The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning. His fingers flex against my waist, and I can feel the tension in him, the hope.
“A date,” I repeat softly.
“If you’re ready. No pressure if it’s too soon, too public. I just...” His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb tracing my cheekbone. “I want to take you out. Show you off. Treat you the way you deserve.”
My throat feels tight. After everything, the basement, the escape, the panic attacks, he wants to romance me. “Billy...”
“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, ducking until his forehead rests against mine. “One evening. Just us. If you get uncomfortable, we leave immediately.”
I close my eyes, breathing him in. The flowers are still clutched in my hand, their stems cool against my palm. “Okay.”
He pulls back slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I smile at the boyish excitement that flashes across his face. “But I need to change. Can’t go on our first official date in yoga pants.”
“You look perfect in anything,” he says, then steals a kiss that leaves me breathless. “But take your time. I need to shower anyway.”
He heads for the bathroom, already pulling his shirt over his head. I catch a glimpse of his broad back before the door closes, and heat pools low in my belly.
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing in front of my closet in my underwear, second-guessing everything. The green floral skirt catches my eye. I haven’t worn it in months, but it’s softand feminine. I pair it with a cream sweater that hugs my curves without being too revealing.
When I emerge from the bedroom, Billy’s waiting in the living room. He’s changed into dark jeans and a button-down shirt I’ve never seen before, the deep blue bringing out the warm brown of his eyes. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms, and his hair is still damp from the shower.
He turns at my approach and goes completely still. His eyes travel from my face down to my boots and back up, darkening with each pass.
“Carla.” My name comes out rough, almost reverent.
“Is it okay?” I smooth the skirt nervously. “I haven’t dressed up in so long.”
He crosses to me in two strides, hands framing my face. “You’re stunning. Absolutely stunning.”
The kiss he gives me is thorough enough to mess up my lip gloss, his hands sliding into my hair. When he pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
“Maybe we should skip dinner,” he suggests, voice husky.
I laugh, pushing at his chest. “You asked me on a date, mister. You’re taking me on a date.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grins, offering me his arm. “Your chariot awaits.”
The drive to town is charged with anticipation. Billy’s hand rests on my thigh, his thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of my skirt. I find myself hyperaware of every movement, from the flex of his forearms as he steers, the way he glances at me at stop signs, the small smile playing at his lips.
“What?” I ask when he looks over again.
“Just can’t believe you said yes.”
“To dinner?”
“To me.” His hand squeezes gently. “To all of this. Sometimes, I think I’m going to wake up and you’ll have realized you can do better.”
I cover his hand with mine. “Billy Lennox, you saved my life in every way that matters. There is no better.”
He lifts our joined hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles, as we pull into the restaurant parking lot.
The steakhouse is warm and inviting, all dark wood and soft lighting. Billy’s called ahead, of course he has, and we’re led to a corner booth that’s intimate without being isolated.
“This okay?” he asks as we settle in, his knee brushing mine under the table.
“It’s perfect.” And it is. The candle on the table casts shadows that highlight the strong lines of his jaw, the fullness of his lips.
