Ben…
Fucking gorgeous...
Shay emerged from the treed edge of Fairmount Park and stepped into the parking lot. A basic tiny black dress swayed with her every step. Dark hair had been pulled high into a ponytail and long bangs framed her eyes.
And the instant she saw me? A wide smile brightened her face.
A heavy thump reverberated deep in my chest. Not just gorgeous. Stunning.
Her pace quickened, like she was excited to see me.
I sucked in a steadying breath, trying to pull my shit together.
It’s just a date, Ben. She’s just a girl. But she wasn’t, was she? One hell of a woman came my way. And based on my overwhelming reaction, Shay Morgan had become something so much more than just anything to me. Why I’ve been thinking about you all day.
On and off, I’d wondered what she’d been doing. Doesn’t matter. You’re here with me now.
A breeze ruffled her hair and a few strands stuck between her lips. My gaze caught on her luscious mouth while she lifted her fingers to her cheek, then pulled those lucky strands away.
I kicked off the brick planter where I’d been camped to cover the distance between us.
“Hey, you.” A blush crept across her cheeks as she stared into my eyes for a second. Then she glanced down at a flower I’d pulled out from behind my back.
“Hey.” The only word I could manage.
Delight sparkled in her eyes as she stared at the gift I’d brought. She lifted a hand toward it. When her fingers wrapped around the stem, her pinky brushed against mine.
We both gasped at the electric contact.
She bit the corner of her lip, stared down at the asphalt, then glanced back up at me. “Why the rose?”
Because one rose wasn’t over the top. And I’d gotten the sense on the phone that a birthday gift would’ve made her uncomfortable. I faked a disinterested shrug. “Thought it would score me points. To have that chance.”
Mischief danced in her eyes. “Think you deserve one?”
“Yeah, I deserve one.” But if you don’t think so by now, I’ll work even harder to earn it.
She slipped her hand into mine, but said nothing. That isn’t a no. I’d take that silent step.
As we headed toward the front door, I briefly tightened my hold on her hand a little and leaned down. “By the way, you look...” fucking gorgeous or stunning seemed too startling to say. “Beautiful.” The one elegant word fit her, inside and out.
She blushed and gave me a tiny smile as we entered the restaurant’s spacious lobby. We worked our way through a packed crowd of twenty plus, then stepped forward to the hostess stand. A teenage girl hung her head down while she scanned over the reservation list.
I pressed a gentle hand against Shay’s lower back. “Two for Bishop.”
“Right this way, Mr. Bishop.” The directive didn’t come from the girl behind the stand. It came from a deep male voice behind us.
Shay turned and blinked. “Cade.”
“Told you I knew the owner.” I winked at her.
But even though she already knew Cade and Hannah owned the joint, panic flashed across her face. A frown formed, and her breath quickened. Her relaxed grip tightened around my hand. But before I had a chance to react, reinforcements came to the rescue.
“And the decorator.” Kiki appeared out of nowhere and looped her arm into the crook of Shay’s elbow. “What d’ya think of the place?”
“It’s...wonderful.” Shay’s hand relaxed, then slipped away as Kiki led her into the dining room. Shay darted a glance over her shoulder and a lopsided smile wobbled onto her face.
Yep. You’re in good hands. “The pastry chef too,” I shouted after them as Kiki wound her through packed tables while Cade and I followed.
“Name dropper,” Kiki accused as she turned and stopped before a corner table on the patio.
“Technically, title dropper.” Cade glanced at Shay. “My Maestro, Hannah? Oversees all desserts.” He nodded at the table. “Will this do?”
With raised brows, I deferred to Shay for direction. It was her night, after all.
“It’s perfect.” As Shay took the chair Kiki offered her, Shay touched her wrist. “And tonight, you are...?”
The meaningful look exchanged between the two women ran deeper than the question. Gratitude shone in Shay’s eyes. Warmth radiated from Kiki’s as she smiled. “Helper girl. And kitchen co-conspirator” —Kiki leaned in close to Shay— “if you need to make a quick escape.”
