The restaurant glowed warm and intimate. Edison bulbs hung from exposed beams. The scent of garlic and fresh bread made my stomach growl loud enough that Cole heard it.
“You hungry too?” His eyes crinkled.
“I may have skipped lunch.”
“Why?”
“Nervous stomach.”
The truth slipped out before I could stop it. His expression softened.
“Same. I had half a protein bar and three cups of coffee. My hands are shaking.”
He held one up. A slight tremor ran through his fingers.
Something in my chest eased. He was nervous. This gorgeous, confident man was nervous about having dinner with me.
The hostess seated us at a corner table. Candles flickered between us. The menu was small, focused, the kind where everything sounded good and nothing had a price listed, which meant I was about to have anxiety about ordering.
“Get whatever you want. This is on me.”
“We can split…”
He set down his menu. “Autumn. I asked you out. I’m paying. That’s how this works.”
“How very traditional of you.”
“I open doors, I pay for dinner, and I don’t text other women when I’m on a date. I’m practically a Jane Austen character.”
“Mr. Darcy was kind of an ass.”
“Good thing I’m more of a Captain Wentworth guy.”
I blinked. “You’ve readPersuasion?”
“My mom’s favorite book. She made me read it when I was sixteen.” He grinned. “I fought her on it. Then I stayed up all night finishing it and cried at the letter scene.”
“The letter scene is devastating.”
“Right? ‘You pierce my soul’ might be the most romantic line ever written.”
We stared at each other across the candlelight. Something warm and dangerous unfurled in my stomach.
The server appeared to take our orders. Whether it was perfect timing or terrible timing, I couldn’t decide. I chose the seared scallops because they sounded safe. Cole ordered the steak medium-rare and asked for a bottle of wine.
When the server left, Cole leaned back, studying me.
“What?” I asked.
“Trying to figure you out.”
“Good luck with that. I’ve been trying for thirty-four years.”
“Tell me about the rescue.”
So I did. I told him about starting Happy Tails with Eli five years ago. About the pit bull we’d saved from a fighting ring, who now slept in a tutu and refused to eat unless you sang to him. About the three-legged cat who ruled the place with an iron paw. And Garbage, who’d gained ten pounds and learned to trust humans again.
Cole listened. Truly listened, not just waiting for his turn to talk. He asked questions. Laughed at the right parts. Looked genuinely angry when I mentioned some of the abuse cases we’d taken on.
