No, this was better. She had her eyes wide open now. No starry-eyed love or misplaced trust mucking up the waters. Tonight she’d probably sleep with Van. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t call her. And she wouldn’t be waiting for him to do so. No expectations or obligations. No need for lies and pretenses.
In fact, the faux name was going to be her first and last fib of the night. If they were going to have a date, she was going to be one-hundred-percent honest and completely herself. Not the version she thought he wanted to see. She was done with all those bullshit games she’d played for so long. If that screwed things up, then so be it. He didn’t deserve to see her naked if that was the case.
A warm hand pressed against her lower back, startling her off her internal soapbox
.
“I’m ready for you now.”
She wet her lips and set her drink down. The way he’d said it—I’m ready for you instead of Are you ready?—had made something flutter inside her. Nerves. Anticipation. She wasn’t sure, but the feeling was far from unpleasant. She turned to face him, letting him help her off the stool. “Where to?”
He offered her his crooked arm. “Follow me.”
They walked through the dining room, turning a few heads. She didn’t doubt the glances were for Van and not her. Something about the man called for attention. Not just his height and good looks, but some regal air that enveloped him. She scanned the room as they walked, looking for empty tables, but the place was packed. When they reached the back of the restaurant, Van led her away from the dining room and toward a door down a small hallway.
“Where are we going?”
“Up,” he said, pulling the door open for her and guiding her forward.
A set of stairs greeted her along with a chain that had a Closed sign hanging from it. She peeked back over her shoulder. “I don’t think we’re supposed to go up here.”
He leaned past her and unhooked the chain. “I promise they won’t kick us out.”
So he worked here apparently. Maybe he was the general manager or one of the owners. That last one was a distinct possibility. The man definitely strolled around like he owned the place. But she had a feeling he walked around every place like that. Without voicing her questions, she headed up the stairs. When she reached the door at the top, Van stepped past her and pushed the door open.
She sucked in a breath at the unexpected gust of cool air and the view on the other side. A rooftop deck spread out before them, complete with quaint little tables and a vine-covered pergola laced with twinkle lights overhead. On the far end, there was a long, rustic table with candles and a full outdoor stove and grill.
“Wow, this is beautiful.”
“Yeah, it’s my favorite spot in the restaurant. But we don’t use it during the winter months except for the occasional party.”
“Or for a random woman you pilfer from an online dating event.”
He grinned. “Exactly. But I think it’s warm enough tonight to not be a problem.”
“So we’re going to make some poor waiter traipse up here to serve us food?”
“Nah,” Van said, taking her hand and leading her forward. “You came here to learn how to cook. So we won’t need any staff.”
As they got closer to the long table, she saw there were little bowls of ingredients on the far end like they’d had at the event. She glanced over at him. “You’re going to teach me to cook?”
He cocked his head, looking playfully offended. “What? You don’t think I can cook?”
She let her perusal of him travel from the top of his head down the front of his black dress shirt and gray trousers to the tips of his clearly expensive shoes. “You don’t look like you spend a lot of time in a kitchen.”
“And you don’t look like a woman who’d spend her evening crashing a date meet-up. But looks can be deceiving, right?” He let go of her hand with a smirk, unbuttoned his cuffs, and rolled his sleeves up his forearms.
For some reason, the simple movement fascinated her, like she was watching his urbane shell being peeled back and revealing the real man beneath. She pulled her attention away from those big, capable hands. “So what kind of woman do I look like then?”
He gave her a similar head-to-toe assessment then met her gaze. “One who doesn’t usually break the rules or take a risk.”
She scoffed. “Oh, really?”
His smile was knowing as he grabbed a knife and cutting board from the counter then placed a wedge of white cheese on it. “Am I wrong?”
“I’m up here with you, aren’t I?” she said, challenging him.
He moved the knife as if marking a point in her favor on an invisible scoreboard. “Touché.”