“And your dessert.”
“And I’ll be ending the night in your bed?”
His chin dips quickly in acknowledgment.
“So what keeps it from being a date, Cowboy?”
He shakes his head slowly as he stares at my lips like this one thing will kill him. I lick them, waiting for a response.
His eyes fall shut on a curse. “Because I won’t walk you to your door and kiss you good night.”
“Oh.” It comes out as a whimper as I imagine him doing just that—walking me down the gravel of my long driveway, holding my hand, stroking his thumb back and forth. It’ll tickle but leave me hungry for more. I’d walk up the steps and pause by the door. He’d brush a stray hair from my cheek, and his lips would lift at something I said. And then there’dbe that moment, right before our lips pressed together, when the possibilities of what happens next feel endless. When hope and excitement bubble together to create that swirly feeling in my chest.
“I think I’d like you to, though,” I admit.
Surprise flares in Walker’s eyes, and he takes one small step closer. His fingers flex again, and his lips curve up, just like I imagined they would.
He reaches out his hand to me. “Okay, Tally. Would you like to go on a date with me?”
I grin right back at him and accept the gesture. “I thought you’d never ask.”
CHAPTER 39
Walker
The crackle of the fire dancing in the restaurant’s large hearth is the only sound aside from our spoons hitting the bowl. When we’d first arrived, the dinner crowd was already long gone so I promised the waitress she’d get a nice tip if she asked the kitchen to stay open for just a bit longer—and if she gave us a seat by the fire. The temperature had dropped considerably from when we first arrived at the town hall. The sun in the springtime is like that; it brings a warmth during the day but the night chills considerably after it sets.
I’ve always loved a fireplace. Though I never had one until I moved to the farm. The first thing I did when I moved onto the farm and Peter told me the fireplace wasn’t working was clean it out so we could light it. We spent that night with a bourbon in hand, the fire crackling in front of us, and he’d told me all of his dreams for the farm. The smell alone now is like a beautiful memory come to life.
“Favorite color?” Tally asks me to a roll of my eyes. She’s been asking weird questions since we sat down. I think she’s nervous and I kind of like it, the idea that she may want this as much as I do.
“Favorite color?”
“Actually, let me guess. Blue like the sky.”
I shake my head.
“Brown like the dirt.”
“Black like my soul,” I tease.
Tally rolls her eyes. “Black isn’t a color.”
“It’s also not my favorite.” I lean forward, my focus on her eyes. “It’s yellow. Well, actually, not exactly yellow. Maybe more of a marigold. An amber of sorts.”
“Like sunflowers?”
“No, Tally.” My voice is a rough whisper as I reach across the table for her hand. “It’s the exact shade of your eyes when I sink inside you.”
Tally’s mouth opens but no words come out. I drop her hand and, using my thumb, push her chin up to close her mouth. Then I slide my thumb across her bottom lip. “Second favorite color would definitely be peach. Like these lips. I have an unhealthy obsession with your mouth.” I take a bite of my ice cream and play her game. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Well, any answer I give now is going to seem juvenile since you had to go and be all …” She waves a hand in my direction.
My brows lift in question, and my smirk grows.
She shrugs and I have to wonder if she’s ever been out on a real date before.
“Favorite flower?” she grinds out.
