I stare at the text for several minutes, a spark of excitement racing up my spine.

Taylor: Hey. Want to grab a coffee later?

She wants to see me again. Later. Today.

The clatter of the wine bar unfolds around me and I glance up at my tables to make sure no one needs anything. I’ve got about a minute before I need to ask how table three’s food is and if table eight wants another bottle of wine. Quickly, I tap out a reply.

Carter: Hey! I’d love to grab a coffee but I’m working at Cork’s Wine Bar until 9. Want to meet me here then and grab a late dinner?

I press send just as Dean, my manager’s, eyes zero in on me. Dropping my cell into my pocket, I nod at him and hurry off to check on my tables. Shortly after, the happy hour crowd swarms in and Cork’s is packed, the tables turning over quickly for the next few hours. I move efficiently, memorizing orders and corking bottles, greeting customers and joking easily with the regulars.

Even though I’ve only worked here for a short while, I like the place. It’s fast-paced, great cash, especially for a restaurant in Ashby County, and the crew working are a young and fun group. Time usually flies by but tonight, with my cell weighing heavily in my pocket, the minutes crawl by as I wait for a response from Taylor.

Finally, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I’m able to check it after ducking into the kitchen.

Taylor: Cool. Sure, see you there.

A massive grin splits my face; I’m going to see Taylor again tonight.

She’s early. I notice her the moment she walks through the door because heads literally turn in her direction. She ducks her head, embarrassed, and glances around before walking to the bar. Sliding onto a barstool, she places her small bag on the top of the bar as her eyes scan over the wine list.

“That’s your date?” Tommy, a guy I serve with, asks, stopping short behind me. He laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t get it, man. I really don’t.”

“Don’t get what?” There’s an edge to my voice, a warning that whatever he says better have to be about me and not Taylor.

“What she sees in you!” He cracks, slapping me on the shoulder. “Punch out and enjoy dinner with your girl. I’ll close out your last table.”

“Thanks, man.” I duck back into the kitchen to wash my hands and punch out. Even though Taylor’s not my girl, I don’t bother to correct him. Mainly because I don’t want Tommy, or anyone in here, to hit on her. Slipping into the bathroom, I change into a pair of jeans and a clean shirt.

Styling my hair with my fingers, I wonder what it would be like for Taylor to look at me like I could be her guy? I shake the thought from my head as quickly as it appears. Guys like me don’t date women like Taylor Clarke. She’s poised and educated. She has a successful career; at least, she did until she met me. She’s so far out of my league, I’m not sure if we belong on the same planet, never mind living in the same town.

And yet, here she is, sitting at the bar, sipping on a Pinot Grigio, and waiting to have dinner with me.

Jesus.

Squaring my shoulders and wiping my hands down the sides of my jeans, I make my way over to the bar. As if she senses my staring, Taylor turns to look over her shoulder and a small smile appears on her lips when her eyes connect with mine. Immediately, I feel it. The pull, the zing, the connection between us. Something the draws me to Taylor, something deeper than just my physical attraction. Does she feel it too?

The air between us seems charged as I stop beside her barstool.

“Hi.” I lean down to brush a kiss across her cheek.

“Hey.” She murmurs back, her breath hitching when my lips pass over her soft skin.

“Do you want to grab a table?” I tilt my head to the back of the restaurant where Gabriella reserved a table for two.

“Sure.” She agrees, sliding off the barstool and thanking Sandra for the wine.

I feel the eyes of several of my co-workers as we walk to our table but I ignore all of them. I’m off the clock; I’m now a paying customer about to enjoy a meal with a friend.

After we’re seated and Henry hands us each a menu, I study Taylor as her eyes scan the entrees. Why did she message me? Did she really want to see me? Or is it something else? She’s wearing a pale blue sundress and plain sandals. Her look is flirty but simple, casual even.

“Everything okay?” She asks, looking up to catch me staring at her.

I nod, embarrassed. “Do you know what you’re in the mood for?” I point toward the menu.

“I think I’m going with the chicken and mushroom tagliatelle.” She references a popular dish.

“Good choice.”

