Chapter Four

NOELY

I didn’t realize how close I was to the restaurant because I’m ten minutes early. Does that make me seem desperate? No, I chastise myself. It shows that I respect the other person’s time . . . right?

God, dating is the worst. There are so many unspoken rules you have to follow to not look desperate, or to not look like a psycho, or a creep, or horny, or—

“Can I help you, miss?”

Straightening up, I turn toward the hostess stand, which is a beautifully carved piece of wood. Standing behind it is an exotic, tall woman with long black hair, stunning grey eyes, and a massive engagement ring on her hand. Please tell me she got that rock from dating someone in this program.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that happiness for my life is dependent on getting married, but to see a success story in the flesh—particularly for me—would be encouraging.

“Hi, yes, I’m Noely Clark. I have a date at seven tonight with”—I lean forward, feeling silly and whisper—“with WindsorKnot.”

Her smile is kind and reassuring, making me feel a little calmer. “Yes, Miss Clark, I have you here for seven. You’re date hasn’t arrived yet, so can I show you to the bar for a drink while you wait?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

With my clutch tucked under my arm, I follow tall, dark, and beautiful to the bar where a very handsome Asian man is standing with a towel draped over his shoulder and a bright grin on his face. He’s wearing a button-up shirt with rolled sleeves, a brown vest covering his chest, which totally channels his inner Justin Timberlake.

“Danny, this is Miss Clark. She has a reservation at seven. Would you be so kind to make her whatever drink she would like?”

“Of course.” He winks at the hostess who presses her warm hand on my arm.

“Enjoy, Miss Clark. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. My name is Veronica, this is Danny, and we will be happy to serve you in any way.” With a parting grin, she moves back to her hostess spot.

Well, she’s nice.

“Miss Clark, please take a seat. What would you like?”

My tight, formfitting red dress makes my hop onto the bar stool a difficult task, but with a pleading prayer to the dress gods and a swift jump, I situate myself, only breaking a minor sweat.

I let out a sigh of relief and place my hands on the bar in front of me, scanning the glitzy bottles of “muscle relaxant.” “Hmm . . . how about a Moscow Mule?”

“Coming right up.” He gets to work and I watch as he magically floats around the bar, pulling the ingredients. “We recently bought new copper mugs, and I’ve been dying to use them.”

“Yeah? Am I the first?”

Winking, he says, “You are.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would say Danny is a bit of a flirt. Either that or he’s super friendly. Or simply made to be a bartender.

From beneath the bar, Danny pulls out a shiny, hammered-copper mug, and I’m instantly taken by the design. So sleek, just like its surroundings. The restaurant, with its white exposed brick, natural wood features, electric colors, and stone tabletops, is sexy, yet inviting. The friendly waitstaff is an absolute bonus. Every table is cornered off in its own spot, never getting too close to the other tables around it, and the mood lighting is on point with dim Edison bulb lights hanging from the ceiling and tabletop candles. I’m feeling the mood.

Despite the welcoming atmosphere, I can’t help but feel nervous, even after my brief exchange with WindsorKnot. There’s something to say about a blind date: the anticipation, the unknown, the knowledge that you’re having dinner with someone to possibly form a romantic relationship. It’s intimidating, but exhilarating all at the same time.

Could this be the last time I ever go on a first date? Will he like me? Will he want to get to know me?

Butterflies float around in my stomach and my cheeks heat as Danny places a napkin in front of me, topped by my drink with a lime slice on the side.

“Here you go, Miss Clark. Please enjoy.”

I smile politely. “Thank you.” When I take a sip, I’m instantly assaulted by the ginger-lime combination. Perfect. “This is fantastic.”

“Good.” Danny winks again and like an old-time bartender, starts drying a tumbler with the towel hanging over his shoulder. Eyeing me for a second, he asks, “A little nervous?”

After taking a sip from my drink, I lick my lips and nod. “Just a little.” I scrunch my nose, squinting ever so slightly. “Is it obvious?”

