Because being out in public with Rhodes is a declaration. It means this is something we’ll have no chance of hiding.
But do I even want to hide it? I’ve fallen in love with this man and we don’t deserve to be kept sequestered to some dark corner. We deserve to be open, to exist in the light.
When I showed up at his place after work today, looking forward to another weekend in the arms of my man where I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else’s expectations, he welcomed me with open arms. But there was something underneath the surface, a tension maybe.
I was instantly worried and a little scared. All my insecurities roared to the forefront of my mind. I couldn’t stop the deluge of questions swirling in my gut.
Had he gotten tired of me already? Was he tired of slumming it with a girl from the other side of the ridge? Did he want space, something I was almost desperate to close between us instead of widening, and to cool things off between us?
Every question felt like a knife to the gut. Realizing I was the one wielding the blade tipped in fear didn’t help matters.
Once he took my overnight bag from my shoulder and gently placed it deeper inside, he pulled me into his chest with one arm around my waist as his other hand found the curve of my cheek. He touched me with reverence and awe.
“I missed you,” he murmured.
Even as all the things I fear were encroaching my thoughts, I couldn’t help but smile. “You saw me just this morning,” I pointed out with a teasing tone in my voice.
“Still,” he deadpanned and my grin grew even wider.
“I missed you, too,” I whispered.
He kisses me so damn softly. Like he was reintroducing himself to me or recalibrating to us being so close after feeling our connection stretch across the distance that work required of us all day. I melted into him and he held me up, held me steady.
“Go on a date with me,” he murmured against my lips.
“I’m pretty sure I’d go anywhere with you.”
Admittedly, the words slipped out before I even realized what I was saying. That doesn’t make them untrue; they were unguarded for sure.
Rhodes’s eyes lit up and now I’m at The Goose to have dinner with my man. And it feels like half the town is here to witness our first public declaration. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think a spotlight is illuminating only us right now.
A waiter approaches and I think I croak out a request for a glass of sweet tea, but I could have hallucinated that. The waiter chuckles slightly, but it’s not him I look at. No, I look towards Rhodes.
He’s looking at me with soft eyes and an understanding little smile. It’s adorable. And kind of infuriating.
“I think you might have missed it earlier,” the waiter says with a smile on his face that doesn’t feel forced, “but I’m Bowen. I haven’t seen you here before, do you have any questions about the menu?”
When I look down at the menu in my hands, I realize I haven’t been looking at it. Not really.
“Hi,” my voice comes out soft, too soft, too tentative.
“I don’t think burgers and normal American food is all that complicated, Bowen,” Rhodes interjects with a roll of his eyes that have my shoulders relaxing.
“Fine, fine.” Bowne holds his hands up in surrender. “I’ll give you a few more minutes, but I definitely recommend a burger. They’re the best in the state.”
As he walksaway, my eyebrows pull together. As I look at Rhodes with a raised eyebrow, I echo, “Best in the state? Was there a contest they won or something?”
“I think it’s more of an honorary title,” he admits with a grimace that has nothing to do with the quality of the food.
I can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of me, part amusement and part hysteria. Rhodes watches me with sparkling eyes filled with adoration. I love it when he looks at me like that.
“What do you normally get?”
“A burger. The bacon one,” he points toward my menu as if he knows I’m already looking at that section even though he can’t see it.
“With double the crispy bacon and bacon jam,” I read from the menu and glance back up at Rhodes to find him licking his lips.
“Everything is better with bacon,” he admits with a shrug.
