pictures of him with any number of women. With a wife or a couple kids. But there was enough of a presence for the sites to be real, but nothing that threw up any red flags.
His Insta was pictures of cars and landscapes. His Twitter was decidedly unpolitical, undramatic, uncontroversial in any way. His Facebook showed him single. Although he had his fair share of female friends, there wasn’t anything anywhere I’d searched that I could use against him.
For dessert, we had chocolate fondue with berries, marshmallows, cheesecake bites and macaroons. And even though we hadn’t gone full entree, I was happily full when the waitress brought the check.
Like he’d had it waiting for her, he handed her a credit card and then signed when she brought the receipt back.
“Thank you.” It isn’t often a guy pays on a first date paid anymore. Women’s lib and all.
He rewards me with a smile and a wink. “You have to promise me something.”
He isn’t smarmy when he asks, so I nod. “Okay.” He stands and holds out his hand. I slide out of the booth but he doesn’t move back, and suddenly we’re close enough I can smell the light scent of his cologne and I’m looking into his darker than darkness eyes.
“You have to promise that you won’t argue with me about who pays for anything. I will pay now and every time we go out.” His voice isn’t forceful but stern, and heat flares in my belly. He can takethattone with me anytime he wants.
“Okay.” And then it occurs to me that I sound easy. “But what makes you think you’re getting a next time?” I’m almost proud of my ability to flirt, if that’s what it is, when his tongue slips along the smooth edge of his lower lip, and I can’t help but watch the moisture glisten in its wake.