The clatter of silverware and conversations from other tables provide background noise as silence stretches between Taylor and me. The air hangs between us, charged but strained at the same time. She seems unsure, insecure almost, as if she doesn’t know why she texted me. Her eyes keep darting around and she nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

I clear my throat and she looks up startled, as if she forgot I was here.

“You okay?” I ask, at a loss for what is going on. If anyone was watching our table, they would think it was one of the worst first dates in history. Not that this is a date. But still.

“Yeah, sorry.” She picks up her napkin and smooths it over her lap. “I spaced out.”

Henry pops up at that moment to take our orders and I’m relieved. This was a mistake; the other day must have been a fluke. Now, things between Taylor and I seem stilted, awkward, and tense even though I don’t understand why.

“I had a weird day.” Taylor breathes out once Henry collects our menus. Her blue eyes spark to life as she remembers whatever happened during her day.

“You okay?” I try again, hoping that she’s standoffish because of whatever she’s thinking about and not because she regrets meeting up with me.

She picks up her wine glass and takes a large gulp, her eyes widening over the rim of the glass. Placing it down, she shakes her head. “Not really. I, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this but I –” She pauses, tilting her head as she studies me.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But if you want to talk, I’m not a bad listener.” I grin, trying to put her at ease and she breathes out a laugh.

“I just found out my dad has a gambling addiction.”

I raise my eyebrows, sitting back in my chair, surprised. I didn’t expect her to say that. “Oh.”

“He’s losing our family business.”

“Shit.”

She nods, misery etched around her eyes. “I just don’t get it. How did I not know any of this? How didn’t I see the signs? Aren’t there signs?”

I shrug. “Sometimes. And sometimes it takes one game, one hand, for a social gambler to bet the farm.”

She chews her bottom lip, mulling this over. “The whole thing is a mess.”

I place my hand over hers on the table between us, my fingertips grazing over her knuckles. I’m relieved when she doesn’t pull away. “That really sucks, Taylor. I’m sorry that’s happening to your family.”

She shrugs, one side of her mouth lifting. “Thanks. But, I don’t know. I want to help him, help my family but I don’t really know what to do. And, if I’m being honest, I’m pissed. Like, what the hell was he thinking? He’s worked so hard to build his business to where it is and to just blow it all like that,” she huffs out a breath, her eyes glinting with anger before softening with sadness, “I don’t get it.”

“I’m sure he feels awful about the way things played out and is now trying to fix it the best way he can.”

“I know.” She rubs at the space between her eyes. “I just, I didn’t expect this from him. I know that sounds awful but he’s my dad, you know? I look up to him, admire and respect him. It’s just strange to view him in this new light. Not that he doesn’t make mistakes or anything but –”

“You didn’t expect to be disappointed by your dad.”

“Exactly.”

I nod in understanding. It sucks, realizing the man you’re supposed to look up to, the man you want to grow into one day or aspire to be like, turns out to be nothing like the man you thought he was. When I was a kid, I wanted to grow up to be just like my father. It wasn’t until I grew older that I realized what a scumbag he is, saw the way he manipulated my mother, how he treated Daisy. He was never there for us unless it served an ulterior motive, nothing he ever did was selfless. Nothing.

I don’t voice any of this though, uncomfortable confiding in someone about my family’s background. Instead, I offer Taylor support by listening to her, being here for her. But deep down, I know the feeling and that makes me relate to her even more.

She sighs, picking at her linen napkin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you. I mean, I barely know you.” She shakes her head. “I guess I’m in a weird mood. Restless.”

“You wanted to get out of your house?”

She takes a sip of her water, laughing. “Exactly.”

“Forget all the bullshit for a bit.”

“Yeah.” Her tone softens as she looks at me curiously, like she can’t believe it’s me sitting across from her.

“I’ve been there. Things with your dad will get worked out.”

“I hope so. I’m helping him with whatever he asks of me but at some point,” she shrugs, “I just don’t know if I can keep doing it.”

My forehead wrinkles as I try to decipher what that means but before I can ask her, our dinner arrives, and Taylor lets out an appreciative moan that completely redirects my thoughts.

