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“The menus are there. I’ll give you two a couple of minutes, and I’ll be back to take your drink orders.”

When the waitress leaves, Gracie speaks. “What the hell?”

I chuckle at her response. “So you like it?”

She smirks and softly shakes her head. “This is crazy.”

“In a good or bad way?”

“Good, but over the top. Just us here?”

“Mm-hmm, I wanted time alone.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to hire the whole place.” She laughs.

“You deserve it.”

Looking around again, she says, “I do like the privacy.” Her gaze holds mine, and she raises her brow and whispers, “Maybe you could finish what you started.”

I smirk. “Not going to happen.”

“Damn it.” She giggles.

And it makes me chuckle too. “What would you like to eat?”

We pick up the menus and decide on the sharing plate option.

The waitress comes to take our food and drink order.

“You know, this is a little extreme. You don’t have to impress me,” she says when the waitress leaves.

“I do, and I want to know more about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

I lean back on the white couch, cross my ankle over my leg, and rub my jaw as I think.

“First. Your family. I know you don’t have siblings, but that’s all.”

Her face pales, and she takes a breath before meeting my gaze. A flicker of pain washes through them, and I shift in my chair.

“Well, this requires a drink.” She laughs, but it’s strained.

“Let’s wait for them if you want.” I don’t want her to be uncomfortable. But worry swirls in my gut, and I hate that I have to wait longer for the information.

Our drinks come, and I encourage her to go on.

“I grew up in a not so nice house. I left home at fifteen and lived in a shelter until the bar owners offered me a place to stay and a job.”

“What do you mean, not so nice?” I ask. My spine is straightened, and the blood is rushing to my head. The thought of her having a bad childhood is tearing me up inside. But it explains her mentioning not being held and her need for independence.

“Domestic abuse.”

I swallow hard. Domestic abuse. I’m conflicted. One part of me wants to know more, but then I worry if I find out too much, I will want to hunt the fuckers down and kill them myself.

“That’s awful, and I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” I reach over and grab her hand. Giving us the touch we both need right now.

She looks at my hand in hers, and I wonder what she’s thinking.


Tags: Sharon Woods Romance