“At a loss for words,” Brooke confirmed. “That’s what he’ll be.”
“You’re so ridiculous.”
“And you’re gorgeous. Now, I need to go see what that little terror of yours is up to, but you’re under strict instructions to fancy yourself up. I’m talking nice shoes—not sneakers—makeup, jewelry, the whole nine yards.”
At her words, Bex’s mind trailed back to Izzy. She’d left her with sitters plenty of times before, and she knew Brooke was trustworthy, but leaving her daughter to go on a date seemed selfish. Usually she left because of work, or in a few rare instances, to catch up with her friends. Dating was a whole other story. Anxiety clawed at the bottom of her stomach.
“Are you sure this is okay?” she asked, and Brooke paused on her way out.
“You look great,” she answered.
Sighing, Bex scraped a hand down her face. “Not the dress. The date. It feels strange, and I keep second-guessing myself. Does it make me a bad mum to abandon Izzy to flirt over dinner and play footsies beneath the table?”
Brooke’s expression softened, and she folded Bex into a hug, squeezing tight and not letting go. “You’re not being selfish. I’ve got everything under control. Izzy and I are going to have a great time, and you deserve a night off. Whether the date is a success or not, just relax and enjoy yourself.” Brooke released her and stepped back. “You’re a kickass mum, okay? Pull yourself together. Now, I’m going to go draw cat-icorns with your daughter.”
“Love you, Brookie,” Bex called after her.
Brooke made a kissing sound in response.
Left alone with her stack of unsexy clothes, Bex searched for shoes among the rubble. She found running shoes, yoga shoes, slippers, gym shoes, comfortable shoes flecked with paint, and finally, at the very bottom, a pair of heeled black boots. She grabbed the boots and crossed to the jewelry box on her cabinet, where she chose a silver pendant fashioned into a tiny lighthouse and a pair of dangly earrings. Finally, she grabbed her makeup box, which had accumulated dust because it hadn’t been opened for so long, carted it to the bathroom, and got to work.
Half an hour later, she finished, with only a couple of minutes to spare before Michael was due to arrive. Knowing him, he’d be punctual. She checked her reflection, turning this way and that in the mirror, wondering whether she could actually pull off this dress, and had she been too heavy-handed with the makeup? Then there was a knock at the door and she had no choice but to answer.
Brooke was already there, but Bex stopped her before she opened it. “Can you get Izzy into the bath?” she asked quietly, so her daughter, who was playing with toys in the living room, didn’t hear. “If she sees Michael, we’ll never get away.”
Brooke nodded. “Okay.”
Bex waited until Brooke had taken Izzy’s hand and led her through the living room and down the hall, then took a deep breath and opened the door. Michael stood on the other side, a bouquet of red roses in hand, wearing dark jeans and a deep blue jacket that matched his dreamy eyes. Her lady parts sat up and took notice. He looked good enough to eat, and she wanted to drag him back to her room, strip him naked, and lick every delicious part of him.
If she were staring, it didn’t matter, because he stared right back, his breath audibly catching as he absorbed the impact of her dress. His appreciation made her feel powerful. Sexy. Like a desirable woman. It had been a very long time since she’d allowed herself to be anything other than a mother, and the sensation was heady. He handed her the roses, not taking his eyes off her.
“These are for you.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Wow, you look stunning.”
Accepting the flowers, she smiled. “Thank you. So do you. Why don’t you come in while I put these in water?” She took them to the kitchen, searching for a vase, and he followed.
“Where’s Izzy tonight?”
“She’s staying here. Brooke is watching her for me.”
She filled the vase, placed the flowers in it, and turned, finding him much closer than she expected, his chest only inches from hers. Her mind swam, all the long-dormant hormones coming out to play. He smelled vaguely woody, like cedar, and she wanted to lean forward and flick her tongue over the pulse point on his neck. Closing her eyes, she tried to get a hold of herself.
He took the vase from her and set it on the counter. “Truly,” he said, caressing the side of her cheek in such a way that she wanted to rub into his palm like a cat. “You’re beautiful. Thank you for agreeing to come out with me.”
Her breath was short. “Thanks for asking.”
He moved away, and while she was relieved not to have done anything to make a fool of herself, she missed his nearness.
“My car is parked outside,” he told her. “It’s cold, so I thought it’d be best if we drove.”
“Good plan.” She followed him out, locking the apartment behind her. She’d chosen Sailor’s Retreat, the seafood restaurant down by the beach, as the venue for their date, having decided that being nearby in case Izzy needed her, trumped the inevitable gossip that would arrive from being seen dining with him locally. The drive didn’t take long, and neither of them spoke. Bex wondered if he was as nervous as she felt.
A number of cars were parked beside the pavilion that housed Sailor’s Retreat, and after they found a spot, Michael took her hand and led her to the restaurant. His palm was warm against hers, and rough with the type of callouses men got from lifting weights. Her entire being shrunk to the exquisite friction of his skin on hers, but when they entered the restaurant and were seated, the hostess—who she’d gone to school with—gave her a curious look. Reluctantly, she let him go. They ordered drinks, and Bex perused the menu. It had been months since she’d eaten out, and she was excited to try something new.
“What’s good?” Michael asked.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I used to come here all the time when I was younger, but I haven’t been much in the last few years.”
“It’s only a couple of blocks from your apartment.”