Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Tate smiles as if this pleases him and turns to Sean. “We’ll start with an order of those, beef carpaccio, and your seasonal charcuterie board.”
“Fantastic. I’ll return shortly,” he says before disappearing into the sea of bodies, fake fig trees, and candlelight.
I glance down at the prices and nearly have a heart attack.
“Tate,” I say, praying he doesn’t expect me to pay for half the bill. “Three appetizers?”
“I tried to pick three different things since I don’t know what you like.” His lips twist into a smirk. “But I hope to discover many things you enjoy by the end of the evening.”
Oh God. I lick my lips and squeeze my thighs together. “I’m not sure that being alone for too long with my stalker is a good idea.”
“Don’t act like you don’t like a little danger.”
I laugh. “I don’t, actually.”
“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have casually dropped what restaurant you were dining at this evening.”
“That was an accident.”
He nods, grinning like he doesn’t believe me. “Sure.”
“It was,” I say earnestly. “I obviously need to be more careful about sharing personal details with strangers.”
“Do you want to know what I think, Miss Kapowski?”
“I’d love to know.”
His eyes darken as he rests his chin on steepled fingers. “I think—whether you did it intentionally or subconsciously—you told me where you would be, hoping I’d appear tonight. But because you didn’t overtly divulge this information, you wouldn’t feel disappointed if I didn’t show up.”
This delicious, insightful bastard. Dammit.
I hate that he’s right, and I hate even more that he knows it. But I’m sure he deals with all sorts of women trying to spend time with him. Look at him.
He drags his eyes away from mine and peruses the menu.
“Are you staying in this hotel, too?” I ask, dropping my gaze to the menu, too. Logistics are a much safer topic than my fears.
“My boss knows the man who owns this hotel chain. So we stay in his hotels when we travel, if possible. That’s the one thing I will say about my boss. He might be a dick, but he’s loyal as hell.”
“I doubt I’ll be traveling much for my job, but I hope my boss is loyal to nice hotel chains, too.”
Tate laughs. “Do you like to travel? Or are you more of a homebody?”
“I’ve traveled a lot.” Both of my husbands loved to travel, so I pretended to enjoy it, too. Such a waste of time. “I’m more of a homebody these days.”
“Ah, the cozy-girl thing you told me about, right?”
Sean appears again and places our drinks on the table.
“If you aren’t ready to order, I can come back,” he says kindly.
“Do you have any idea what you’d like, Kelly?” Tate asks.
I bite my lip to keep from reacting to my new faux name. It was a random choice, and I’m confused whenever he says it. I feel the tiniest bit guilty, too. But what the heck? It’s fun, and tonight is all about that—fun. Admitting that my name is actually Aurora would ruin that.
I scan the offerings and find a chicken dish that only costs an arm, not an arm and a leg.
“The rosemary roasted chicken looks good,” I say.
“Excellent choice,” Sean says. “It’s one of our most popular dishes. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“I’ll have a filet with peppercorn sauce,” Tate says. “Medium rare, please.”
“Wonderful. I’ll get your order in right away.”
We hand our menus over, and Sean marches away.
Tate leans right back into our conversation without missing a beat.
“Tell me more about this cozy-girl thing,” he says. “That’s what you called it, right?”
“Yeah. I’ve never had to explain it before.” I search for the right words. “It’s a vibe, I guess. Instead of living my life in survival mode and just getting through each day, I’m trying to craft a life that feels good. Soft. Feminine. Like my life is wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, if that makes sense.”
“You know, I like fuzzy blankets.”
I laugh louder than I expect. The statement comes out of nowhere, and something about how he says it is utterly adorable.
“Are you laughing at me?” He chuckles, too. “Men can like fuzzy blankets, you know.”
My cheeks ache from smiling. “Men can absolutely like fuzzy blankets.”
“And candles,” Tate says. “I love candles.”
I bet you do.
“I really like vanilla and amber,” he says. “My colognes usually have those scents.”
He grins like the cat that ate the canary.
I’m not sure what he’s doing, but it’s entertaining, nonetheless.
I sit back and take a deep breath, acknowledging how comfortable I am with him. The openness in Tate’s eyes erases some of my nerves, and my shoulders soften as I relax. Like he did on the plane, he whittles down my walls without trying. Although sharing things with him is easy, I need to maintain some boundaries.
“Are you from Nashville?” he asks.