Page 45 of Worth the Try
Ansel
WHY AM I so nervous?
I take a deep breath and let it out, shaking my hands and checking I have everything: keys, wallet, cash for valet. Teeth are brushed. Freshly showered. House cleaned and living room devoid of any and all evidence that a five-year-old is in there every night, even though I’m taking that five-year-old’s nanny on a date. Dropped said five-year-old off at Sharon’s next door with promises to pick her up late tomorrow morning for our weekly brunch of blueberry and banana pancakes.
I lock up and walk to the guesthouse in the backyard, taking a moment to situate the He-Man and unicorn floats in a way that ensures they won’t roll across the yard in the storm we’re forecasted to get tonight. At the door, I take another breath and knock.
Relax, Miles.It’s Elodie.
Yeah, exactly: It’s Elodie.
She opens the door. “Hi.” She smiles shyly up at me.
I’m struck dumb. She’s…my God, she’s so fucking flawless it’s not even funny. How did I get this lucky? She’s wearing a short black dress that shows off every single curve she has. The top iscut in a square, showing off all those freckles of hers and merely hinting at what’s beneath. Gold, gladiator-style sandals wrap up her legs to stop just below her calves, and her hair falls in soft curls all the way down her back. Her hazel eyes are greener tonight, highlighted by a hint of makeup. Her lips are glossy and pink, and I’m overcome by a desire to kiss her senseless.
“Hi.” My mouth is suddenly very dry. “You look incredible.” I lean forward to brush a kiss against her cheek, guessing that she doesn’t want that pretty lipstick ruined just yet, and take in her warm vanilla-sugar scent. “And you smell delicious.”
She makes a show of looking me over. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she says with a wink. “Let me grab my purse.”
I’m taking her to my favorite restaurant in Atlanta, a low-key French countryside place with impeccable service and the best Croque Monsieur sandwich I have ever had in my life.
When we get there, I put my hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the tables to a corner booth I specifically requested. The design is such that you can’t help but sit next to each other, which is exactly how I want it.
“I’ve never been here,” Elodie says as we scoot in, her eyes scanning the restaurant. The tables are small, as if designed for seating in a European restaurant and not an American one, and the waitstaff is impeccably dressed to exact specification. Sure, they may sport plenty of tattoos and piercings, but their shirts are crisp and white, their black ties are lined up perfectly with their black pants, and even their shoes are clean and shined.
“I come here as often as I can,” I admit, “though I haven’t brought Rosie along just yet.”
The corners of Elodie’s eyes crinkle as she studies me. “You bring all your dates here, Ansel?”
“No!” I sputter. “I don’t date. I mean, I don’t bring dates. When I date. Which is rare.” I sigh and grin at her. “You make me nervous, you know that?”
Her smile widens, but before she can say anything, a server appears to take our drink orders.
Once we’ve ordered—a vodka and water with a splash of cranberry for me, and a crisp Pinot Grigio for her—I settle into the booth and let my eyes roam her appreciatively while she reviews the menu.
She pulls her lower lip into her top teeth when she’s focused, the tiniest of furrows forming between her brows. Finally, she seems to come to a decision and sets the menu down. “Do you already know what you’re getting?”
I’d like you, spread out before me.The fantasy of her laid out on one of these wooden tables comes to me, unbidden, and I struggle to blink it away. “Mussels with fries to start, then the Croque Monsieur with a salad. It’s far too much food, but I want the tastes of each. Do you like escargot?”
She makes a face. “Snails?”
I chuckle. “Let me try again: do you like butter and garlic?”
Her face smooths. “Do you see this body? It’s safe to say I’m a fan.”
“Oh, I see it alright.” I waggle my eyebrows suggestively and laugh at the pretty blush that spreads across her cheeks. But…yeah. I see the way the dress is giving me just enough of her breasts that I want to bury my head in them. I have seen it clad in a swimsuit and wanted to sink to my knees in gratitude for its curves. But I bite all that back and nod decisively. “Then you’ll like the escargot. Trust me.”
The night is absolutely perfect. She loves the snails, no surprise, and conversation flows from topic to topic. The food is delicious, but my date is far more delicious, and I can’t keep my eyes off her. After paying the bill, we step outside and find it’s storming, so she steps back into the restaurant while the valet brings the car.
The rain pelts us as we rush to get in the car, and visibility is shit as I drive. It’s not quite dark yet, a quirk of it being summerandthat Atlanta is right on the edge of where the Eastern time zone begins, but it’s darker thanks to the storm.
Elodie looks over at me as I pull onto the interstate, the wipers working overtime to give me a prayer of seeing where the hell I’m going. “I had a wonderful time. Thank you for dinner.”
I glance her way. “You’re welcome. It’s not over yet.”
She gives me a soft smile. “Good,” she says quietly.
The drive is mostly silent, but it’s a comfortable silence. No pressure to make small talk, which is good, because I need all my focus to be on driving. When I finally pull into the driveway, the sky opens up, dropping what seems like actual buckets of water onto the car.
