Page 64 of Flashback for the Forward

“These are for you.” I brought the bouquet I held forward.

Bridget’s eyes lit up as she accepted the roses, bringing them to her nose and inhaling their fragrance. “Flowers? Wow, you really went all out.”

She had no idea that was only the tip of the iceberg.

“Shall we?” I gestured toward the stairs at the end of the hallway.

Smiling, she nodded, latching the door behind her.

We walked, side by side, down the steps, and I guided her through the sliding glass door to the patio.

When she took in the sight before her, she stopped short, my name falling from her lips on a stunned exhale. “Cole.”

A surge of pride rushed through me at her reaction.

I’d spent all day transforming the pool deck into a makeshift French bistro. There was a wrought iron table set for two with a bottle of pinot noir sitting uncorked, ready to be poured. Space heaters were strategically placed to ward off the November chill. Dozens of candles floated atop the water’s surface in the background, giving off a romantic air. And to cap it off, my little helper Maisie had spent all day crafting an Eiffel Tower from cardboard, wrapping the replica of the City of Love’s most iconic structure with strands of twinkling lights.

Leaning over to speak in her ear, I said, “Called ahead and got us the best table.”

Bridget’s musical laughter floated toward the stars. “I can see that.”

Striding to the table, I pulled out a chair for her. “Madam.”

Heels clacking on the stone surface, she moved toward me and took the seat I offered. “Thank you,” she murmured over her shoulder as I pushed her in.

I gently eased the bouquet of roses from her arms, unwrapping the cellophane to keep the flowers bundled, and placed them into a crystal vase in the middle of the table. Earlier, I’d cut the stems to the perfect height so that we could see each other above the blooms.

“Wine?” I asked, holding the bottle label first for her inspection.

She dipped her chin. “Yes, please.”

Filling first her glass, then mine, I sank onto the empty chair and lifted my wine for a toast.

“To first dates.”

Bridget arched an eyebrow. “Not sure this qualifies as a first date with our history.”

“We’ve done a lot of things in the past”—she blushed at the implication that we shared carnal knowledge of each other—“but as far as I can recall, we never went on an official date.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded.

“I’m a little older and wiser now, and in a position where I can give you what you’ve always deserved as a first date.” Though I hated that nothing had changed when it came to hiding that we were together.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. One date doesn’t equal a relationship.

Eyes fixed on the table where she fiddled with the flatware, Bridget said softly, “I didn’t need fancy dates. All I ever wanted was you.”

I’m here now. And if you’ll have me, I’ll be yours forever.

With my wine still suspended in the air above the table, I amended my toast. “How about to new beginnings, then?”

Her gaze lifted, the hint of a smile tugging on one corner of her lips. “I’ll drink to that.”

A soft clink sounded as Bridget touched the edge of her glass to mine, then she brought it to her mouth and took a sip.

“Mmm.” She let out a near pornographic moan that had my dick twitching behind my fly. “That is the best red wine I’ve ever tasted.” There was a self-deprecating laugh. “Though, to be fair, my palate is used to ten-dollar bottles from the grocery store.”

I savored a taste for myself. “I’m pleased you like it. The winery that produces it in Napa is one of my favorites.”