Tate

Bobbi and I had been together for a month. Nevertheless, I was still rather nervous in her presence. I wrung my hands together and met her gaze. I had a difficult time believing if given a choice, that she wanted to be with me.

“Did you decide?” I asked.

“I’m going with the chicken and the spinach salad. You?”

“The same.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re going to eat the chicken?”

“I told you. I eat healthily. So, yeah. We’ll eat the same thing. It’s only fair.”

“That’s sweet of you.” She nodded toward my hands. “The fleur-de-lis ring. I like it. Is that new?”

“It’s not new, but I haven’t worn it in a while.”

“Where’s the one with the skull?”

“With the others.”

“How many do you have?”

I probably had fifty of them, but I’d really never counted. Wearing rings and bracelets was something that I had done since I was a kid, and I doubted I’d ever grow out of it.

I shrugged dismissively. “Never really counted them. I’ve got a few.”

“What’s that one made of?”

“White gold. They’re all white gold. It’s easier to work with. Never really cared much for yellow gold. It’s too flashy.”

She gave me a sideways look. “Don’t tell me you made that.”

I grinned. “Okay.”

She looked at it again, and then shifted her eyes to me. “Did you?”

“You said not to say.”

She let out a sigh. “Now, I want to know.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

She rested her forearms on the edge of the table and leaned forward. Her blonde curls fell over her arms and onto the table. “You’re Becker Wallace, aren’t you?”

She studied me hard. Her mouth was twisted into a smirk. She blinked her eyes a few times, and then widened them playfully as she waited for me to respond.

“Nope,” I said. “I’m just plain ol’ Tate Reynolds.”

“You write romance books, you ride in an MC, and you make jewelry by hand.” She relaxed in her chair and let out a sigh. “I can’t believe you. You’re far from plain.”

“You better start believing it.”

“You could have your pick.” She looked me up and down and then shook her head. “Any girl you want. You’re telling me that I’m your choice?”

“My only choice.”

“Why?”

In complete contrast to the rest of my brethren, I didn’t hook up with women, go on dates, or have random sex to simply satisfy an urge. At heart, I was a romantic. Just like the men in a few of my light-hearted books.

I’d searched for most of my adult life for someone to spend my life with, but never really felt I could devote the time or the energy needed to develop or maintain a relationship. And, in the past, I felt I couldn’t afford it.

What little money I’d made over the years had been invested in gold and turned into jewelry. Now that I was selling enough books to support any habit, I was out of excuses. It really didn’t matter. If I was homeless, I’d still be doing everything I could to win Bobbi’s heart.

From the first day I met her, I knew she was different. I simply hoped once I got out of prison that she’d give me an opportunity to get to know her. Now that she had, I couldn’t imagine walking away.

“We’ve been through this before,” I said. “I like everything about you.”

“It’s just hard to believe.”

“Get used to it.”

“I’m trying.”

We ordered our food and sat gawking at each other like a couple of love-struck teens. After several moments of admiring her, I broke the awkward silence.

“What are your thoughts on divorce?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. People get married because they love each other. At least that’s supposed to be the case. So, if they love one another, how can they lose that love and later get divorced? Do you believe love existed in the first place?”

“I like conversations like this.”

“Like what?”

She wrung her hands and grinned. “With depth.”

“Small talk is for shallow minds.”

“I think some people mistake lust for love.” She looked right at me. “Others, at least in my mind, get comfortable in a relationship they’re in because it’s convenient. Then, because everyone starts asking questions about it, the guy proposes. The girl says ‘yes’ because that’s what girls do. From the time we’re little we dream of that day when someone sweeps us off out feet.”

“Would you automatically say ‘yes’ if someone asked?”

She pointed her finger at her chest. “Me?” her eyebrows raised. “No. I’m planning on doing it once, and only once. No matter how deeply in love I might be, if I’m not convinced the man is just as in love with me as I am him, I’ve got no business marrying him.”

“So, you’d say ‘no’, even if you were in love?”

“If I didn’t trust that he was prepared to spend forever with me?” She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “You can bet your ass.”

I smiled.

She gave me a look. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Why are you smiling?”

Because you’ve got all the right answers.

“Because you’ve got all the right answers.”