Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Ford: What are you doing?
Valentina: Trying to figure out what to make for dinner. You?
Ford: Thinking about going to that tasting at the new restaurant that opened in town.
I’d seen the grand opening signs a few weeks ago. The place had a seven-course tasting menu, which was right up my alley. I acted coy, trying to pull off that I hadn’t been constantly watching the window the last few days to see if he was back.
Valentina: Oh. Are you back in Montauk?
Ford: Got in about an hour ago.
More like an hour and fifteen minutes ago, but who’s counting?
Before I could respond, another text arrived.
Ford: What do you say? Wanna go?
I nibbled on my bottom lip.
Valentina: Is Bella going?
Ford: Nope. Just us.
God, I wanted to. I soooo wanted to.
Valentina: Ford...
I laughed at his response.
Ford: Valentina…
Another text came in.
Ford: Can’t two people enjoy each other’s company and share a meal together?
Valentina: So it’s not a date?
The tiny dots jumped around. Then stopped. Then started again.
Ford: We can call it whatever makes you happy. Just come enjoy a meal with me.
Maybe I was being ridiculous. Friends can eat together.
Valentina: Okay. Just two friends going out to eat together. I guess it’s no different than Eva and me.
Ford: If you say so. I didn’t know you sucked face with your best friend at the end of the night. But that’s cool. ;) See you in twenty minutes.
***
Ford stood on my front porch with an enormous bouquet of flowers, similar to the ones he’d left on my doorstep not too long ago. I opened the screen door.
“Ummm. I thought this wasn’t a date.”
He stepped inside, stopping to lean in and kiss my cheek. Damn. He smelled good, too.
“Dating would imply a relationship, and we’ve already established that’s out. That doesn’t mean I can’t buy you flowers and a nice meal before we have sex.”
I arched a brow. “I didn’t agree to have sex with you. I agreed to dinner.”
He smirked. “Not yet. But wait until you see how charming I am on our date tonight.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I need to get my purse from upstairs. Give me a minute.”
***
Our dinner of seven, small tasting portions was delicious, and our conversation never had a moment’s lull. We talked about Ford’s work, how he’d decided to go forward with converting more of the self-storage business to office space, and how I’d started to look for teaching positions so I’d be ready when I got my results. We’d been sitting at a table for more than two hours, and I could have sat there for two more.
“What do you say we go over to the pub across the street and have a drink?”
I nodded. “I’d like that. Why don’t we get the check? I’m sure the waiter wants to put other people in our seats by now anyway.”
Ford stood and held out his hand to help me up. “Already done. I paid the bill when I went to the men’s room a little while ago.”
“What? Why?”
“Because otherwise you’d argue with me that we should split it so you could continue to pretend we’re not on a date.”
I squinted at him. “We’re not on a date.”
He gave my hand a tug, pulling me to my feet. “Right. Not a date.”
“It’s not.”
He winked as he laced his fingers through mine. “Absolutely. And I’m not going to stare at your ass in those tight jeans when I open the restaurant door for you to walk through first, either.”
I squinted. “You’re an ass.”
He brought our joined hands up to his lips for a kiss. “Maybe. But I’m an ass with the hottest date in the room.”
***
My not-a-date date got carded.
I think that might’ve been a first.
Worse, the flirty bartender took one look at me and asked what I wanted to drink. At least pretend we might look like we were born in the same decade if you’re going to question whether my date is over twenty-one. Humor me.
Uh. Wait. I’m not on a date.
Whatever.
The bar was packed. I’d only ever come here for lunch, so I had no idea it got this way on a Thursday night. I looked around, pretty certain I was one of the oldest, if not the oldest, person in the room.
“Stop overthinking shit,” Ford whispered in my ear.
While we waited for our drinks, I finished scanning the bar full of twenty-somethings and turned back to Ford. “The bartender thinks I’m your mother.”
Apparently, he found my anxiety amusing.
He grinned. “You think so?”
I scowled at him. “It’s not funny.”
“No. But if that’s what they think…then this sure as hell is.”
He hooked one of his hands around my neck and tugged me toward him. His still-grinning mouth slammed down on mine, and he kissed me until I forgot about everyone else around us. My fingers curled into his shirt as he broke our connection.