by Ev Bishop
“My dream date would be . . .” She trailed off. It was so embarrassingly mundane, but ah, heck, why not tell him? She told him everything else—but first she needed a promise. “You can’t laugh.”
“Of course, I won’t. Why would I?” He sounded mildly offended. “How can anybody possibly criticize another person’s dream date?”
“It’s just that it’s really plain. To go on an old-fashioned picnic, like with a blanket and a basket and everything, maybe near water or a lake, and eat food the guy had prepared or purchased, specially thinking of me. And to just talk and joke—or not even talk, but just be comfortable being quiet together.”
When Brian didn’t say anything immediately, she groaned. “See? You do think it’s lame.”
“I do not. Not at all. I think . . . it’s sweet and low-key and, well, pretty cool.”
She nodded, then felt stupid. They were talking on the phone. He couldn’t see her.
“So seven?” he asked like she hadn’t just paused awkwardly in the middle of their conversation.
“Sorry?”
“Does seven tomorrow night work to hang out?”
“Sure . . .” She paused, hating to have to ask, but not wanting to assume anything. “So, uh, should I eat dinner ahead of time or are we actually having this practice picnic or whatever?”
“A practice—? Oh, right. Yes, I’m sure we’ll eat something. Definitely save your appetite.”
After Katelyn said good-bye and ended the call, she held her phone to her chest for a second. Then she rolled her eyes at herself and grinned.
She considered sewing a bit longer, but it was already after ten and it had been a long day. She had earned a treat. She turned off her serger, made cocoa, and found her book.
Saturday passed in a blur of satin and tulle—and mostly satisfactory progress. Usually Katelyn loved alterations but sometimes, especially when it came to formal gowns, she preferred to start fresh. In this current job, a sequined prom dress, changing the neckline was proving to be a real challenge. Nonetheless, fretting over stitches beat worrying about Sawyer and Lacey, and the day passed quickly. Even so, she found herself with time on her hands that evening, after she forced herself out of her pajamas, or her workplace casual, as she liked to call them.
After showering, then spending too much time deciding what to wear before finally choosing a simple white cotton dress, she found herself bent over her machine again, so engrossed in her work that when Brian knocked on the door, she jumped.
She couldn’t keep herself from beaming when she opened the door. “Hey.”
Brian grinned too. “Hey yourself.” His gaze drifted from her head to her feet, then quickly rose, the tips of his ears reddening just a bit. Katelyn glanced down at her feet too. What had he seen that made him blush?
“You dressed up,” he said softly. “No sleep pants tonight, hey? You have legs.”
It was true that it was the first time she’d dressed up specifically for him. She hoped she hadn’t made the night weird. It wasn’t a date, but . . .
“Yep, two legs, in fact—and for several years now.”
He laughed and she took in the huge wicker basket at his feet and the rolled blanket tucked under his arm.
“You really did pack a picnic!”
His face lit up at her enthusiasm, and his eyes were so warm, so soft, that her breath caught. How sad was it that the first time in her life that a man asked her what her dream date was and tried to make it happen, he wasn’t even a person she was actually dating.
Brian’s happy expression faded a little. “A picnic, yes—except we have a problem.” He jerked his thumb, motioning behind him.
Beyond the porch overhang, the sky was letting loose in torrents, as if some giant stood over them sloshing out buckets. How on earth had she not noticed until now? How had she only seen Brian?
“There’s a possible workaround. I just hope it doesn’t ruin it for you.”
“No way,” Katelyn said. “Nothing could ruin it. It’s the thought that counts, right?”
“I don’t know. Technique and execution are pretty important too.” He waggled his eyebrows in case she’d missed his double entendre—which she hadn’t.
Katelyn shook her head at him, which made him grin all the broader. “You know, I’d let my brain go in the gutter occasionally, except you’re always there first, taking up all the room.”
Brian pointed at her like she’d made a particularly astute observation. “Heh, good one.” Then he looked past her. “It won’t be quite what you described, but if we spread my blanket on your floor and count the rain, there’s water nearby.”
