“Wow,” is all Cassidy has to say, and now it’s my turn to interrupt.
Before she can comment on my secret Nicholas Sparks habit, I say, “Honestly, I only have one more question for now.”
“Which is?”
“Do you want to get dessert to go?” I ask. “We can eat it at my place, where I promise to think of three more questions for you.”
She smiles and glances over at the table where the lovebirds had been sitting. They’re gone now, and Cassidy nods eagerly. “Let’s go.”
5
Cassidy
Chuck’s house looks like something out of Architectural Digest. It’s all sleek lines and polished surfaces, with not an item out of place.
While he goes over to the bar to get a couple glasses and pour us drinks, I take it all in and say, “This is night and day compared to my parents’ house. You must have been internally pulling your hair out at all the clutter and knickknacks when you picked me up earlier.”
It’s not that my parents are hoarders or anything—they’ve just lived in that old farmhouse for the past thirty years and raised five daughters there. Nearly every square inch of wall space is filled with family photos, and there’s not a corner of the house that somebody hasn’t claimed for a reading nook, office space, or storage cubby.
Chuck smiles, those smooth, chocolatey eyes sweeping over me, as he comes over and hands me a whiskey neat, picking up where we left off in the restaurant. “Okay, here’s your next question: Is that what you want? The big family house, white picket fence, two kids, a dog?”
“Lord, no,” I say with a laugh that bubbles up my throat. “At least not for a long time. I am young and free and I intend to stay that way, thank you very much.”
He’s grinning now, that little half-smile that only curls up one corner of his mouth and has a way of making my panties damp. That, and the fact that he’s standing so close I can feel his body heat.
For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me.
I’d like that, I realize.
And then he says, “You’re not like most of the women I’ve been on dates with.”
“Oh?”
“They all want to settle down, and as fast as possible too,” he says. “They’re just after a ring, and sometimes it seems like it doesn’t even matter who from.”
“You’re right,” I say. “That’s not me at all. When I do get married, it’ll be because I can’t wait another minute, because I found The One, because I want to go adventuring with him, not settle down and be a boring old married couple.”
I’m being gushy again—he already told me he’s not sold on the whole soulmates idea—but I guess I can’t help it. The library at home contains a romance novel or two thanks to my mother, and I guess those ideas have rubbed off on me after all. Or maybe it’s the whiskey talking.
“We’ve still got dessert to eat,” Chuck says, and for a moment I wonder if he’s really talking about food. But then he nods in the direction of the take-out boxes on the bar countertop and I remember the chocolate lava cakes we ordered to go. “It’s a nice night out. Want to eat on the deck?”
“Lead the way,” I tell him.
We gather up supplies—the cakes, forks, our whiskey glasses and the nice crystal decanter it came out of in case we want more. Then Chuck guides me over to a sliding glass door that leads out to an expansive deck at the back of the house.
Chuck flips a switch on the wall and the space is illuminated by soft lights installed along the railings. It’s just enough light to see where we’re going, and to hint at the view of Golden Creek itself, which our town is named after, burbling in the distance.
“Oh, this is beautiful,” I say as my eyes adjust. It’s nothing like the sleek bachelor pad on the interior of the house—out here it’s soft and romantic and welcoming. A little chillier than I expected, but I’m sure the whiskey will keep me warm… or maybe Chuck can.
“My favorite part of the house,” he says. “You should see the view at sunrise.”
“I’d like that,” I say before I’ve got a chance to second-guess myself. I may not be too experienced with flirting, but something about Chuck makes me feel adventurous. Confident. Sexy.
He takes my hand and leads me over to the railing, where we set down our dessert and drinks on a wide ledge. He pops open one of the containers of chocolate cake, and I think he’s about to hand me a fork, but instead, he takes it back, smiling wryly at me.
“What?” I ask.
“I can tell that you’re hungry,” he says. “I see it in your eyes. But I don’t think it’s cake that you want.”