Page 22 of Just Keep Driving

“You’re not doing that tonight,” he says.

I look at him. “Doing what?”

“Wasting your time.”

My stomach flips a little.

I try to play it cool. “We’ll see.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. You will.”

The waiter comes, we order, and conversation just...flows. We talk about his shop again, but this time he’s more animated, telling me about the chairs he picked out, the music he wants playing, the way he wants people to feel when they walk in.

I find myself leaning in, chin in my hand, just listening.

“You really care about this,” I say.

“It’s mine,” he answers simply. “I want it to feel right.”

I nod. I get that.

“I want to see it when it opens,” I say before I can stop myself.

He looks at me then, something softer in his expression. “You will.”

My chest does a little something weird.

The food comes, and for a second, I forget all about him. I take a bite and close my eyes, letting out a soft sound before I can stop it.

“Damn,” I say, pointing my fork at him. “You know all the best food spots.”

“I get around.”

I keep eating, but I feel his eyes on me again.

“I bump him lightly. “What?”

“What?” he says back.

“You keep looking at me.”

He shrugs. “You keep being right there.”

Now my heart’s all fluttery.

Dinner stretches longer than it needs to. We’re done eating, but neither of us is in a rush to move. His hand finds mine under the table, fingers threading through like it belongs there.

Eventually, we make it back outside, the night air cooler now. He walks me to the car again, opening the door, helping me in, and I can’t help but laugh.

“You always like this on dates?”

He just looks at me for a second, then opens the door wider. “Lydea, get in the car.”

I don’t even try to hide my smile.

The drive back is quieter, but not in a weird way. His warm hand touches my thigh.

When we pull up to my place, neither of us rushes to get out. He turns the car off, and we sit there for a second, just like before.