And then I saw him.
Vance Prescott sat at a corner table in dark jeans and a crisp white button-down, his thick salt-and-pepper hair styled but not overdone. Chiseled features. High cheekbones. A strong jaw with dimples on either side of his mouth. Handsome, yes. But there was something else. He reminded me of a lion, so large andmajestic, with that proud posture, and hands folded on top of the table as if he had all the time in the world.
I stepped closer, my heart pounding in my ears.
He turned slightly and saw me. For a moment, our eyes locked and I swear it felt like a thousand questions and answers floated between us, all unsaid, but ready to spill out of our mouths now that fate had finally caught up to us.
He stood as I crossed the room toward him, and I had to tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes. He was taller than I’d expected—probably six-two—with broad shoulders that filled out his button-down perfectly. Hazel eyes. Warm and a little nervous.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. It’s not like me. Usually anyway.”
“Not a problem at all. You’re only a few minutes late.” His voice was warm, with a slight roughness that suggested maybe he’d been nervous too. “You look beautiful.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Thank you. You look really nice too.”
We stood there for a beat. Were we supposed to shake hands? Hug? Should I offer my cheek for him to kiss? Was that European?
Then, he did something so unexpected that it made my breath catch. He lifted my right hand and brushed his lips across my knuckles. Like we were the hero and heroine in a Regency love story.
“I would wait all night if I knew you’d show up eventually,” Vance said.
“I would. Show up, that is.”
“Please sit.” Vance held out my chair, waiting.
I swallowed, jumpy, legs shaking, managing to sit. He pushed the chair closer to the table as if I weighed nothing. I was hyperaware of his hands on the back of my chair, the warmth of him just behind me. Almost familiar. He tucked my chair insmoothly, like he'd done it a thousand times. He smelled woody and clean—maybe cedar and citrus?
“So.” I set my purse on the floor beside my chair. “Hello.”
“Hello.” He smiled, and some of the tension in my chest eased. “Are you as nervous as I am?”
“Probably more.”
“Walking here, all I could think about was—why? Why had I done this to myself?” Vance said, smiling. Those dimples. Despite his obvious sophistication, they gave him a boyish appearance.
“Same.” I took in a breath, feeling suddenly very thirsty.
“How about now?” Vance asked. “Now that you’re here?”
“Much better. A little better. You?”
He laughed, low and rumbly, like a vintage car. “Much better. Not just a little.”
We stared at each other, like we were in a time travel movie. Like we knew each other, deep down, but it would take some time together to remember it all.
“You live nearby?”
“Above Dorian’s bookstore, actually. While my house is being remodeled. He’s been my best friend since we were kids. Grew up together here in Willet Cove.”
“And now you’re both back?”
“Surprised us both, but yeah.”
A server appeared with menus and water glasses, giving us a moment to settle in. I busied myself with the menu even though I already knew what I wanted. I came here every week with my best friends.
“Do you have any wine preferences?” Vance asked. “Or I can choose? Whichever you prefer.”
I laughed, relaxing a bit. “I say we leave it to the professional.”
