CHAPTER 16

DESSERT

POPPY

Lance has his arm threaded through mine as we navigate the uneven walkway to the restaurant. I’m not used to heels, so he’s supporting me a lot more than he might realize.

The host shows us to our table. It’s in a private, secluded area of the restaurant, right beside a fireplace, so I shed my shrug. Like last time, Lance pulls his chair closer so he’s perpendicular to me rather than across the table.

When the waiter comes to take our drink order, I flounder, looking to him for guidance. I don’t know why. I’ve never needed help ordering a drink before. Especially not on a date.

“Can I have sparkling water for now?” I ask Lance, not the waiter.

He picks up my hand and kisses my knuckles. “You can have whatever you want, precious.”

“Would you like to look at the wine list?” the waiter asks.

“Um—” The question seems to be directed at me.

“Sure, you can just leave it with us.” Lance takes it from him without even glancing in his direction. “You want anything other than water to start?”

I bite my lip and decide to order what I want without worrying about looking silly. “May I have a Shirley Temple, please?”

The smile that spreads across Lance’s perfectly kissable lips is as breathtaking as it is sweet. “Make that two.”

The waiter nods and disappears.

“Living on the edge, aye?” Lance bites my knuckle through a grin.

“Watch out. I’m a real wild one.”

“Not even a little, eh?”

My answering smile is all mischief. “I’ve always been a good girl.”

“Then what’re ya doin’ here with me?” The accent that’s barely noticeable most of the time gets heavier, along with his gaze.

“I don’t think you’re nearly as bad as you make yourself out to be.”

“I’m probably worse.” He’s still smiling, but for a second it goes dark. Then his expression grows serious. “You look so beautiful.”

I tip my chin down. “Thank you.”

He fingers the strap at my shoulder. “I love this dress.”

Green is his favorite color. I already knew that when I pulled it out of the closet the night he asked me out. I smooth out the skirt, feeling self-conscious and overheated. The kiss he laid on me in his car lingers on my lips. I want him to do it again. Over and over.

There’s something about him that draws me in. It’s the same something that pulled me in when I was a girl.

I want to understand how he can be so sweet with me and so hard on the ice. And why his reputation is so incredibly deplorable. I want the rumors not to be true, even though I know they must be. At least some of them. But it doesn’t make sense with how averse he is to touch.

I don’t ask any of those questions, though, because I don’t want to ruin the perfect bubble we’re in right now.

“Would you like me to order wine?”

He keeps brushing his lips across my knuckles. My stomach is fluttering so much it’s hard to focus on anything but the feeling. “I’d have a glass.”

“To go with your Shirley Temple?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

He uncurls my fingers and drags the index one across his bottom lip. “I think it’s precious, just like you.”

That name sends a sweet shiver down my spine and raises goose bumps along my arms. “You’re full of lines tonight.”

“You think I’m feeding you lines?” I see his hurt even though he’s still smiling.

I hate that I don’t know whether to trust my gut with him. I want to. But I’m not sure what he wants out of this. “I don’t know. Are you?”

He releases my hand, setting it on the table and propping his fist under his chin, as though he’s contemplating my comment. “Why would you think I need to feed you lines?”

“I don’t think you need to do anything. I think you’re used to getting whatever, or maybe whoever, you want.”

“But you’re not whatever or whoever, Poppy. You get that, right?”

“I’m not?” I’m pushing now, but I want something from him. Some kind of reassurance that he’s not going to play me like he does other women.

He takes my hand again and presses my palm against the side of his neck. I feel the heavy thud of his pulse beneath my palm. “I want this. You.”

“Why?” I still don’t understand why me. What makes me so different from everyone else? What makes me special?

“This.” His fingers caress the back of mine, still pressed against his cheek. “Feels nice.” He opens his eyes slowly. The weight of them on me is almost suffocating. “It’s never felt nice before.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s never been you before.”

“But it has been me before.”

“You mean in the closet?”

“Mmm. Was it nice then?” I remember the sound he made when he kissed me, the way his arm tightened around me, the hard lines of his body as he pulled me closer and his tongue swept my mouth.

“It was. So I had to work really hard to forget it for a long time.” Lance flips the wine list open.

I want to ask why he wanted to forget something I spent most of my teen years replaying over and over like some kind of dirty Disney love story, but he seems to be done talking about that.

“Do you like red or white?” he asks.