“I love it.” She opened the door wide and reached for the fabric bundle he handed to her.
Brian opened all the windows, so it would be, in his words, as close to sitting outside in the fresh air as possible. The screens effectively kept any early season mosquitos at bay and let in the delicious evening air. Katelyn asked if he wanted music, but he shrugged. “Nah, the rain sounds good to me.”
It sounded good to her too, heavy and primal somehow—yet dreamy. Looking out at the heavy bank of charcoal clouds and the fog that hid even the closest trees from view, it was easy to imagine that nothing else existed, just them.
“Ready?”
Katelyn turned at Brian’s voice and realized she’d lost a minute or two, staring out the window. He had spread the blanket, which was a beautifully faded patchwork quilt, its cotton squares so smoothed and softened by time and life that it called out to be touched. The huge walnut brown basket with curved bowl-like sides beckoned within easy reach. Like the quilt, it was a thing of beauty. But Brian’s home had burned down, along with everything in it. Where had he—
Reading her mind in the way he was so disconcertingly good at, Brian answered her unvoiced question. “My mom donated to the cause when she heard I was planning a picnic. The antique basket and the blanket are hers—well, the blanket was all of ours, our family’s I mean, when I was a kid.”
“They’re gorgeous.”
There was a breath of a pause and Brian’s gaze felt heavy on Katelyn’s skin.
“What?” she asked.
His voice was rough. “I’m out of practice. My line back there should have been, ‘No, you’re gorgeous.’”
Katelyn twisted her hair around her thumb, then flipped it over her shoulder. “Even for practice or whatever, you don’t need to feed me lines.”
Brian shook his head, but didn’t argue. He reached into the basket and withdrew an unscented candle in a big jar, which he set on the coffee table and lit. Next he pulled out three pottery bowls: a blue one filled with jewel-red strawberries, a deep yellow one bearing blueberries, and a jade green one loaded with cubed cantaloupe.
It was so pretty that Katelyn gasped. Then she frowned at herself. Seriously, the way her breathing was affected by Brian, she was starting to think she had a breathing disorder.
“You’re always telling Lacey and Sawyer that fruit is the best sweet treat there is,” he said.
“Well, sure—and cheesecake.”
Brian grinned and pulled out a foil-wrapped plate.
“No way.”
He flourished his hand like a magician and uncovered the plate to reveal a creamy work of baked art. Katelyn lowered her face to the plate and inhaled deeply. “Chocolate mocha? Be still my beating heart!”
He reached into the basket again and she shook her head. “There’s more? You’ve got to be kidding. It’s too much. You’ve already outdone yourself.”
But he didn’t listen, just kept retrieving small dishes. Soon all her favorites lay spread out before her—gourmet cheeses, morsels of smoked salmon, and tiny skewers of tomato, olives and cucumber. He’d also packed a thermos of espresso, miniature ceramic mugs, and two bottles of wine, one white, one red, along with beautiful crystal goblets.
“How did you even . . . ? This is nuts. You’re—”
“Unnaturally insightful and amazing? I know.”<
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She shook her head, but couldn’t really disagree with him or find his cocky grin and crinkled eyes anything except adorable.
Time slid away as they snacked and chatted about this, that and everything under the sun, including how their work weeks had gone. Mostly, though, they focused on fun stuff, like dream vacations, favorite books, and what time period they’d live in if they couldn’t be in the here and now.
It was after nine when Katelyn put her hands on her stomach. “I can’t eat another bite.”
“But could you do another glass of wine?”
She shrugged—then giggled. “Who am I kidding? Yes, absolutely.”
Brian poured obligingly, but then set his and her stemmed glasses aside. She looked at him questioningly as he got to his feet, reached for her free hand and pulled her up to join him. Looking up into his face, feeling her hand in his, Katelyn felt every mouthful of wine she’d indulged in.
“So, uh, why are we standing up when I can barely stand?” She giggled again and almost felt embarrassed, then realized she was too tipsy to care.
