Page 22 of Will to Run

“Let me take that for you,” I say, realizing I’ve left her standing there with full arms.

“Oh, I’m okay, but if you could open the door, that would be great. The keys are in my front pocket. There are more bags, too.”

She juts her hip to me, and I see the keys sticking out. My thoughts are dirty because old habits die hard, but I do what I’m told and open the door.

While she puts everything on the counter, I swear to God, I feel her sunshine. What a beautiful place to bask. Part of me wants to ask her if she wants me to go because she needs time to dive into painting, but I’m far too selfish a man for that. Especially since I only have two more days..

“Are you a creative, Jax?” she asks, looking at me hopefully.

“Not in the least. I like practical applications, like if I attach this to this to this, I have a car engine,” I laugh. “I mean, it’s much more detailed than that, but you get the idea. My artistic talents top out at fingerpainting.”

“Well, I could never put an engine together,” she says, and then flips the conversation. “So I was wondering if your family had any dietary restrictions. I was going to whip up a few treats as a thank-you for the kindness. Nothing crazy, and I’m not a phenomenal baker or anything, just a little something,” she says as she puts a few groceries away. “Or is that too much?”

I can’t believe I thought this woman would take off without saying goodbye. “You can do whatever you want to. There are no restrictions, and my entire family loves a little sweet treat.”

“Perfect!” she beams. “I hate being a burden…”

“Della,” I say. “No part of you is a burden. Stop saying that shit, you said it last night too. What are you doing for dinner tonight?” I ask.

Her head snaps toward me. “A salad with rotisserie chicken. Why?”

“I’m not going to knock the grocery store salad, but want to do something more exciting?”

“Maybe you missed where I said rotisserie chicken. That’s pretty exciting,” her smile teases with a hint of playfulness.

“Maybe we have different definitions of exciting,” I laugh. “The restaurant at the lodge is a two Michelin star restaurant and it’s fucking incredible, but I have a feeling that you’ve gotten enough of that with your ex.”

It’s her turn to laugh, but she nods her head in agreement anyway.

“I’m sure you saw some of the nicer places on the strip today,” knowing damn well that she passed the best restaurants and bars in town if she went to the art store, “but what if I were to offer a more… authentic experience.”

“I’d say I’m in,” she replies without a hint of hesitation before biting her lip, like she knows she’s about to get into something.

“What do you have to wear tonight, Del?”

“Not much,” she admits. “Pajamas and comfy clothes. Wedding heels and a veil. The reason my car was such a mess yesterday was because those were the clothes I gathered in my hands when I was in the penthouse. It was whatever I could collect, including a bathrobe. I have what I have on,” she gestures down.

Not that I don’t appreciate how she looks right now. Truth be told, she looks fucking stunning in her jeans that hug her form, paired with a fancy-person soft pink blouse. She will just get looks if she goes into The Rusty Lantern, which is the name of the place I’m going to take her. It’s where all us locals go. We avoid the tourist bars unless we’re looking for something specific, and for me, that usually means someone to warm my bed.

“You look beautiful right now, but that’s not going to fit the vibe of where we’re headed,” I say. Pulling out my phone, I text my sister, who confirms she’s home and having a glass of wine. Looks like I’m not the only one who clocked out right on time today. “Hazel is home right now, and you’re going shopping in her closet,” I laugh. “Hope you like flannel.”

She excuses herself to freshen up, and I hang out at the table and look through my phone. Personally, I think she could go with no makeup and still be gorgeous, but she comes out in that stupid tank top that drives me crazy, and now I see the entirety of how her ass looks in her dark jeans. Holy shit. Realistically, she would be fine wearing that alone to the bar, but she’d get too many looks. A new stranger in town who looked like that? She’d have the entire bar barking up her tree.

“Should I eat a little something here? I don’t want to drink on an empty stomach,” she says.

“We’re going for the authentic Lantern experience, Tatroe, and that includes eating the Rusty Lantern’s finest. Wait, do you have allergies? Specifically, peanut allergies?”

“No,” she says. “Why?”

“Because there’s a barrel of peanuts you can eat from. You throw the shells on the ground.”

A horrified look settles on her face.

“Authentic experience,” I reiterate.

“But what about people with allergies?”

“They don’t go,” I say. “There are other bars on Millstone to patron.”