Ledger steps closer and, without a word, gently takes my cardigan from me, holding it open so I can slip my arms into the sleeves.
Who even is this man?
“Let’s go,” he murmurs.
He opens the front door, his hand resting lightly at the small of my back as we step onto the porch.The night air is cool, the sky already slipping into dusky purple.
I follow him to the truck.It’s a short drive to the restaurant, and I spend it trying to calm my racing heart.Palmer’s looks even fancier than I remembered.The old brick building is lined with twinkling white lights, and the big windows glow warmly from the inside.
I swallow as Ledger comes around to my side of the truck and opens my door, offering his hand to help me down.
“You’re sure this isn’t too much?”I ask quietly as my flats hit the pavement.“We could still go get tacos.I’m totally a tacos-on-the-first-date kind of girl.Well, I think I am.”
“We’re absolutely getting tacos at some point,” he says firmly.“But I wanted to take you somewhere special.This is our first date.”
We share a smile, and his hand rests on the small of my back as he leads me to the door.
A woman in a black dress beams at us from the hostess stand.“Hi!Do you have a reservation?”
“Ledger, for two,” he says.
“Of course.Right this way.”
We follow her through the softly lit dining room.The walls are a deep navy, and the tables are set with white tablecloths, with candles flickering in small glass holders.Quiet music plays, something jazzy and smooth, and the whole place smells like garlic and butter and heaven.
The hostess leads us to a small corner table by the window.It feels private, cocooned.
“This okay?”Ledger asks, pulling out my chair.
“It’s perfect,” I say honestly as I sit.
He takes the seat across from me, and for a minute, we just smile at each other over the candle between us.
My stomach flutters again.
We order drinks—Coke for him, a glass of white wine for me—and scan the menus.
“Everything looks good,” I murmur, my eyes widening at the options.“I should have skipped lunch.”
“What did you get?”
“Half a turkey sandwich and a handful of pretzels.I ate the other half on my break between clients.Glamorous, I know.”
He huffs a quiet laugh.“Better than MREs.”
“What are those like?”
“Imagine if cardboard and sadness had a baby,” he says dryly.“Then someone sprinkled in too much salt and called it dinner.”
I snort, then slap a hand over my mouth.“Sorry, that was probably not the vibe this place is going for.”
He’s grinning now, really grinning, and the sight does something weird and warm to my chest.
“I like your laugh,” he says.
“I snorted.”
“I know.”His eyes glint.“Still like it.”