“Well, half the fun of picnicking near water is going in the water, right?”
“I guess, but—”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. Don’t pretend you’ll melt. We run in worse.”
“You’re serious?”
He nodded, still holding her hand.
“Okay, let’s do this!” She pulled him toward the door, then shook her head vehemently when he paused to put on shoes. “No shoes. You can’t wade in shoes!”
“Why, Miss Katelyn Kellerman—are you drunk?” he asked, smiling.
“Yep!”
“Lightweight.”
“Absolutely. You don’t even know.”
His grin lit a fire inside her and she felt silly with excitement. He pulled off his socks.
Outside on the deck, the rain was drumming to beat the band, and the wooden planks were cold and wet beneath her bare soles. In mutual, silent agreement, they headed down the porch steps and into the small yard. Katelyn held her arms out and spun in a wide arc. “I’m singing in the rain! I’m singing in the—”
Brian laughed and caught her, then clasped his hand over her mouth. “How about you dance in the rain instead?” he whispered. “The singing might attract a crowd.”
Katelyn leaned into him. The air was fresh and he smelled good. Like line dried sheets and cologne and man. She giggled. Yikes, she was giggling a lot. Like a lot, a lot. She giggled yet again.
“What?”
His question—and maybe the cool night air—sobered her a little. She was never going to tell him that thought. Never. Except—
“Just you smell sooo good. When you go on real dates, you should always smell this good.” Wow, so much for never. Perhaps she should try a new never, as in never ever drink with Brian again.
He laughed. “Come on, lightweight.”
They walked on, close but no longer holding hands, through the soaking grass to a bench perched beneath a huge cedar. The tree acted like a massive umbrella and they sat for a spell, not talking, just listening to the night breathe and deepen as water dripped and streamed around them.
Eventually though, soaked to the skin from their dance through the rain, Katelyn shivered, which stirred Brian immediately. He stood. “We should go in before you catch your death.”
Back in the cabin, Katelyn headed to the bathroom to grab towels. She was only gone a minute or two, but when she descended back into the living room, towel drying her hair, Brian was grinning and holding something up.
The book she’d been reading last night. Shoot!
“I never in a million years would’ve taken you for a bodice ripper fan,” he said.
“Where did you get that?” She threw the towel she’d gotten for him at his head.
He caught it one-handed, draped it around his neck like a scarf, and wasn’t distracted from the book one bit. She noticed his thumb holding a spot near her bookmark and lunged.
He leaped onto a chair, laughing and holding the book out of reach. Then he read from his marked spot in a low growl, “His narrow hips pressed against her and through the thin muslin of her gown, every part of her female softness felt his hardness. She wanted him, but she didn’t. Or she shouldn’t. He was so bad for her, but so good—” Brian looked down and made eye contact.
Katelyn’s stupid body, completely unrelated to the chill from her damp dress, chose that dumb moment to shiver again and Brian’s expression changed. His eyes darkened and he hopped down from the chair. When he spoke next, the teasing had left his voice, replaced by something like surprise. “Wait a minute, you really do like this stuff.”
Katelyn sagged against the wall. Brian dropped the book with a thud and caught her with both hands. The wine in her system was still traipsing through her, keeping complete embarrassment at bay—or mostly at bay anyway. “Stupid, I know . . .” She trailed off, wrong again. Even the wine wasn’t keeping the flood of heat from her face. “Steve thinks novels like that are disgusting. Calls them smut.”
“Steve’s a complete idiot, so of course he doesn’t like them. He probably finds storylines where women have their needs met and end up happy and self-sufficient threatening.” Brian shook his head. “I get the attraction. I once dated a Women’s Studies major, who wrote a paper called ‘Feminist Romance; an oxymoron?’ She argued that the romance industry and the genre itself is radically feminist.”
Leave it to Brian, Katelyn thought. Was there any subject that didn’t interest him or that he hadn’t learned something about?
