“You must be getting ready to become a mother,” Tanner grins possessively as he slides into his seat. He’s wearing a pale blue shirt, the color matching his eyes, sitting with an erect posture that roars power. “I don’t envy the poor bastard who tries to bully our kids.”
I blush, giving him an eye roll. “I’m not that bad. Maybe I just need to find a middle ground between lying down and taking it and going completely ape?”
“I don’t know,” he says with a bantering note. “Lying down and taking it doesn’t sound that bad from where I’m sitting …”
I reach across the table to smack him playfully, but he anticipates the move and catches my hand, turning it over so that we’re interlocking fingers.
Our banter is interrupted by the waiter.
“Champagne?” Tanner says, raising an eyebrow. “It is a special occasion, after all, our first official date.”
A thrill runs through me. “I guess one glass couldn’t hurt,” I murmur. “I have to warn you, though, I’m a bit of a lightweight. Would you think I’m lame if I order a soda as well?”
Tanner’s eyes narrow as if to say, I’d never judge you for anything.
“Two glasses of champagne and two orange sodas then, please,” Tanner says, and the waiter retreats.
“How did you know I like orange soda?” I ask.
“I was watching you all day, remember,” he says.
I can’t stop the blush from touching my cheeks when I think of that, Tanner’s eyes following me all day as I went about my boring barista job. I tried to steal glances of him as often as I could, but the place was packed and I was in no position to play spy.
“That’s funny,” I say. “Every time I looked over at you, you seemed to be looking elsewhere. For a ten foot giant, you sure are sneaky.”
He laughs and I laugh with him, the sounds combining to fill my chest with a blazing warmth. The drinks appear as if by magic after only a couple of minutes and then we’re free to peruse the menus, exchanging secret looks the whole time, causing more heat to spread through me.
Is tonight the night?
“So, what will you have?” Tanner asks.
“I was thinking of the salad sans croutons, and then maybe a nice piece of celery with a side of vinegar, and then for dessert, there are some dust bunnies that look absolutely divine.”
He chuckles, miming swatting me with his menu. “If you think of ordering any of that healthy shit, I’m going to get up and walk away.”
“Hmm, and why’s that?”
“One—because I’m getting the steak and fries and I don’t want you making me look bad. And two, because you need all the strength you can get, my perfect baby making machine.”
“Hey,” I giggle. “I am not a baby making machine. I’m an aspiring writer.”
“No, Tess, you’re a writer,” he says firmly. “There’s no aspiring about it. I’ve read your work.”
“What?” I say, reading a note of something in his expression.
Indecision, insecurity … something, it’s difficult to read, despite our fusing closeness.
“Nothing,” he says.
“Ooh, so he does get shy. Come on, Tanner, or are you going to make me invoke the no-lying clause?”
“I just had a thought, that’s all,” he said.
I wave a hand. “Care to share with the class?”
Intensity fires in his eyes, melting the blue ice there. “I was thinking about you sitting at a fire with our children all around you, their faces framed in the firelight. I was thinking about you reading them a story—your story, one you’ve written. I was thinking about how much they’re going to look up to you and rely on you and … shit, I’m sorry, Tess.”
I blink away the tears and then wave at my face as though I can shoo them away. “No, it’s okay,” I murmur. “I’m sorry. The last thing you need is me blubbering all over the table.”
He takes a napkin and reaches over, softly dabbing at my cheeks. And then I turn my face and clasp his hand, just resting my cheek against the back of his hand, feeling his heat and his closeness, his realness.
“That sounds amazing,” I say, coughing back another crazy sob. “But I just have one question.”
“Shoot,” he says.
“This book I’m reading to our children, is it a bestseller?”
“Tess, my beautiful writer queen, all your damn books are going to be bestsellers.”
“That means so much coming from you,” I murmur. “I mean it. I used to imagine you telling me I’d be a successful writer when I was a teenager and …”
I trail off, the embarrassing weight of my words barreling into me with sudden intensity.
“And I am officially not allowed to share my inner thoughts now,” I say, leaning back in my chair with a self-effacing laugh.
“Nope,” Tanner smirks possessively, leaning forward with a wolfish look in his eyes. “You’ve said it now, Tess. Spill.”