“I prefer white.” Of all of the alcohol options out there, white wine is the one that doesn’t give me an immediate hangover.

“And you’re sure you’ll have a glass if I order a bottle?”

“Yes.”

“Because you want to or because you’ll feel obligated?” He’s reclaimed my hand and is kissing the tips of all my fingers now. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as his tongue touches the pad of my thumb.

“Both.”

He smiles. “I like how honest you are. Why would you feel obligated?”

“Because this is a date, and that’s what people usually do on dates.”

“So you want to drink wine because it’s conventional?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because I’m nervous.”

Lance frowns. “Why?”

“Why?” I echo.

“Why are you nervous?”

“Because you’re you.”

Lance blinks a few times, releases my hand again, and leans back in his chair. The floor vibrates with the bounce of his knee. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended. I’m curious.”

The waiter chooses that moment to return with our Shirley Temples. He gestures to the open wine list. “Have you made a selection?”

Lance gives me a tight smile. “I think we’re okay for right now.”

At my murmur of agreement the waiter turns back to Lance.

“Would you like to start with appetizers?”

“We’ll need a few more minutes, please.” Lance’s voice is as tight as his expression.

The waiter leaves us alone again. I don’t like the sudden change of mood. Lance has gone dark.

“You’re a professional hockey player; I’m just a massage therapist.”

“You’re not just anything,” Lance replies.

“You know what I mean. People know who you are, even if they don’t actually know you. No one knows who I am.”

“I do.”

“To a certain degree, yes, but we only give the part of ourselves we’re comfortable with, right?” I motion between us. “Being here means we must be willing to give a bit more, doesn’t it?”

“And that makes you nervous?”

“Of course. You have an idea of who I am, an ideal even. I’m the girl who gave you her first kiss in a closet.” I look down at my napkin. “I won’t lie and say I haven’t romanticized that memory, even if it’s a silly, naïve thing to do.”

Lance adjusts his silverware, his knee still going under the table. “So what’s the part that makes you nervous? That I’m not gonna be the romanticized version you’ve built me up to be?”

I don’t tell him I already know that part of him has been buried for a long time. Based on what happened in the closet after we went out for dessert earlier this week, I’m aware that the boy I knew is definitely still in there, even if he’s been hiding. But there are years of time and experiences creating a barrier between us now.

“And that I’m not the same version of the girl you remember.”

He nods, like maybe this makes sense.

“Sorry. This got heavy fast.”

He runs his finger around the rim of his glass. “I don’t mind. No girl ever gets real with me. It’s kinda nice for a change.”

I laugh. “I can’t imagine how much lip service you get on a regular basis.”

“A lot more than I want, actually. I don’t like being played with by people.”

It’s a loaded statement. I can almost taste its bitterness.

The waiter returns to ask after our order. I decide on a glass of sauvignon blanc, and Lance requests a bottle instead, checking with me for the brand. I point to one in the middle of the row, but I won’t know the difference between a high-end bottle and the cheap stuff from the local liquor store.

He also orders appetizers since we haven’t even opened the menu. When the waiter leaves, I look it over. They have all of my favorite things with a classy twist. Everything sounds amazing, and I decide to go for the spaghetti Bolognese.

Once the waiter returns with the wine and takes our dinner order, Lance settles back in his chair, his knees brushing mine under the table.

“So, I gotta ask how a good girl ends up at a high school party at the age of twelve. I can’t imagine your parents actually let you go.”

“Absolutely not. My parents went out, and my sister was babysitting me. She didn’t want to miss the party, so she took me with her.”

“That wasn’t very responsible.”

“I could’ve stayed home by myself, but my sister isn’t known for her responsible tendencies.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“She was always a little wild. Fun, but she pushed the boundaries a lot. Sometimes I wanted to be more like her. The night we went to that party, I felt so cool.” I shake my head at the memory. “She never really grew out of that rebellious phase. She’s better than she used to be, but she still struggles with things like keeping a job for more than six months.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Oh! Cinny.”

“Like Cinnamon?”

“No, like Hyacinth. My parents were big into botany when we were born, so we’re both named after flowers. Anyway, what about you? Why were you there that night?”

“Some girl in my class invited me, said it was gonna be a good time and there’d be booze, so I went.”

“Ahh. Very responsible of you.”

Lance laughs. “Not even a little.”

“Cinny got in so much trouble.” I take a sip of my wine. Lance has already half finished his glass.

