“Fine.” I close my eyes dramatically. “But if you walk me into a wall, I’m billing you for the medical expenses.”
“Noted.”
His hand finds mine, warm and calloused, and he guides me out of the room. I hear the creak of the hallway floorboards, feel the slight change in air temperature as we move through the clubhouse. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear music playing—a soft and jazzy tune, not the usual rock that pounds through these walls.
“Where is everyone?” The clubhouse is never this quiet.
“Elsewhere.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.” He squeezes my hand. “Watch the step.”
I feel the threshold under my feet as we move from carpet to the wood of the deck. The air smells different here—candles, I think, and something savory that makes my stomach growl.
“Okay.” Stone’s voice is close to my ear, his breath warm against my neck. “Open.”
I open my eyes.
And promptly forget how to breathe.
The clubhouse’s back patio has been transformed. String lights crisscross overhead, casting everything in a warm golden glow. A table for two sits in the center, draped in an actual tablecloth—white linen, for God’s sake—with candles flickering in masonjars. Beyond the railing, the sun is just starting to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
“Boone...” I turn to look at him, and the vulnerability in his expression nearly undoes me. “What is this?”
“A date.” He shrugs, but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s watching my reaction. “We’ve never actually had one. Seemed like an oversight.”
“We’ve been a little busy. What with the cartel trying to kill me and all.”
“Which is why I figured we were overdue.” He pulls out my chair with an old-fashioned gallantry that sets off a flutter in my chest. “Sit. Eat. Let me take care of you for once.”
I sit, still taking in the details. There are actual cloth napkins. Wine glasses that don’t look like they came from a gas station. A small vase with wildflowers that I suspect came from Ginger’s garden.
“Did you do all this yourself?”
“Maggie helped with the food. Ginger handled the flowers. The rest...” He settles into the chair across from me. “The rest was me.”
“The string lights?”
“YouTube tutorial. Only electrocuted myself twice.”
I laugh, and he grins—that rare, unguarded smile that transforms his whole face.
“I’m impressed,” I admit. “I didn’t know you had a romantic bone in your body.”
“I have several. They’ve just been dormant for a while.” He reaches across the table, taking my hand. “You woke them up.”
“That’s either the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me, or a really weird medical condition.”
“Can’t it be both?”
Maggie appears from inside, carrying two plates with the efficiency of someone who’s done this a thousand times. She sets them down with a wink in my direction.
“Herb-crusted salmon, roasted vegetables, and garlic mashed potatoes,” she announces. “Don’t tell Duck I used the good butter.”
“Your secret’s safe with us,” Stone says.
“It better be. That man would put good butter on everything if I let him.” She pats Stone’s shoulder as she passes. “You kids have fun. I’ll bring dessert in an hour.”
