My heart punched the inside of my chest at the sametime my belly flipped. One of my internal organs calling the other a liar. Acheater. A thief. The other simply responded the way any woman would.
I don’t live in DC anymore, I whispered to my heart.
It shriveled two sizes to teach me a lesson. You mightnot live there, my heart whispered back, but I never left.
In a few more minutes we’d traveled the short distanceof Main Street and pulled up in front of a sleek, white-washed brick building vibrantwith people and opening night excitement. The light rain cast a dewy glowaround the renovated structure, softening the edges and giving it a picturesquequality.
The place was packed, especially for Frisco. Peoplemilled all around the building, on the sidewalk in front of the building,around the side, huddled under table umbrellas in a charming little courtyard completewith quaint iron tables and a pergola covered in climbing flowers. The windowsto the building were cracked open, spilling out the sound of music and laughterand buzzing chatter. Golden light lit up the inside, illuminating the pieceshanging on the walls and on free-standing displays around the open designspace. Waiters hurried back and forth from the bar to the tables to the kitchenand back again.
The setting was perfect.
Completely perfect.
Jesse parked right on the street, down from the mainentrance. He hurried around the front of the truck and opened the door for me,helping me down the significant jump to the ground. His hand landed on my waistonce I’d hit the ground. “You okay?” he asked, his gaze dipping to my shoes.
“I’m great,” I told him sincerely. “This place isamazing.”
His smile stretched. “Let’s go have some fun, Caroline.”He looped my arm through his and led me to the entrance of The DC Initiative.
I relaxed against him, finally letting myself open upand enjoy this perfect evening. The occasional raindrop felt like a familiar kisson my exposed skin. I took a deep breath and decided to enjoy tonight no matterthe cost.
I had to start enjoying my life and stop looking overmy shoulder constantly.
It was time to start forgiving myself for thedecisions I was forced to make. It was time to bury the dead and find happinessin the land of the living.
Still, my feet faltered just before the front door, agust of something ominous twirling through me. My mouth dried up as I faced therestaurant-gallery and acknowledged that letting Jesse take me inside wouldirrevocably change who I was as a person.
It would change every single thing about me.
It would truly be a step in moving on—a step I hadonce assumed I would never be able to take. Until now.
Until this man.
“Ready?” Jesse asked, his eyes twinkling with promisefor the night.
“Ready,” I answered, finally… finally feeling ready.
Later I would realize what an absolute idiot I hadbeen.
Chapter Nine
My entire body relaxed inside the gallery. There wasso much to see, so much to examine, that I could have ignored Jesse for theentirety of the night.
I had always loved art. Before Juliet, it was the onevice I’d let myself indulge in. I didn’t want the fast cars or the jewelry orthe stacks of cash—although I had access to all of it. I just wanted the prettypaintings. The abstract ideas brought to life on canvas by the mix of creativegenius and a simple paintbrush.
“Wow,” I whispered while we waited for the hostess tonotice us. “This place is crazy.”
Jesse grinned. “This is your thing?”
I nodded. “Oh yeah, this is my thing.” The majority oftables were placed along the outer walls by the wide, open windows and thepieces by an artist I didn’t immediately recognize hung toward the center.White partitions were placed strategically throughout the space, making it seemlike there were separate rooms, but also open at the same time. Everything waswell lit and modern, the art showcased with hanging spotlights and the tablesset away from the brightest lights.
To the left, a long bar stretched the length of thewall. I recognized one of the bartenders from around town. She was dressed in ablack dress kind of like mine, mixing a fancy cocktail. All I wanted to do wasget a drink and peruse the paintings. Forget about the date. Forget aboutdinner. Just give me alcohol and whoever this artist was—because he wasfabulous.
The hostess was about to finally acknowledge us whenone of the waiters rushed over and whispered something in her ear. She frowned,looked down at her seating chart and then at me. Her eyes narrowed as shecontinued to listen.
I turned toward Jesse, feeling self-conscious, anddiscreetly tugged at the hemline of my dress.
He must have felt the weird vibe too, because heturned to me and slipped his hand to my waist. “When I called, they said theydidn’t do reservations.”
