“A man after my own heart—not insisting I wear something that pinches the hell out of my toes.”
“Um, your legs look amazing. Your entire outfit looks amazing. But you’d look just as good in different shoes. Why don’t you go grab another pair and then we’ll head out?”
She smiled—a beautiful, full-wattage emotion that lit up her face—before turning back to the stairs and climbing up.
Cam cleared his throat as my pulse raced, and my gaze met his. “Yeah. You got it bad. Looks like she does too. But believe you me, if I see her shed any tears over you, I’ll invite that doctor guy over and then rat you out to your mama. You get me?”
Fuck.
“Yes, sir. I understand you crystal clear.”
And I did, holding out my hand and waiting for him to take the offering. He nodded once and grasped my palm before clapping me on the back.
“Good man. I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Thank you,” I said, not sure of the appropriate response to this interaction.
“You ready?” Summer said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. My hand itched to follow the path hers took, but I resisted the urge and stuffed the hand in my pocket.
“Absolutely. Here, I’ll carry your other shoes.”
“Thanks, Maverick. I’m glad you asked me out.”
I touched her elbow, leading her out the door and to my truck as she turned and waved goodnight to her dad. “I am too, Summer.”
Chapter 27
Anxiety pooled inmy stomach as I perused the menu.
The French menu.
The French menu I couldn’t decipher because I’d opted for Spanish in high school.
I recognized a few appetizers because the menu at least had minimal translations between the French, but escargot and French oysters didn’t make me feel very confident about the variety of options on this menu. The Golden Osetra caviarstarted at over a hundred bucks for seven measly grams,and even though I’d always wanted to try caviar, I never expected a first date to pay, or deal with me getting sick if it was disgusting. How delicious could fish eggs really be? Maybe the monkfish with a celery root puree would be a better choice, not that I had any idea what that puree would taste like.
Maverick looked just as uncomfortable, stumbling through the wine menu before deciding on a nice bottle of red. The server smiled and nodded, but it was blatantly obvious he’d already written us off as uneducated idiots who wouldn’t leave a decent tip, and his recommendation of the least expensive item on the menu reinforced that observation.
I rolled my eyes, chewing on the inside of my cheek and glaring at the entrees. My gaze faltered when it passed over the Spiced Duck Confit with lentils, foie gras, and Banyuls jus. I recognized three words of that dinner choice and could pronounce even less.
Why did the menu have to be a glaring advertisement for how much I didn’t know? Maybe Mina had the right idea, and traveling the world to experience new cultures was the way to go.
Nope, I thought, shaking my head and setting the menu down as the server returned and opened the bottle of wine. Running away wouldn’t solve anything, and I couldn’t imagine leaving right now anyway. Not with Dad, the court hearing, and whatever this was with Maverick. I’d waded through enough bullshit in my life to have some idea about the motivations ofothers. And that bullshit detector was silent as I glanced at him from across the table.
There were nervousness and trepidation, sure, but the overwhelming feeling he exuded was confidence.
He sipped the wine and nodded at the server, adjusting his tie as generous glasses of the maroon liquid were poured for us. I followed his lead and drank deep, letting the tart flavors calm my frazzled nerves. My confidence wavered for a moment as I watched him, hoping this date wasn’t his way of letting me down easy.
“I’ve heard great things about this restaurant. What made you decide to bring me here?” I asked, tracing my fingers over the raised lettering on the menu and pushing the unwelcome thoughts away.
“See these?” he said, pointing to the individual mini chandeliers that hung over each table.
I glanced up, taking in the details. The pendant and teardrop crystal beads glittered in the low light, casting shadows across the white linen tablecloth. It was beautiful work. Each one dangled above the tables, varying in size and height depending on how big each seating area was. I looked closer, amazed at the intricacy—the restaurant’s logo etched into the brass, and the interlocking chain-link cord that allowed the height to be adjusted—as his implication set in.
“Whoa. You designed these?”
“Not hardly,” he said, chuckling and rubbing the back of his neck. “But TriVolt did. More specifically, Miller designed them. I just oversaw the installation and hoped the owner could squeeze in a last-minute reservation. That, and, you know, I was hoping to impress you. We didn’t exactly get off to the best start, did we?”
I chuckled, thinking back to wanting to throttle him after we first met. Not that I hadn’t noticed some of hisotherqualities—like the way his tattoos peeked from underneath his shirt and the way his voice took on a gritty, raw deepness when he spoke. But once the man behind the attitude peeked through his facade, it had become next to impossible for my dormant libido not to awaken and take notice.
