by Lacey Black
I slip out the back door, ensuring it’s locked behind me, and head towards my car. Something white and fluffy on my windshield draws my attention instantly. As I step closer, I see a flower. And not just any flower. A gardenia.
Carefully, I step towards my car. Glancing over my shoulder both directions, I slowly remove the flower. I examine it, looking for any clue that it could be from someone else, before bringing it to my nose and giving it a tentative sniff. The delicate bloom is aromatic and instantly reminds me of playful eyes and a matching smile. And if I wasn’t so caught up in the romantic gesture in this whole thing, I might be a little annoyed with the pesky home construction worker.
“I take it you like my peace offering?” I hear behind me in that deep, rich baritone voice that causes shivers.
Turning around, I come face-to-face with the man I can’t stop thinking about. He’s wearing the same attire he had on just a few short hours ago, but this time, his hand is filled with flowers. Wildflowers. Bright purple and yellow flowers of all shapes and sizes.
“And why would you be submitting to a peace offering?” I ask, barely able to take my eyes off the gorgeous mix of roadside blooms.
“Well, it turns out I owe you an apology.”
“For what?” I ask, still rooted where I stand.
“What if I told you that those flowers I bought this week were for my friends? I mean my real friends, not the kind of friends I may have insinuated.”
“Why would you do that? Why lead me to believe that they were for someone else?”
He shrugs his shoulders before taking a step closer and setting the new flowers in the crook of my arm. “It was kinda fun to mess with you a little bit. You seemed to get a little flustered and, if I’m being honest, I liked knowing that I rattled you with my presence. But most importantly, it gave me a reason to come in to the shop and see you.”
His words hang in the air, honest and rueful. He doesn’t smile that cocky smile I’ve come to expect from him. Instead, his sheepish grin is filled with sincerity. The deep brown gaze holds firm, penetrating my lungs, making it impossible to catch my breath.
“So, you lied to me about who the flowers were for?”
“I might have misled you a bit. The first bouquet was for my eighty-year-old neighbor whose birthday was Monday, and the roses were for my office manager, Mary. She probably deserves fine gems and fancy houses for all that she does for me, but she’ll have to settle for the occasional flower arrangement and lukewarm caramel latte from that expensive coffee joint down the block.”
“And this one?” I ask, bringing the gardenia to my nose once more.
“That is a beautiful flower for a stunning woman who I was hoping would like to go to dinner with me tonight.”
The bloom stills at my nose, my body paralyzed and unable to move. Did he really just ask me out on a date? Do I want to go out on a date? It’s been a long time since I went out with someone, especially someone new. Besides the fact that I swore I would never, ever date again, there’s a tinge of uncertainty that I would even remember how to do it. Sure, I made my “no dating ever, ever again” rule as numeral uno on my checklist (writing it in black marker and then highlighting it to be sure it stood out) while I was crying in a pint of Moose Tracks ice cream, but it’s been so long since I even considered this step, I probably wouldn’t remember proper dating etiquette.
“Did you just confess to misleading me to get my attention, and then ask me out on a date? In the same statement? What are we, in sixth grade?” I ask when I finally find my voice.
“I agree it might sound a tad bit juvenile, but I assure you my intentions were solid. I just wanted to get close to you a few times without freaking you out. You’re too beautiful for your own good, but looked like the kinda girl who freaks out easily.”
I squint my eyes at the handsome man. Is that a compliment? “So you bought flowers to get close to me? Why not just ask me out?” I ask, taking a defensive stance.
“Would you have said yes?” he asks.
“No.” It’s automatic. There’s no way I would have said yes to a strange man coming into my place of work and asking me on a date. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have been tempted.
“Listen, I’m not that bad of a guy. I feel bad for deceiving you. Why don’t you let me take you out to make up for it?”
“Smooth change of tactics, Ace. Do all the women fall for this line of crap?” I ask, incredulously. Yet, when he smiles that half smile, my panties are suddenly a little damp and my breathing a bit shallow. And I realize how easily women would fall for that very line of crap.
