Page 48 of Check Mate

I chuckle, feeling pretty flattered that he took the time to read my article so soon after I published it. I know just what photo he’s speaking of. You can’t see anyone’s face, but David is in front of me as we’re hiking and his backside does look pretty fine. I even got a few comments about it.

Isabella: Hm, are you sure it was yours? I thought that was Chris.

David: Chris’s backpack wasn’t nearly as nice as mine. I’m sure that’s me.

Isabella: Oh, sorry about that. Several women in the comments would like the phone number of the owner of that ass. You want me to give it out?

David: No thanks. One woman driving me crazy is more than enough.

I grin down at my phone. After all this time, why did we have to start enjoying each other now? If we still despised each other it’d be much easier to leave.

Looking myself over in the floor length mirror in my room, I do a little spin to make sure I look alright. For how little time I had to get ready, I look pretty good. I’m wearing wedge espadrilles and an off-the-shoulder red dress that has layers of ruffles sewn on. I grab my denim jacket since it’s September and it might get chilly once the sun sets. I put my hair up in a braided bun on top of my head with a few curls left out around my face and neck. My makeup is minimal, except for my red lipstick that matches my dress.

Glancing at the clock, I sigh in relief when I see it’s ten til’ six and I’m ready to go. David strikes me as someone who’s always early, so I planned accordingly. As if my thoughts conjured him, a knock comes from my front door. I basically twirl my way to answer it, my tummy doing little flips like it’s twirling too.

I open the door, unable to hide the excited smile on my face. David is standing there with a bouquet of red roses. Classic, like the man himself. He’s dressed in a crisp white shirt, rolled up to his elbows, and tweed trousers paired with his oxford shoes. His glasses can’t hide the sparkle in his blue eyes. There’s something softer about his eyes now compared to the hard look they held before our trip to Peru. Like our trip together softened him up and turned them from ice-blue to the color of the Peruvian sky.

He drinks me in from my toes to the braided bun pinned on top of my head. His gaze heats up the longer he looks at me.

“You look like you’re ready to go salsa dancing.” His eyes stay heated with appreciation but one corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk as hands me the roses.

“Thank you,” I tell him, taking the roses and closing my eyes as I inhale their scent. “Come in for a sec while I put these in a vase.” I move to the side so he can come in.

He pulls the door closed behind him and follows me as I walk into the kitchen and take a large vase out of the cabinet and fill it with water.

I glance over my shoulder and see Mo rubbing against David’s legs. David reluctantly bends down and gives him a rough pat on the head. Mo doesn’t seem to mind and leans into his caress.

Placing the vase that’s now filled with water on the counter, I unwrap the flowers and put them into the water before walking back toward David and Mo.

“I like your place,” David says, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks around my small house. “It looks like you.”

“Old and eclectic?” I wrinkle my nose and he laughs.

He brings a hand to his chin like he’s concentrating on how to explain himself. “No, it’s small and minimal, so you could pack up at any moment and take off on an adventure. But it has just enough of the things you’ve collected while traveling to make you feel a sense of home while you’re here.”

I blink a few times and swallow the lump in my throat. How he managed to sum it up so perfectly has me at a loss for words.

“Are you ready to go?” He pops his elbow out like he’s escorting me to prom.

“Yes, I’m starving,” I admit, taking his arm. “Bye, Mo, be a good boy.”

We walk out the door together and I close it behind us. Mo claws at it from the other side.

“Poor beast. We’ll bring him back some leftovers.”

“David, are you warming up to my cat?” I bring my free hand to my chest, feigning surprise.

He ignores my comment.

Twenty minutes later, we pull up outside a steakhouse I’ve never been to. It looks fancy and the host knows David by name.

“Mr. Windell, we have your table ready,” the boy tells him. He’s probably not a boy, but he looks barely eighteen. He walks toward the back of the restaurant and we follow him.

David places a hand at the small of my back as we walk, the warmth of his hand sending a tremor of pleasure down my spine.

We walk through the restaurant. It's dark here, but in a romantic way. The walls are lined with stone like we’re inside a castle and they’re lit with lanterns. More lanterns adorn each table, giving the place an old-world feel. We walk past the bar, which is made of a large slab of distressed wood. The bartenders are dressed in white shirts and black suspenders, another nod to a time gone by. We walk past the bar and the main restaurant area, then down an arched hallway that recedes down as if we’re going underground.

The host opens a wooden door and leads us into a large room with a huge stone fireplace. The ceiling is high and there’s a large, rustic chandelier hanging from the center. Hunter-green armchairs rest in front of the fireplace and they look soft and luxurious, like velvet. A small round table has been set for two a few yards from the fireplace.