Kiki pegged me with a stern look, stabbed two fingers in the air toward her eyes, then swiveled her hand and stabbed them at me, universal code for I’m watching you.
Understood. I gave her a respectful nod as Cade handed us our menus.
Then as fast as the Michaelson siblings had descended upon us, they disappeared.
Shay balanced the menu on her lap and gripped the top with folded hands as she tucked it under her chin. “They always like that?”
I opened my menu and scanned over it, pretending not to know what she was talking about. “Like what?”
“Overprotective.”
“You mean curious, prying little fuckers?”
“Awww...I kinda like it.” She drew in a deep breath, then lifted her menu and pressed it flat on the table. “At least they care.”
Sensing her mood shift, I glanced up.
The corners of her mouth tugged down into another frown.
I put my menu down and stared hard at her. “I care.”
She showed no reaction to my words. Gave no indication she’d heard me at all. Some random spot in the center of her menu appeared to have entranced her.
A heavy ache hit my chest, and I stretched my hand out until our fingertips touched. When that failed to break through, I pushed on and slid my fingers through hers until our hands locked together. “Hey.” I waited until she finally blinked then looked up from her menu into my eyes.
Good. I had her full attention. “I care. I care about you.”
“They act like family to you.”
“They are like family to me.”
“Seems like friends are a better family to have.”
Been my experience. “Sometimes they are.”
Her expression grew thoughtful.
Silence followed.
Then her hand eased away from mine and her gaze drifted back down to her menu, which she read like the thing had transformed into a riveting novel. Her attention lingered on the bottom right-hand corner before she finally spoke up. “So, what’s good here?”
I played along, ignoring the topic that had shut the conversation down. “Everything. It’s all locally sourced. If they can’t get it from a nearby farm, delivered by a fisherman, or grown in their half-acre garden, it isn’t served.”
“The chipotle shrimp tacos?”
“Amazing.”
She snapped her menu shut. “I’ll have that, then.”
An older male server appeared out of nowhere. “Excellent choice, madam.” He took her menu. “And you, sir?”
I handed him mine. “Make that two. Plus a heaping platter of nachos.”
“Heaping?”
“It’s what it’s called.” And I’d witnessed her shameless appetite.
“With a blue agave margarita, rocks with salt,” she added.
“And a Bootleg Black Forest Stout for me.”
The server bowed his head, dipping it toward Shay with an apologetic expression. “I’m afraid I’ll need to see some ID.”
Without skipping a beat, she reached into some hidden pocket of her tiny dress, pulled out a card, and handed it to him. He angled the laminated card toward the nearest light, gave a slight nod, then returned it back to her.
I chuckled the moment the server left. “Oh, so she does have an ID.”
“Never said I didn’t have one.”
“He gets to see it on command, and I don’t?”
“That’s right. It was my ticket to a margarita.”
“So you are legal.”
“Brilliant deduction.”
“I’m getting better at it.” Still, I stared at her for a long moment. Her defensiveness had returned. And every lie-detector sense I had spiked; she was hiding something. I took a wild guess. “The ID must be flawless.”
She lifted her gaze to meet mine, then blinked. “What are you saying?”
That I want to get to know you better. The real you. “That you’re not legally legal.”
“You sure about that?”
“No. But you’re not denying it.” Our heaping nachos arrived, its platter slid between us.
“I’m legal in one way.” She jimmied free a loaded corn chip from the middle of the nacho pile before devouring it whole.
“But not the other.”
She munched, swallowed, then gave me a slight headshake. “Nope.”
I let out a relieved breath.
Her expression lit up with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “What?”
“Just glad you’re not jailbait.” I ate a hefty nacho of my own, to every two she confiscated.
Those deep green eyes stared at me for another couple of beats. “Annnd...what else have you deduced?”