His arms were still around her, still supporting her, still keeping her steady—yet she was falling all the same. For him. She was suddenly, in a way that was too much like the passage from the book for comfort, hyper aware of the proximity of his limbs to hers, the differences in their builds—his maleness, her femaleness. She tried to make a joke. “Of course you’ve dated a Women’s Studies major. Is there any type of woman you haven’t dated?”
“Well, one for sure.” His eyes held hers, and she knew her attempt to move things to a lighter, more comfortable terrain had failed.
“Will you answer a question for me?” he asked.
“Maybe. What?”
“If this, if tonight, was a real date, and the evening, just as it was, as it is, was coming to a close, would you want me to kiss you right now?”
Katelyn often thought of Brian’s gaze as warm, but now it was searing—a tidal wave of blue heat that made her dizzy and hot and liquid-centered. She nodded.
He shook his head. “You need to say it.”
And it wasn’t the wine in her bloodstream that gave her voice. “Yes,” she whispered. “If this was you and me on a real date, I’d want you to kiss me.”
His hands moved from her hips and slowly slid up the curves of her body. She was suddenly extremely conscious of how her thin cotton dress, soaked from the rain, clung like a second skin. She shivered, but not with a chill. It was as if his delicate touch caressed her bare flesh.
Brian paused when he reached her face. Then his fingers traced her jaw and cheekbones, smoothed her hair behind her ears, and moved back to her chin. He gently lifted it and bent in to kiss her. Katelyn’s stomach whooshed and her legs turned to jelly. Instead of meeting her upturned mouth, however, he sought the hollow at the base of her throat. She felt her heart pulse wildly against his mouth. But then he stopped. Stepped back.
“And if this was a real date, would you kiss me?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He cocked a challenging eyebrow. “Show me.”
She clasped her hands around his neck and stretched up on tiptoe, then paused, trying to memorize every second of the moment to savor later: The feel of him responding to her, the pressure of his hips. The grip of his hands on her lower back, rocking her closer. His scent, limes and rain and him. The first soft rub of his barely-there stubble before she pressed her closed mouth to his.
The chasteness of their kiss laste
d only a breath, the same amount of time it takes for the lick of a flame to make paper ignite. Then his hands moved south and cupped her buttocks. In one fluid movement, he lifted her—and opened her mouth with his tongue.
As he carried her toward the kitchen counter, Katelyn’s legs clenched around his hips like she’d been anticipating this moment forever and maybe she had been. She let his teasing, insistent tongue probe her mouth—then responded in kind, kissing him back deeply, tasting him, getting lost in him.
She was sitting on the counter now and its surface was cool, almost cold, against her heated skin. Her skirt had rucked up and she could feel the button of Brian’s Dockers, his reinforced fly, and the firmness of his erection against the cotton gusset of her panties. The strength and immediateness of her physical response to that mildest of stimuli tightened her belly and made her moan in surprise.
Brian echoed her impromptu sound with a low groan that sounded just as involuntary. Her eyes flew open and when she found him staring back, a current of electricity ran through her so hard it almost hurt. Her lower parts clenched and she shuddered against him. His eyes fluttered shut and he made another soft guttural sound. “Holy shit,” he whispered.
She wasn’t one for cursing, but agreed with his sentiment all right. This was a . . . kiss?
Brian’s fingers, still on her bottom, found the edge of her underpinnings and played along the elastic at her thighs, getting closer and closer to—
Almost unconsciously, her legs fell open wider . . . but then she stopped the movement, scissoring them shut against his hips again. She unlocked the grip she had on his neck and pulled her mouth from his. Bracing her hands on his chest, she pushed lightly. Brian took a step back but remained between her trembling knees.
Katelyn bowed her head in frustration and leaned her forehead lightly against his chest. “I said I’d kiss you, not . . .”
He lifted her chin and she fell into his gaze again. “I know,” he said, voice ragged. “I hear you.”
They disentangled fully but were slow to move apart, mutually reluctant to be separated. Katelyn smoothed her skirt back down, and Brian followed the movement with hungry eyes. Then he shook his head ruefully, held out his hands, and helped her off the counter.