“Nah, you look pretty chill compared to a lot of blind daters I see come through the door.”

“Oh, I’m sure you see a lot of different reactions to these dates.” I lean forward, the cold wood of the bar cooling my sweaty hands, and whisper, “Any good stories you can tell me?”

Danny chuckles quietly and leans forward himself, taking a look from side to side before answering. “Plenty, but looks like your date just arrived.”

My date just arrived?

The temperature in the room seems to go up a thousand degrees as my body seizes and my shoulders tense. “Oh God, can you see him? Is he hot? What does he look like? Should I turn around? No, I shouldn’t, he would know I was checking him out.” Whispering a little louder, I ask again, “Just tell me, is he cute?”

Danny’s eyes scan over my head and his smile stretches across his face. “That’s for you to judge, not me.” Damn you, Danny.

Oh Christ, I’m not ready.

That’s right, I’m not freaking ready for this.

I get it, I know I said I was ready, that I wanted to do this, that I was all-in, that I wanted to find my soul mate, but now that I’m here, seconds from meeting “the one,” I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up. Yep, I’m going to throw up. I can feel it rising.

Oh God, I’m going to retch all over him, right on his shoes. I know it. It’s bound to happen.

“Relax, you’re going to have fun,” Danny whispers before he turns to the bottles behind him.

As if the light hairs on my arm can sense it, they stand at attention as the sound of faint footsteps come closer.

Click, click, click. The cement floor leaves zero room for sneaking up on anyone.

Don’t throw up, don’t throw up. Think compliments, think pleasantries, think—

“Hello.”

Smooth molasses drips over my shoulders as the most velvet of voices I’ve ever heard echoes behind me, pulling me away from the death grip on my copper mug and turning me in my seat to face one of the most handsome and polished men I’ve ever seen.

Immediately I’m drawn to his dark-chocolate eyes, so shadowy I’m having a hard time deciphering where his irises begin and his pupils end. His strong, square jaw is peppered in well-maintained scruff, and his hair is just long enough to show how thick and full it is. And his style? Impeccable. A navy-blue suit wraps around his broad shoulders and long legs, while a white-pressed button-up shirt shows off a triangle of tan skin below his neck.

Sexy.

Handsome.

Everything I could ask for.

Clearing my throat, I awkwardly wave and say, “Hi.”

Smiling sincerely, he holds his large hand out to me and says, “I’m Jack, also known as WindsorKnot. Veronica told me you were ShopGirl.”

“Yes, that’s me, but you can call me Noely.”

“Noely,” he repeats, as if testing the sound on his tongue. “Beautiful name.”

Yep, hearing him say my name and beautiful together, makes my cheeks flush. I’ve barely said a word to this man and I’m already blushing madly.

“Thank you.” I hold back the giggle that wants to escape.

He motions to the bar stool next to me. “May I join you?”

“Oh, of course.” I move my clutch to the other side of the bar, making room for him.

Motioning to the bartender, he politely shakes the man’s hand and says, “Jack.”

“Danny. What can I get you, sir?”

Jack eyes the drink in my condensation-covered hands and says, “I’ll have what the lady is having.”

“Right away.”

Danny gets to work once again as Jack turns in his stool to face me, one hand on the back of his seat, the other on the bar to his side.

A casual pose for someone comfortable with his surroundings.

Not to mention, he’s giving off a confident vibe, a vibe I couldn’t have predicted from the man who messaged me earlier while I was getting ready. I half expected for him to show up, already sweating with a nervous shake in his hands. But not Jack, not the man in front of me. He’s stoic almost, comfortable in his own skin, unbothered by the situation we’re in.

Unlike me.

My nerves ratchet up all kinds of embarrassing reactions caused by the gorgeous man in front of me. I can feel it, there’s no denying it, especially by the way I’m tongue-tied, unable to say anything . . . I’m awkward.

Ah, I’m awkward!

I’m the antithesis of who I wanted to portray. I’ve thought about this moment, this date, the first one, in my mind . . . God, was I sexy and smooth with hair flipping, chest puffed out, and a stray finger grazing my date’s arm.

