He pulled into the restaurant lot and parked. “I work out.”
“Man of few words. Okay. But, I already knew that.” His physique left no question he spent a lot of time in the gym.
He laughed. “No, you don’t understand. I love the gym. Lifting weights is a form of meditation for me. It relaxes me and chases stresses away.” He shrugged. “Always has, since I was about thirteen.”
“Okay, see, that’s better.” I smiled at him. “I know something significant about you now.” I took off my seatbelt and opened my door before he could jump out and come around to do it for me.
He grunted at me as he met me at the front of the truck. “I thought you liked a chivalrous man?”
“Chivalry is hot, but I can let myself out of the car. Proving a point is all.” I winked at him to ease the sting of my sass.
Dinner passed in a blur of excellent conversation and good food. I learned more about Wes, including he had five brothers and sisters, he was mainly Scandinavian and British, and a pet peeve was when people bounce their legs idly.
I’d let a few things about myself go, tit for tat, and told him a small bit about my stepmother. I glossed over the worst parts, of course. If ever I was completely honest, people got a tragic expression on their faces and went all sympathetic. I didn’t want that from someone I wanted to date. He also asked me why I volunteered so often.
“I read that article about your volunteering,” Wes said.
My eyes rolled themselves before I could stop them. “That article was too much.”
“It sure did make you sound like a saint. Are you too good to be true?” he asked jokingly.
“God no. I’m a mess most days. I volunteer as a sort of tribute to my mother.” I sipped the last of my dessert wine. I promised myself years ago I wouldn’t skimp on eating while on a date, and I hadn’t, not even for the insanely fit Wes.
“Your mother? She died, didn’t she? It was mentioned in the article.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “How old were you?”
“I was eight. It was horrible and traumatic, but we knew it was coming. She had time to tell me what she wanted for me in life. One of the things she told me was I should always make time to volunteer for people and animals less fortunate than myself.” I put my own napkin on the table, done with my meal. “So, I do. And I love it. It’s incredibly rewarding to watch a child’s eyes light up when the math finally clicks. Or an adult’s excitement the first time they bring me a book and tell me they read it through by themselves.” I grinned. “And, obviously, I love working with animals. It sounds terrible, but that’s my favorite. They’re so deserving.”
“Your mom sounds like she was an awesome lady.” Wes’s eyes started to take on that poor-pitiful-Ellie quality, so I moved on.
“She was. But, again, this is a happy evening. Let’s talk about something else.”
We finished the evening with a walk around the botanical gardens. He took my hand, a nice gesture, toward the end of our walk.Nice, hell. You got a zing the second he touched you. Don’t be shy.I ignored my inner bad girl, and we ended our date at my front door. Wes, a complete gentleman, didn’t even kiss my cheek. He kissed my hand. “I had a lovely time, Ellie. I’ll be texting you to plan something again. I promise you that.”
I let out a little puff of air when his lips brushed my hand, and the zing came back ten times stronger with his words. He was a gentleman, hot, smart, anddamnI wanted a second date.
I was tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep, when my phone vibrated. I snatched it from my bedside table drawer.
Wes: I enjoyed our time together tonight.
Ellie: I did, too. Thank you for a wonderful date.
Wes: Goodnight, beautiful. I’ll see you soon.
Ellie: Goodnight.
I drifted off, feeling beautiful and wanted, with a smile on my face.
Chapter Four
After two morning classes, Satan entertained me for most of Friday, when I wasn’t hosting a meeting for adults considering obtaining their GEDs.
Wes sent two random texts while I was in class. One was a meme about cats, and the other was a picture of his cat, Lemmy. Every time my phone dinged, I snatched it up to check if it was him. Too often it was social media or emails coming through. Eventually, I changed his text tone so it would ring distinct when he sent a message.
Saturday morning dawned with no alarm clock for once. I took weekends off at the shelter. I couldn’t figure out why I woke early. I had no reason to. A crash sounded in my kitchen. I bolted out of bed, wide awake and panicked. I kept one of my guns in my bedside table, and I slipped it out before pressing the panic button hidden in my headboard.
Keeping a low-key lifestyle didn’t mean I should be unprepared. I was still a millionaire heiress to a large publishing company. I crept to my bedroom door and shut it as softly as I dared. Turning the lock with a soft click, I ran on tiptoe to my bathroom. There was no other way out, and I could shut and lock that door as well, giving the police time to show up. My panic button alerted the police and our building manager, so he’d be in the lobby, ready to give the officers a key.
I sat on the toilet with my revolver pointed toward the bathroom door. The only downside to the expensive wood was it was soundproof. I wouldn’t know the intruder entered my bedroom unless he attempted to get into the bathroom. And, my panicked-self forgot my cell phone on the bedside table. I had no choice but to sit there and wait.