“Your parents found out?”

“They did. She took the car without permission, and she didn’t even have a learners permit. She hit the side of the garage and dented the bumper when we came home. She accused me of ratting her out, but all the evidence was there. I don’t know why we didn’t take the train. Or walk! Plus our clothes smelled like cigarette smoke.”

“Shit. I bet it was way worse because you’re girls.”

“Oh definitely. She was so mad at me, thinking I’d been the one to tell, so she told my parents I’d been making out with some high school boy in a closet.”

Lance’s mouth drops, but it’s not shock; it’s a devious look of satisfaction. “She told them about me?”

“Oh, yeah. She was actually pretty jealous that I ended up in a closet with you. It was kind of funny. Not at the time, obviously, but later, when we weren’t in trouble anymore. Her telling on me backfired, though, because they blamed her for that too. I don’t think she talked to me for at least a month.”

“If anyone should’ve been giving the silent treatment, it’s you. She let me steal your first kiss.”

“And I’m still okay with that.”

Lance grins. It’s warm. “Me too, even if I shouldn’t be.”

“You were so sweet about it, even if you were drunk,” I tease.

I slide my hand across the table. Lance watches the movement and flips his over, palm facing up. I stroke the length of his fingers.

“So what happened after that?” he asks. “Were you grounded?”

“We both were. I wasn’t much for going out, so it wasn’t a huge punishment for me. Mostly it meant my parents didn’t go anywhere and nagged my sister all the time.”

“So you really were a good girl?”

The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine. “I guess. I mean, I didn’t go looking for trouble. I had a small group of close friends, and I wasn’t really into parties.”

“Did you like living away from Chicago after you moved?”

“It was hard to start over, but my dad had gotten a job offer in Galesburg. It was this small town, quaint and community oriented. They thought it might help tone my sister down.”

“I’m guessing it didn’t.”

“Not really. She always seems to find trouble, no matter where she goes.”

“What kind of trouble?”

It’s my turn to shrug. Cinny has never had it easy. She’s a restless soul. “She’s reactive, and she doesn’t consider the ramifications of her actions.”

“Sounds a lot like me.”

“I don’t know if I’d agree with that. I mean, sure, you’re reactive, but that’s kind of your job, isn’t it? I think you know what the ramifications are going to be before you take the action.”

“So I premeditate my bad decisions?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Now you’re putting words in my mouth. I wasn’t just referring to the bad decisions; I was referring to all decisions.”

“Ahh. I see.”

I decide to switch gears since we seem to be getting serious again. “How hard was it to move from Scotland as a teenager? Leaving all your friends couldn’t have been easy.”

Lance spins his glass, watching the wine swish. “It wasn’t that bad. Getting out of Scotland was…necessary. I had my cousins. I knew I’d get to play hockey, and there was a lot of talk about how I was destined to play professionally.”

“Clearly they were right.”

“That part wasn’t so easy. I spent all my free time on the ice, trying to catch up to the kids who’d been skating since they were born. I had to work ten times as hard. A few times I got passed over for the minors. That sucked.”

“But eventually you made it.”

“I did. I spent three years on the farm team. A couple times they almost let me go, but then someone saw some potential, and I got picked up.”

“I remember when you were drafted to Nashville.”

“Yeah?” The corner of his mouth lifts.

“I remembered what you said about how I could tell people you’d been my first kiss.”

“And did you?”

“No. It wasn’t something I wanted to share.”

Lance focuses on the table. “I guess not, after all the shit you’ve seen and heard about me, aye?”

“That’s not why. It was my memory. I wanted to keep it to myself. And it’s not like I believe everything I hear or see on social media, anyway.”

Lance looks down at his empty glass of wine. “Some of it is true.”

At my silence he glances up. He looks guarded.

“Is that a warning?”

“I don’t want you coming into this thinking I’m some white knight with pure intentions.”

My stomach twists. “What are your intentions?”

It’s a long time before he finally whispers, “I don’t know.”

A lump forms in my throat and drops to my gut. I start to retract my hand, but Lance curls his fingers, catching mine. At my hard stare he sighs.

“There’s a lot of stuff I’m probably going to have to explain along the way that isn’t going to be easy to hear.”

“I’m not a delicate flower,” I snap.