Instead, I’m clammed up like a fetus, hair pulled behind my neck leaving me with a twitch instead of a hair flip, and my fingers, let’s just say they’re glued to my copper mug right now. There is no finger running, and my smile? There is no ease in my lips. It’s more like my brain is telling my lips to show off my teeth rather than look like a prize to be won.

I blame Going in Blind! They set me up with someone entirely too good-looking. How is a girl supposed to function when Mr. Impeccably Dressed with the Strong Jaw is staring into your eyes, studying your every move? It’s impossible.

Leaning forward, Jack brings his head closer to mine, enveloping me in his fresh scent. “I don’t know about you, but I’m really nervous right now.”

“Really?” I ask, swallowing hard from how close he is. “You don’t look like you are.”

He chuckles. “After many years in the boardroom, hiding your external reaction to situations becomes second nature. Believe me, the moment I saw you, my stomach started flipping.”

Handsome and suave. Okay, where did they find this man and what the hell do we have in common—besides Tom Hanks—that could possibly have matched us? I’m feeling like Kraft Singles compared to his Camembert.

Trying to pull myself together and act like somewhat of an adult and not a sputtering barely blossoming tween, I ask, “Boardroom. Does that mean my assumption of you being a businessman is true?” I lift an inquisitive eyebrow at him right before I take a sip from my drink, holding the mug with both hands to avoid revealing the unsteady shake roaring through my bones.

“I guess I didn’t do a good job hiding it, did I?” The boyish charm that follows his statement is endearing, especially the little peek of dimples in his cheeks. Dimples, the kryptonite for every woman.

“Not so much. I don’t think you can deny it with the handle WindsorKnot. Not sure there was a lot of competition with that name choice.”

Danny hands Jack his drink, which he takes with a grateful nod in Danny’s direction. In fascination, I watch his lips wrap over the ledge of the cup, soft and wet. Sexy, so, so sexy.

After he swallows, the liquid falling down the thick column of his neck, he asks, “What, you don’t think WindsorKnot is a popular name choice?”

“Not even in the slightest.” I chuckle. He joins me, and the sound mixed with mine sounds harmonious, like the two noises were meant to be mixed together. Oh, I want to hear him laugh again . . . badly.

“All right, what about your name? ShopGirl. Does that have anything to do with your profession?”

I should be slightly insulted that he doesn’t recognize me from my morning show, but then again, if he’s a businessman, my nine o’clock airing time doesn’t necessary mesh with his schedule.

Shaking my head, I take a quick sip from my drink and set the mug on the bar, letting my hands defrost from the chill of the copper casing. “Not even in the slightest. Let me ask you, Jack . . .” Did I mention I really like his name? It’s strong, yet traditional. “Have you ever seen the movie You’ve Got Mail?”

A slow, knowing smile starts to unfold over his lips. Casually, he sips from his mug, his eyes trained on me, his gaze unfaltering. Oh boy, he’s dangerous. With those eyes and that look, yep, I’m surprised I haven’t pulled a Dylan yet and ripped my bra off in public.

When he pulls his mug away, he asks, “Have you failed to remember what’s on my profile? Tom Hanks, he’s my main man. I’ve watched every single one of his movies more than once, You’ve Got Mail being in my top-five Hanks movies.”

I mentally applaud Going in Blind. No, an applaud is to tame, I need something more meaningful. I mentally ass slap them, right on the glute, hand to skin, leaving a red mark, a red mark of love. Nothing says thank you like a branded red-slap to the old buttocks.

“So then you know about ShopGirl?”

He nods. “It makes so much sense now.” He pauses and then asks, “Would you say You’ve Got Mail is your favorite movie?”

I don’t even skip a beat. “Hands down, the best.”

Another smile peeks over the rim of his mug. “I might just have to kiss the people who set up this date.”

Same freaking here, and not just because he loves You’ve Got Mail.

“Noely, Jack, your table is ready if you would like to follow me,” Veronica says, motioning to the dining space.

