Staying with him is just a bonus. I would’ve said yes to that no matter what.
Truth is, I’m kind of used to living with him now after spending the past couple of months sharing the beach house.
I’m sort of hoping I never have to go back to my apartment. I mean to live there. Of course, I had to stop back there yesterday with Shane to get more clothes, some toiletries, and pick up my car.
Now it’s Wednesday, which is “go see the neurologist” day.
I find this all unnecessary, but I’ll do anything for Shane. I love him so very much, and if this makes him feel better, then so be it.
We’re on our way there now. Shane is driving his Porsche Cayenne, and I’m sitting next to him in the passenger seat. I’ve discovered that my man has a few sweet vehicles, but this one ismy favorite.
We’ve both been kind of quiet, lost in our own thoughts, I suppose.
But then Shane clears his throat and asks, “Are you nervous about the appointment today?”
I shake my head. “No, not really. I know everything is going to be okay.”
Covering my hand that’s on the console with his, he says softly, “I think it will all be fine too. But thank you for doing this for me.”
I realize then that it’s really for both of us. Shane cares about my health because he cares about me.
So, turning my palm up and entwining my fingers with his, I say, “No, thank you, Shane.”
The appointment goes well. I’m given a 100 percent clean bill of health. There are no lingering issues from my fall. Hell, even the bump on my head has since gone away. It was a little sore for a couple of days, but Shane kept insisting I treat it with ice here and there, and I think that really helped.
Since we received such good news, we decide to celebrate by going out to dinner. He tells me he knows of a great little Mexican restaurant about an hour or so outside the city. It’s supposedly not fancy at all, but super delicious.
We’re on our way out there now.
I’m dressed in navy shorts, a loose teal blouse, and sandals, while Shane is wearing faded jeans, a dark green polo shirt, and tan shoes.
“How do you know about this place?” I ask him, taking in the vast desert terrain all around us as we exit the highway. “It really is no-man’s-land out here.”
“Lennox actually told me about it,” he tells me. “He and Madison, that’s his girlfriend, go there a lot.”
“Hmmm.” I nod. “I can’t wait to try it.”
With a smile, Shane makes a turn into a gravel parking lot and says, “Well, you don’t have to wait long. We’re here.”
He parks, and we get out of the Cayenne. The restaurant is simple, just a one-story blue-and-yellow building with a terra-cotta roof. There are a few cars in the lot, but it’s not crazy busy.
Once we go into the restaurant, Shane asks the hostess, an older lady with dark hair streaked with gray, if we can have the booth in the back corner with the expansive windows.
“Of course,” she tells him with a smile.
She leads us to the back, where we take our seats in the booth.
Wow!
The desert view is stunning, especially with the sun beginning to set, turning the sky shades of red, orange, and violet.
The older lady lights the candle that’s on the table, fills our water glasses, and then hands us our menus.
“Your server will be right over,” she informs us before she leaves.
Quietly, I say to Shane, “I love this place already. It’s so cozy and really kind of romantic.”
“It is,” he agrees. “Just wait till you try the food. It’s outstanding.”
