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I pick up a grape and act like I’m going to feed it to her and then pop it in my mouth. She laughs, picking up her own grape. “You’re stunning, especially when you laugh,” I say. Her cheeks flush as she turns away and sits on the bench that wraps around the table. She scoots to the middle part of the U shape. I follow her lead and sit to the left of her, wondering what turned on the shyness. Surely I’m not the first to tell her she’s beautiful.
She fills a plate and glances at me. “Tell me more about your family. You’ve mentioned Grams, and I know your dad passed away.”
Nice deflection.
I scratch my head and stare out at the water, my turn to feel uneasy. There are a few boats off in the distance, and I focus on them. This is not a favorite topic of mine. In fact, it’s a topic I never talk about with anyone. “My mom isn’t part of my life. I’ll leave it at that.” My gaze jumps back to her and there are questions on the tip of her tongue, so I keep going, not giving her a chance to ask them. “However, my grams and pops are the two most important people in my life.”
Her expression softens. “I love when you mention your grams.”
Note taken—talk more about my grams.
“I met none of my grandparents. My mom and her parents had a falling out when she married my dad, and they disowned her. I never found out why, but they weren’t happy about it. They could still be alive, but they’ve never contacted me. My dad’s parents passed away in a house fire when he was in his early twenties.”
“Wow.”
She shivers. “Right? That’s a horrible way to die.”
About as bad as being buried alive.
“Any brothers or sisters?” she continues.
These questions are getting worse. When can we move on to wondering what each other’s favorite movie is or which side of the bed we sleep on? I swallow back the discomfort, reminding myself this is a normal conversation between two people on a first date. Maybe I should’ve picked a less intimate setting if this shit is going to get to me.
I push off the seat and stick my hand in the ice to grab another beer, hoping the cold will numb not just my hand but this conversation. “Want another one?”
“Sure,” she murmurs. Fuck. I’m messing everything up because I can’t handle a simple conversation with a woman.
I twist the top off and hand it to her. “Sorry.” I wring my neck with my icy hand. “I had a brother. Jack. He was older than me, but he died when I was eleven. A couple of years before my dad passed away. He was my best friend.” I sigh, falling back on the bench beside her, stretching my legs out. Jack’s smirking face pops into my mind. Man, I miss that guy. “It’s another thing that’s hard for me to talk about.”
“It’s okay. I get it…” Her voice trails off as she picks at the beer label. “More than you know.”
I need to steer this conversation in a different direction. “Damn. Enough of the sad talk. Tell me what your favorite movie is.”
Her lips curl up. “That’s easy. Dirty Dancing.”
“Is that right?”
I pull out my phone and open a music app, pressing Play when I find the song. This is the perfect segue. I hold my hand out as “Hungry Eyes” by Eric Carmen floats around us.
“Dance with me?”
She shakes her head in amusement as she puts her hand in mine, and I pull her up into my chest, swaying to the beat of the song. Lights strung overhead sparkle as the sky fades to a deeper blue, and the gentle sway of the boat under our feet matches us in a rhythmic dance.
“You’re smooth, Officer Turner.”
I wink at her. “As butter.”
“And so not lacking in confidence,” she teases. I wrap my arm around her waist, tighter, as we spin in a circle. There is nothing wrong with a healthy ego.
As the song fades, our bodies have molded together, and the air grows heavy. We stop moving, and I stare down into her blue eyes. Her breath hitches. I lick my lips, staring at hers, and then lean down. Her hands tighten around me in anticipation. I stop, barely touching her lips, and draw in a breath.
“Do you want this?” I whisper, the warmth of my breath grazing her lips. I need to ensure there’s no room for regrets. She needs to think she’s in total control.
Even though she’s not.
“Yes,” she answers breathlessly.
I cup her neck and press my mouth against the corner of her soft, plump lips, kissing my way over. She hums right before she parts her lips and lets me deepen the kiss. I keep it soft and tender, afraid I’ll devour her if I let go. I want to savor her taste, revel in the feel of her body’s warmth against me and take my time with her. There is no rush.