Like a gentleman, Jack helps me from my stool and places his hand on my lower back, guiding me behind Veronica. The feel of his hot palm against my dress doesn’t go unnoticed, neither does the unexpected craving for him to lower his hand a few inches.

Veronica guides us to the back of the restaurant, to a quaint table in front of exposed brick, lightly covered by vibrant hues of red. Jack guides me to my chair and pulls it out for me. His hand rests on the back of the chair when I sit and he carefully helps me scoot in.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a man do that for me before, it was . . . different, but nice. Really nice.

Jack waits to take his seat as Veronica speaks. “Your waiter’s name is Dennis. He’ll be over to take any other drink orders you might have. Please let us know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Veronica,” Jack says politely. Once she leaves, he takes a seat, unfolds the napkin in front of him, and places it on his lap. There is an air of elegance about him, a manner I’m not familiar with, but also not opposed to either given my track record of dates. Wanting to follow his lead, I do the same with my napkin.

A single piece of cardstock rests on each of our plates indicating our dinner choices for the night. There are only three options: steak, lobster, and pasta. I’m surprised we don’t have more choices given the hype of the restaurant, but after reading over the menu, I realize it doesn’t matter how many options there are, I want all of them.

“This place is so nice.” I look around, trying to start some kind of conversation. I eye Jack and ask, “Is this your first date? Or have you been on others?”

That smile shows up again and I can’t help but want to sigh. “First one, what about you?”

“Me too. I guess we’re popping each other’s cherries.” The moment the words leave my lips, I cringe, but the crease in my brow is quickly washed away by Jack’s chuckle.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Leaning forward, he bites on his lower lip and says, “Please be gentle.”

I pat his hand that’s on the table. “Don’t worry, I’ll use lube.”

He throws his head back and a good hearty laugh escapes him. God, I’m starting to become addicted to that sound.

“Kinky, should I be worried?” he finally asks when his laughter dies down.

“I’d watch your six.” I wink at him and turn back to the menu. “What are you going to get? I’m having a hard time deciding.”

He studies the menu, the intensity in his gaze strong, intimidating. I would fear him in the boardroom. “I’m a steak man myself, so I’ll probably go with that. Do you like meat, Noely?”

Did he mean to phrase his sentence like that?

From the raise in his brow and the playful look in his eyes, I’m going to guess, yes. Okay, this conversation has gone from nervous, awkward talk to sexual innuendos in the matter of seconds. This is my kind of date.

Not wanting to scare him away, I refrain from jumping up on the table and shaking my ass in his face while screaming I love meat. He might seem easygoing, but getting slapped in the face by a red-clad derriere might not scream best first date ever. Instead, I nod and say, “Yeah, I think I might join you with your steak choice.”

He nods and gathers my menu. “Do you mind if I order for you?”

“Not at all. Medium-rare please.”

Dennis arrives soon after and takes our order. In awe, I watch Jack sophistically order our steaks, both medium-rare. I don’t think I’ve ever been out with such a cultured man.

When Dennis disappears, I swear the mood lighting changes, the lights dimming, casting a romantic glow over the diners. The feeling around us becomes exponentially more intimate with blue and teal uplighting reflecting off the white brick walls and the lights above us dulling, making the tea lights at our table become more prevalent.

“So, want to play cards?” Jack asks, kind of out of the blue.

“What?” I chuckle, caught off guard.

He nods to the wine list next to the salt and pepper shakers and a small white vase of pink peonies. Nestled between them is what I’m going to assume is a deck of cards in a metal tin. Without an answer from me, he pulls out the deck and starts shuffling while eyeing a small card in the box.

Still shuffling, he glances up at me. “It’s Crazy Eights with questions. Have you ever played?”

“Never.”

But hell if I’m not intrigued. I’m on my first blind date with a drop-dead-gorgeous and humorous man . . . and we’re about to play cards. I didn’t predict this night to start out like this, but I’m really glad it has. Let the questions begin.