“Probably not as much as I care to admit,” he says sheepishly. And there he goes again with that damn half smile. “One date. That’s all I’m asking for. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I reply without even thinking. The words just fly from my lips like an aircraft taking off from the carrier.
Ryan’s face lights up like he just won some sort of prize. His eyes twinkle and his mouth turns upward in a devilish grin. Realizing what I just said, I open my mouth to retract my statement, but he won’t let me.
He steps forward and places a single finger against my mouth. Having his skin touch my lips sends blood rushing through my veins. My body is alive with want, reminding me, not so subtly, that it’s been a long time since a man has touched me. Six months ago, I swore off men–all men. But right now? I’m ready to throw my inhibitions, and maybe my clothes, straight out the window. The thought is frightening and invigorating at the same time.
“Don’t say it. Don’t take it back. Go out with me.” Then he goes in for the kill. “Please?”
It’s a losing battle. Hell, it’s a battle I didn’t even really show up for. He has me whipped from the beginning, my pulse battered without even really trying. I know what my answer is going to be, and it’s not the same as the one I should give.
“Okay.”
One minute I’m blissfully alone, living with my dad and grandparents, hating all penises for life, and the next thing I know, I’m being seduced into a date with a sexy, smooth-talker wearing work boots and tight jeans.
I’m afraid my panties might be in trouble tonight.
***
I changed my outfit three times before finally settling on a black maxi dress with thick straps, black ballet flats, and a pink sweater. Nights in Jupiter Bay are still chilly, even during the summer months. Average highs for June are eighty degrees with lows dipping down to the upper-fifties, but for the residents of Jupiter Bay, well, we’re all accustomed to the cooler, milder weather.
Fidgeting, I do my best to not pace in the living room while I wait for Ryan to pick me up. We argued for five minutes solid before I ended up caving, allowing him to pick me up for our date. It’s not that I didn’t want him to come to my house, except that it really isn’t my house. If I lived alone and not with my dad and grandparents like an almost thirty-year-old loser, I wouldn’t have fought his chivalrous act tooth and nail. Instead, I repeatedly proposed that I meet him there.
And you see where that got me, right? Standing here–with my grandparents pretending to play Gin Rummy and not completely eavesdropping in the kitchen nearby–while I wait for my first date to pick me up at this house since I was seventeen and heading to prom.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve decided to back out at least a dozen times since I got home, and I probably would have if Ryan would have given me his phone number. The jerk probably did that on purpose so that I couldn’t cancel.
I’m in no way ready to date, am I? I mean it’s only been six months since I was dumped via text from the man I was a handful of days away from giving all of my happily ever afters. It’s too soon. And besides, I’m still not a huge fan of the penis population.
Sure, I’m being unreasonable. One bad breakup doesn’t constitute labeling every male on the planet as a lowdown, dirty heartbreaker, but that one act of misery is enough
to construct walls around my heart so tough, it makes Fort Knox looks like a Chuck E. Cheese on a Sunday afternoon.
These walls are thick. I’ve spent plenty of days and nights doing yoga for my relaxation and flexibility, and then following it up with a pint of ice cream. And after I consumed my cup of sugary deliciousness, I’d reinforce my heart, brick by brick. It’s better than any self-help video you’ll find on the internet, let me tell you.
Brown eyes the color of smooth, rich chocolate flit through my mind. Damn him. Yes, damn him, because I’ve known him for all of six days–spent less than a half hour in his presence–and I can already tell he has the ability to break me. Ryan Elson, with that charming, boyish smile and a body that makes me want to beg for mercy, has the complete capability to chisel away at my carefully fashioned barrier. He’s a smooth operator, this he has already demonstrated, which means I’m just going to have to be extra vigilant where he’s concerned.