“Sure you are, pretty Poppy.” His face falls completely when I try to pull my hand away again. “I’m sorry. I’m overthinking everything, and I’m being a dick.” He brings my hand up to his face and uncurls my rigid fingers, pressing them against his cheek again. His eyes flutter shut, and he follows with a shaky breath. When his eyes open, they’re hot with want. “This feeling—what you do to me—I’ve never had it before, and I don’t want to lose it. But I probably don’t deserve it.”

He’s telling the truth. I can see it in his face.

“Why wouldn’t you deserve it?”

“A lot of reasons. I was involved with a woman last year. She played a lot of head games. It didn’t end well, and she still makes it difficult sometimes.”

“To get into a relationship?”

“Yeah. Something like that. Shit. Why is this all heavy again? Look, I really like being around you, and I want to see where this goes between you and me. Just us.”

“Okay. I’d like that, too.”

Lance seems relieved. “Great. Good.”

Appetizers arrive, so we dig in. In the time it’s taken me to get through half a glass of wine, Lance has had two.

Part of the reason I’m not much of a drinker is because it hits me hard. The other part is because of the problems it’s caused Cinny over the years. I have to assume Lance has a much better tolerance than I do since he outweighs me by about a hundred pounds.

Tonight I’m having a glass to help calm the butterflies in my stomach, but every time Lance reaches for my hand, fingers the strap of my dress, presses his knee up against mine, or pays me an idle compliment, they start fluttering around in there, making it hard to breathe.

Dinner is a long, slow event, and thankfully our conversation moves away from serious subjects and turns lighter. Lance gets a message from his friend Miller—the guy whose forehead I rubbed the penis drawing off of—and shows me a picture of his newborn baby.

“I got him that outfit,” Lance says proudly.

The tiny baby’s fist is wrapped around a massive finger, and he’s trying to eat it. The onesie he’s wearing says LADIES MAN. He’s blond and blue eyed, just like his dad.

Lance flips to the next picture, which includes a blond woman I recognize.

“Hey! That’s my yoga instructor!”

“Huh?”

I tap the screen over her face. “Sunshine teaches me yoga. Or she did until she stopped to have the baby.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess Sunny’s gonna have to take a break for a while, right?”

“I hope not too long. I miss her.”

A text message alert pops up, and the contact I saw when Lance left his phone at the clinic appears: DO NOT FUCKING REPLY. Lance expels a curse and powers down his phone, shoving it in his pocket.

“Sorry about that. No more interruptions for the rest of the night.”

I give him a small smile, but it’s hard not to wonder who that person is. I’m pushing myself to ask when Lance continues speaking.

“Anyway, I don’t know how long Sunny’s planning to stay at home,” he says. “I’m guessing until she gets bored or whatever. She doesn’t have to work if she doesn’t want to, but she’s not much for sitting around.”

“It must be hard for Miller to be away from them when you’re out of town.”

“Yeah. We’ve only had short runs so far but sometimes we’re gone for more than a week at a time. I think it’s making him antsy. I guess it’s good he cares, right? Even if it might affect his game.”

“Kids change priorities.”

“If you’re a good parent, I guess,” Lance says, then changes the topic again.

Once we’ve finished our meal, Lance decides he still has room for dessert, even if I don’t. He asks for an extra spoon, but it goes unused since he feeds me small bites of panna cotta instead. His eyes on are my mouth the entire time. I keep waiting for him to find an excuse to kiss me, but he doesn’t. Not on the lips, anyway. But his mouth finds my shoulder on more than one occasion, as well as the back of my hand, my knuckles, and my fingertips.

He keeps a hand on my back as we wait for the car at the valet and rests his free one on my thigh on the ride back to my place. When he pulls up to my house, miraculously finding a parking spot, he looks as nervous as I suddenly feel again.

“I had a really good time tonight,” I tell him.

He shifts the car into park and extends his arm along the back of my seat. “Me, too.” He doesn’t take his eyes off my mouth as he leans in and brushes his lips over mine.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask before he comes back for another kiss, possibly with tongue this time.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

My heart sinks a little, and I drop my gaze to my lap, where my purse sits. “Oh.”

“But I want to anyway.” His fingers glide across my shoulder. “Even if I shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“Because I’ll want to do a lot more than just kiss you this time.”

“That’s okay.”

“Is it?”

I bite my lip and nod. “I’ll let you do a lot more than kiss me this time.”

He fingers a lock of my hair. “You’ll let me, or you want me to?”

“Both,” I whisper.

Lance cuts the engine. “I like that answer a lot.”