“This is amazing.” She points her fork at her tagliatelle. “Want to try it?” She twirls some pasta onto her fork and holds it out toward me.

Leaning forward, I take the bite off her fork and as the flavor bursts in my mouth, my eyes stayed glued to Taylor’s. Her eyes widen slightly, her irises darkening as she bites the corner of her mouth. Something, a moment, a charge, passes between us and by the time I swallow the tagliatelle, I know that Taylor Clarke is going to be a game changer for me.

I offer her some of my dinner but she shakes her head and a beat of silence passes before we both smile at each other, a bubble of nervous laughter escaping her throat. “Sorry if that was forward of me.”

“Don’t apologize. The tagliatelle here is pretty good. Thank you.”

She takes a sip of her water and clears her throat. “So…”

“Are you going to Marco’s baseball game tomorrow?”

Taylor’s eyes flash up to mine. “You’re going?”

“He asked me to.”

Her grin widens. “That’s awesome. I’m glad you and Marco are hitting it off. He’s had a rough go of things with the last guy he was paired up with. I thought he would drop out of the program but he decided to give it one more chance.”

“What was the deal with the guy?”

A look I can’t read ripples over Taylor’s features. “The usual. Not really interested in getting to know Marco, just wanting to clock the hours so he can say he did it for his community service. He flaked a lot, was always on his phone, and didn’t really give Marco the time of day. He never went to one of his games.”

A sinking sensation fills my stomach at the thought of Marco waiting to play ball with someone and the guy never showing up. I can still taste the rejection, the feelings of unworthiness, when my dad used to flake on me as a kid. “That sucks. I’ll definitely be at his game tomorrow.”

Taylor nods, taking another bite of her tagliatelle. “Good. Me too.”

“We can take him for ice cream afterwards.”

“I’d like that.” She says softly.

“Cool.”

I watch Taylor as she twirls the tines of her fork in the pasta. She’s not what I expected. I never anticipated the easiness between us, the natural flow of conversation, the way she opened up to me, confided in me. The only woman I experienced this type of comfort with was Lori, but I’ve known her for most of my life and we sort of fell into a pattern. With Taylor, it’s exciting. I want to see her. I’m looking forward to taking Marco for ice cream tomorrow with her. It’s just different.

She’s different.

It’s late when I get home from dinner with Taylor. Of course, I insisted on picking up the check but even with my employee discount, it was more than I should be spending. Calculating in my head if I can pick up extra shifts this week and make Marco’s baseball games, I begin to feel pressure at the base of my neck and in between my shoulder blades. I need to come up with something, a plan, for how I’m going to make more money and stay legit.

“Yo.” Den calls out from the couch when I enter our home. He pauses the Xbox One and looks at me over his shoulder. “You’re home late. Busy night?”

I shrug, not yet ready to tell Denver about Taylor. I’m not ready to tell anyone about Taylor. Things between us are… I don’t know what the hell they are. I guess we’re friends? But isn’t that strange? Just last month, we were in a car accident and this month, we’re having dinner and grabbing coffee. No, it’s the type of situation everyone I know would judge, for good reason, and I’m not in the mood to be defensive.

“What are you up to?” I ask instead.

Denver gestures toward the television and the paused game with his controller. “Want to play?”

I snort, dropping next to him on the couch and picking up a controller. “Sure.”

He navigates back to the home screen and changes the settings to add an additional player. “We’re late on our water bill. It’s not much but I had to pay my credit card. And, I promised Daisy I’d help her with a going away gift for Jax and Evie.”

I nod, the pressure building in my bloodstream. Shit, I need to sort things out fast. I shouldn’t be going out for dinner and ice cream and the rest of it. But it’s so nice to feel normal for once. Like I’m just a regular guy taking a nice girl out for a bite to eat. There’s no ulterior motive, no MC-related angle, just fun.

The game starts and my player loads up on ammo. Facing the enemy, I lose myself in the game and clear my mind from finances, from the uncertainty of the future, from everything except the sweet smile of Taylor Clarke.