The front door opening snaps me out of my self-inflicted pep talk. My dad walks in, his graying hair disheveled and his green eyes reflecting fatigue. Yet, for as drained as he appears, as soon as his eyes land on me, he smiles that same wide, lopsided grin that I’ve always known and remember. The same one that accompanied him in every photograph of our family, clear back to the wedding photo hanging in the hallway.
“You look nice, sweetheart. Are you going out?” he asks, setting his hat and briefcase down on the chair.
I glance down at my dress, wondering for the ten-zillionth time if it’s the right choice for tonight. Ryan wouldn’t tell me where we were going so I had a hell of a time picking something that could work in a casual diner or a nicer restaurant.
“Yeah, I’m…uh…I’m going to dinner.” My dad’s right eyebrow rises. “With a guy.”
The surprise is obvious, though he tries hard to cover it quickly. “Really? That’s great!”
“Is it? I mean, is it too soon to be going out? On a date?” My voice trails off until it’s almost inaudible.
“No. Absolutely not,” Dad says while stepping forward until he’s directly in front of me. “You’ve been home for six months now, Jaime. There’s no mandatory waiting period that deems when it’s appropriate for you to start dating again. Only you can say when it feels like the right time.”
There’s a pregnant pause as I let his words sink in. Going out on one date doesn’t constitute a relationship. In fact, I could easily play the field and enjoy a few free meals while getting back in the game. Of course, that doesn’t really sound like me either. I’ve never been one to jump from guy to guy, keeping it light and breezy. Casual was never my thing. Long term, commitment was the path I chose.
Maybe it’s time to add casual dating to the checklist.
Before I can say anything, a hard knock sounds at the front door. Air catches in my throat as I quickly smooth out my wrinkleless dress, one of the many nervous gestures I’ve become accustomed to whenever Ryan Elson is in the vicinity.
Dad steps back and opens the door before I can even think about moving. As if I’ve stepped into a time warp, not only am I aware of the fact that my dad has on his Dad-face and is staring down my date, but my grandparents have conveniently appeared at the kitchen doorway, both pushing the other to try to get into the room first. This is far worse than prom.
“Good evening,” Ryan says, eager eyes anxiously searching me out.
“Hi,” I croak out through a dry throat.
Ryan is wearing a pair of dark denim jeans with a navy blue Henley shirt. It’s tight and accentuates the definition in his arms and chest and instantly causes warmth to rush to my core. His worn boots are replaced with a newer pair; these free from scuffs, dirt, and everyday wear. Who knew work boots could be so sexy? Good God, this man is potent.
My brain skids to a stop of its mental undressing, quick to catch up to the fact that we have an audience. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that my grandparents are both grinning like they know a huge secret that they’re dying to share, while my father’s eyes dart between Ryan and me.
“Ryan, this is my dad, Brian Summer.” Ryan quickly steps forward and shakes my dad’s hand, exchanging courteous small talk.
“This is my grandpa, Orval, and of course, you’ve already met my grandma, Emma.” My voice flutters with nerves that I’m sure everyone on this side of the Bay could hear.
“Of course he remembers me,” Grandma says, stepping forward and wrapping her slender arms around Ryan’s broad waist. “Who can forget Grandma,” she quips while hugging him a bit too long. Again.
In true Grandma fashion, I’m horrified when she not so subtly reaches down and pinches his butt. Mortification snakes up my face and down my chest, burning me until I’m left wishing I would actually burst into flames.
There’s no way this could get any worse, right?
“Emma, quit copping a feel on the poor young man. If you’re wanting to feel something firm, I’ve got just the thing,” Grandpa remarks.
I was wrong. It can get so much worse. My face surely rivals the color of a fire truck as I gape, wordlessly, at the people who helped raise me.
“It’s such a nice rear, though,” Grandma says brightly as she finally steps away, releasing her hold on my date’s ass. “That’s important, Jaime. Your grandpa had the best rear end this side of the Atlantic Ocean when I met him.”
