His face lights up. “Really?”
“Really. I thought we could get dinner. Just you and me.”
He's practically drooling. Slipping my arm through his, he looks at me with the first flash of desire I've seen in his eyes since meeting him.
"Anything you want, Blair. You just say it and it's yours."
24
BLAIR
Ted gets stoppedfor an autograph the second we step out of the bar and then again by a woman who asks him to sign her chest.
Instead of grabbing his arm in a jealous fit, I step back to give them room. Ted glances at me first, gauging my reaction, but when I gesture at him to go ahead, he takes the proffered Sharpie and signs away.
Once he’s done, the woman takes off, giggling with her friend and showing the signature to the rest of her group.
Looping my arm in his again, I lean into him and remind myself that I should try to enjoy this outing. Ted is hot, very attentive, and a genuinely decent guy, not to mention a great ball player. Any woman would be lucky to go on a date with him. The fact that he’s not Sebastian is a good thing. I need to give this a fair shot.
“Does that happen a lot, Mr. Star Pitcher?” I tease.
“Getting asked to sign my name on people’s bodies?” He shrugs with a grin that’s half embarrassed and half prideful. “Kind of, yeah. Now that you mention it, I’m realizing how weird it is.”
“People’s bodies or women’s bodies?”
“Oh. I guess I never thought about it.” He pauses. “Women, definitely. Men usually have T-shirts or tickets to sign. Not that women don’t give me those things, too?—”
“It’s fine,” I say, giving him a pass before he starts thinking he needs to apologize for it. “All part of the job, right?”
“Right,” he agrees, relaxing.
We leave the resort and head into town. Passing by familiar places, I realize this nighttime stroll through the streets doesn’t have the same appeal that it did when Sebastian accompanied me. The magic I saw everywhere on the island is gone now, and I wonder for the millionth time if I made a mistake. Everything reminds me of Sebastian.
But as we go a little farther, weaving our way through the evening foot traffic, I begin to ease into being with Ted. He’s the first guy I’ve ever been on a date with who is just as excited to talk about baseball as I am. He’s a perfect gentleman as well, which I appreciate. There’s a reasonable distance between our bodies, as if he’s afraid of encroaching in my space.
And yet…the times we do brush against each other, there are no sparks. I miss the electric energy that Sebastian and I had between us.
The streets are crowded and so are the bars, conversations and laughter spilling out onto the pavement. The remnants of the Junkanoo are still going, and I can hear live calypso music coming from somewhere close by. The weather is perfect. A lot of shops have lanterns and torches lit outside their doors. I guess the magic is still here, I just need to shrug off my heartbreak and open my eyes.
We pass several cafés and restaurants offering local cuisine, but when I ask Ted where we're going, he says he has a favorite spot he wants to take me to. I wonder if it will be as good as Mo’s. And then we turn a corner, and he leads me toward a popularAmerican-style chain restaurant—the only one on the island—and opens the door for me.
I look at him with my brows raised. I’m surprised he’d want to eat here, of all places.
He tosses me a sheepish smile as if he's reading my mind.
"Is this okay? I have a shellfish allergy, so I've had a hard time eating around the island because all the local places serve seafood. Plus, no one offers nutritional information, and I can't plan my meals without it. My trainer has me on a pretty strict diet."
“I totally get it,” I tell him. “This is great. No worries.”
I'd rather be sitting on the back patio at Mo’s eating conch fritters and plantains, but I'm not going to tell him that. Absently twirling my letter bracelet as the hostess seats us in a booth, I smile at Ted and then pick up the menu. It’s all the usual suspects—potato skins and mozzarella sticks, salads, flatbread pizzas and chicken and steak. Nothing really sparks my interest except the wine list. Maybe I’ll just order one of the flatbreads.
Silence stretches between us while Ted studies the menu like it’s his job, so I say something to fill the space. "The shrimp scampi flatbread sounds good.”
He lowers his menu and shakes his head. “It would be best if you didn’t order that. Sorry, I just don’t want to risk cross-contamination. Our plates might touch. Plus the fumes have allergens. I’m actually anxious that there’s seafood being prepared in the same kitchen, but I’m usually fine here.”
“Right. Your allergy. I didn’t realize it was so sensitive.”
“It is. But don’t worry, there’s an EpiPen in my back pocket just in case.”
