A tremor runs through me. Colt’s hand slides to the small of my back, and I feel his protection.
“We’ll find somewhere else.” He’s angry. Rage rolls off him in waves. Even so, he assists me out of the booth. I’m a little afraid he’s going to explode. Lay into the snooty waiter. He’s not opposed to brawling now and then. I’ve read articles about just that in his folder.
Nonetheless, he walks me to the truck, presses a kiss on my forehead, and then helps me climb in.
“You okay?” He searches my eyes. He accepts my answer and then clenches his jaw. “I’ll be right back.” He turns on his heel.
I’m shaking a little as I watch him disappear into the building. What bothers me most is that the waiter’s wordsgot to me. They made me question myself. My integrity. A tremor runs through me when I recall the way he talked to us.
After five minutes, I’m getting nervous. No police yet. That’s a good sign. Except I can’t stop shivering. My teeth even chatter a little. I glance at my phone again.
Six minutes.
And then the door opens.
Only it isn’t Colt, it’s the waiter. And he doesn’t look so smug anymore.
He shuffles to an old Ford Focus on the edge of the parking lot, gets into the driver’s seat, and drives away. I jump when the driver side door opens.
He takes one look at me and gathers me in his arms. Even across the console, I absorb his warmth. “God dammit.” Another tremor gets a hold of me. I nod into his chest but he soothes my back. I feel his lips in my hair.
“I’m o-o-k-k-ay. Just cold.” I’m already feeling better.
“I wanted to take him out, but then I pictured you sitting out here… worrying.” He pulled me closer. “The owner offers his most profound apologies. Begged me to bring you back, but I think we’re through here. What do you think?”
“I don’t want to go back in.” I can’t get the insult out of my mind.
Colt kisses my forehead again, turns the ignition, and then flicks on the heater. I’m feeling self-conscious but then he reaches down and takes hold of my hand. His thumb draws little lines along my pinkie.
And then raises my hand to his mouth.
I can’t believe our first kiss ended that way. I don’t want our date to end. It was a crappy thing to happen but Colt’s already making me feel better.
“I hate that it got to me.” I send him a wobbly smile. “I don’t want him to ruin our night.”
He glances at me and kisses my hand again. “We passed a diner a few miles back. Should we give them a try?”
I nod. I know the place. I’m a little overdressed– underdressed? But that shouldn’t be a problem there.
Colt has no trouble finding it. As he parks, I slip on my sweater. He’s opens the car door like a true gentlemen. When I climb out, he cages me against the vehicle with his body. Noticing my sweater, he frowns.
His fingers slide down the front of it, sending thrills up and down my spine. “Still cold?” His eyes search mine.
I’m warm now. Inside and out. I shake my head and after a few seconds he takes one of my hands.
That’s how we walk in. Holding hands.
The patrons dining here are apparently more into country music than La Maison. The minute we set foot inside, it falls silent and I notice about ten dropped jaws.
“No way!” A teenager finally says what everyone else is thinking. “Colt Forrester!”
Colt looks at me apologetically. For being such a well-known womanizer he sure is sweet. I try to convey a message with my eyes. “I’m fine,”I’m telling him mentally.This, I can handle.
He takes about five minutes signing autographs and greeting fans before we take our seats in another corner booth.
So very different than La Maison. Vinyl seats, plastic menus. Even though I feel like everybody is watching us, I know they’re trying not to. But I don’t mind. They’re watching Colt, not me.
Again, Colt sits on the same side of the booth as I do, both our backs to the rest of the small diner.