To my utter humiliation, Grandpa sticks his ass out just enough to give Grandma an unobstructed view to ogle, then he starts to move. It’s an odd twerking motion combined with some sort of leg stretching. But when she smacks it, that’s when I know it’s time for Ryan and I to get the hell out of dodge!
“Come on,” I mumble, taking Ryan’s warm hand in mine and pulling him towards the door.
“It was very nice meeting you all,” he says as I drag him towards freedom.
Grandpa gives a friendly wave. “You too, son. Oh, you have protection, right?”
That stops us both in our tracks.
I’m terrified to turn around. I send up a silent plea that Ryan suddenly developed acute deafness and totally missed the statement.
“Uh,” he starts, his hand tightly squeezing my own.
“Let’s just go before he offers us one of his and feels the need to demonstrate,” I whisper, both of us staring at the exit just inches away.
Robotically, Ryan opens the screen door and waits for me to walk through first. I’m stunned speechless, sure that our first date is over before it even began. I mean, really? Who would blame him for suddenly developing a stomach virus or a severe case of bronchitis? Not me, that’s for sure. If I were in his shoes, I’d be tearing out of the driveway right now, not bothering to look back.
When we reach the porch, I steel my back, ready for the brushoff I’m sure is about to come. But as I stare up at the clear sky, I’m greeted with only silence. Ryan, still gripping my hand, starts to laugh. Before I can ask what in the world he could ever find funny about this situation, the door behind us opens.
“Take me with you?” Dad asks as he steps outside, his voice laced with humor.
“That was so embarrassing,” I mumble, still unable to meet Ryan’s eyes.
“They’re like this all the time. It’s like living with newlyweds.” My dad turns towards Ryan. “I apologize for the behavior of my in-laws, Ryan. I’d like to think that old age affected their filters, but I don’t remember either of them ever having one.”
Ryan laughs again, and my dad smiles. It’s a genuine smile, one that I don’t see near as much as I used to. Oh, he masks it well and puts on a good show, but it’s not the same. Not since my mom died.
“You kids go have fun,” he says as he sticks his hand towards Ryan once more. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ryan. I hope to see you again soon.”
I hold my breath, trapped in the trance of their conversation.
“It was a pleasure, sir. And I really hope to see you again, as well. In fact,” Ryan says, turn
ing and smiling at me. “I’m sure this won’t be the last time.”
The sincerity and honesty in his words strike me like a bolt of lightning. His insinuation that he’ll be seeing me–and my family–much more isn’t lost on me. In fact, it warms my chest and sends butterflies fluttering in the pit of my stomach.
My dad nods his head and steps back. “Call me Brian.”
On autopilot, I’m pulled along by Ryan’s hand towards his awaiting truck. The fact that he still wants to spend time with me is far more shocking than the awkwardness that my grandparents just bestowed upon me.
When we reach the vehicle, Ryan opens the door, but doesn’t let go of my hand. I finally find the capability to make eye contact, and when I do, I’m greeted by brightly shining brown eyes. They twinkle like stars in the clear night sky.
I’m pulled from his gaze by the feel of his calloused thumb running along my knuckles. Tingles of awareness race through my body while goosebumps speckle my arms, even beneath my sweater. With a wink of his uber-sexy eyebrow, Ryan finally releases my hand and heads around to the driver’s side of his Chevy.
We’re heading into the heart of Jupiter Bay before he finally speaks. “Your family is amazing.”
“Are you kidding me? They’re so wildly inappropriate. I’m so sorry about all that. I mean, God! My grandma felt you up.” I drop by gaze, unable to hold eye contact.
Ryan’s laughter fills the cab of the truck. “They’re great. I wish my grandparents were still alive,” he says wistfully. “But, I’ll be honest, even if they were, I don’t recall them ever acting like that. Your family is unique.”
“Unique. That’s a polite way of saying batshit crazy.”
“It is not. I liked them.” He draws his attention away from the road for just a second. “Honest.”