“You were legal behind my bar, to serve. That when you told me you were old enough the other day, you were just legal: eighteen. Now you’re technically another year legal: You turned nineteen today.”
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “No big. But all accurate.”
“You told me the truth. You trusted me.”
She drew in a deep breath, then exhaled through pursed lips. “I’m getting better at it.”
“Trust me again.”
“With what?”
“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” Something beyond the fragments that I’ve had to piece together.
Her gaze held mine. Then her head tilted a fraction. “I’ve never been on a date before.”
“This is your first date...ever?” But then, it made sense. With her wariness, that spiky armor, and her hiding behind half-truths and fake IDs, why would she ever trust anyone enough to sit down with them at any meal, let alone a romantic one?
“Yeah.” Her chin dipped in a slight nod.
“Well, I’m honored to take you out on your first.” Our drinks arrived, and I took a long pull from my stout.
She tasted the salted rim of her drink, her tongue darting out beside a lime wedge hooked to the wide glass, then sipped the bright blue margarita. “So how does it work?”
“A date?”
“Yeah. All I’ve ever seen are dates in movies.”
“Forget everything you’ve ever seen in a movie about dating. If it was a thriller, he was a serial killer.”
She cocked her head. “What if it was action adventure?”
“Then he was a spy and had ulterior motives.”
“Romantic comedy?”
“Blundering idiot.”
“And you’re not?” Humor sparkled in her eyes.
“Sure as hell trying not to be.”
“Then guide me. Tell me how a date’s supposed to be.”
“Well, if it’s a first date, then you should share lots of things I don’t know about you.”
Our entrées arrived on large plates that each held three grilled tacos propped upright in metal dividers, a trio of salsas in ceramic segmented holders, and a cilantro-cabbage slaw.
She pinched both ends of her first taco, then lifted it from its holder. “What do you want to know?”
I watched her take a healthy bite of taco and thought about it.
Where do I start? A lot remained unsaid between us. I knew she had scar tissue. I had my fair share too. Yet everything seemed to revolve around the same topic, one we’d sidestepped like masters.
Yeah, well, fuck that sidestepping shit. Let’s get real. “Family sucks, doesn’t it?”
Her eyes widened, then she blinked.
Yeah, I threw it right out there. Something about her and me.
Her lips tightened into a firm line, as if she didn’t trust any words that might tumble out. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
Instinct told me to change the subject. Self-preservation did too. But I wanted to get to know her, breach that mile-thick wall she’d constructed behind her spiky armor.
You’re not the only one, Shay. You’re not alone. “Here, I’ll start. My family sucks ass. Dad’s an alcoholic. Mom’s codependent. She believes his ridiculous excuses and suffers through horrible emotional abuse, because he’s excessively charming and great at apologizing. The millions of dollars a year he rakes in doesn’t hurt either, makes her unreasonably forgiving.”
The more I talked, the more compassionate Shay’s expression became, and the better I felt. Aside from Cade, she was the first person I’d told the truth to. That truth, anyway.
Now for the clincher. “Turns out, he’s not just charming my mother. He didn’t only pull a fast one on the person he’d promised to cherish and love. Evidently, naïve investors are fair game too. Thing is, the Feds aren’t so forgiving. When clients complain, and the numbers don’t add up, words like ‘indictment’ and ‘prison’ get tossed around the dinner table.”
The deep furrow that had formed between her brows began to soften. “That’s why you’re so touchy about breaking the law.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Apparently to a fault.”
She shook her head. “No. Not with me.”
I reached a shaking hand toward my beer. Fuck. I hadn’t realized I’d been affected so badly. Then again, wasn’t every day that I bared my soul. I guzzled down half the bottle before I came up for air. “Your turn.”
She coughed out a laugh, then shook her head. “Oh no, I’ll pass.”
“Don’t need details,” I offered, willing to accept whatever leap of faith she’d be brave enough to take.
Dark green eyes stared hard at me, studying, assessing—determining if I was worthy.
A barely perceptible nod was the only warning I got.