Page 29 of Sizzle

Ringing her doorbell with another bouquet of daffodils about ten minutes later, I’m about to comb my hand through my hair due to nerves but stop when I realize it’s gelled to the point of almost being cemented. I never do my hair. I’m not a man who is even concerned about it, much less takes a hat off long enough to make sure it’s still there. Between that and all the other prep I’ve done, including some manscaping—Jesus, who the fuck am I—I hope Gabrielle realizes how fucking special she is.

I don’t even dress up for my mother, and I love her more than most any woman on the planet. But get me one date with this woman and I’m willing to spit shine my shoes if it means she’ll be impressed.

The wood creaks a second later, giving way to the most gorgeous sight I’ve ever seen.

“Holy crap.” Gabrielle’s eyes flair with appreciation and lust as she opens the door and takes in my appearance.

Me? I’m fucking speechless. A goner. Dead on arrival from how fucking incredible she looks.

Her body is encased in a floaty, gauzy white sundress with flirty little sleeves and a tight bodice. The top is cut so low that her breasts swell in the curved neckline, and she has a tiny little gold pendant winking at the dip of her collarbone. Her hair runs in waves over her shoulders and down her back, the gold color spun in tendrils like precious metal. Shapely, lean legs go on for miles into tan sandals wrapped up around her ankles, and I want to take everything off with my teeth.

I don’t have a fucking clue as to how I’ll make it through this date without mauling her.

“You’re a vision,” I whisper, not sure I trust my voice to speak.

“More flowers? A woman could get used to being spoiled.” She blushes and takes them from me, putting them on her inside table and then stepping out to lock the door.

I step off the porch, appreciating the backside view even further and having to stop myself from biting my fist in sexual frustration.

Gabrielle smirks as she comes to stand in front of me. “You look like a proper gentleman. I kind of miss the rugged, dirty farmer.”

Bending to her ear but keeping my hands to myself, I ghost over the shell of her lobe. “Ask for him anytime and he’ll give you whatever you want.”

She tries hard to disguise the shiver that rolls over her. “Where are you taking me?”

“I hate being cliché, but it’s a surprise.” I had a pep talk with myself during said outfit once-over that I needed to actually converse on this date.

I am so out of practice that my hands shook on the drive over to Gabrielle’s, but the moment I saw her just now, it seemed to calm some of that. She’s always done that to me, made me feel like I’m standing on solid ground even as she was lighting my heart on fire.

My hand falls to the small of her back as I walk her to my truck, open the passenger door, and help her up.

“Are you trying to cop a feel before we even have appetizers?” she quips with a smug smirk as my fingers trail down the smooth skin of her calf.

“Nope, just making sure you get the seat belt on and are safe.”

“Liam, I’ve been driving and aware of vehicular laws longer than you have.” She rolls her eyes as she straps in.

“No more age gap jokes tonight. Or ever, for that matter. Three years is nothing.” It’s said in a light tone, but I hate that she needs to be that asterisk between us.

Gabrielle nods, her sunflower hair floating around as she does. “Fair enough.”

I called in some favors, and a few hefty ones at that, to set up the perfect spot and date for her. Because although I know it needs to be out of town, that doesn’t mean I want to spare anything.

“I’ve never driven this way,” she remarks as we coast past a sign telling us to visit Hope Crest again.

“You said private and I made it happen.” I flash her a smile before turning my eyes back to the road.

Damn, she smells so good it’s distracting. We make a bit more small talk, from our days at work to what takeout we ate this week, before I turn off onto a gravel road through the forest.

“Spooky,” Gabrielle teases, and I navigate as the sunset glints over the tops of the trees.

My truck bumps along for a few minutes more before the restaurant comes into view. It’s essentially an old boathouse that used to belong to one of the wealthy families who has an estate along the lake that eats the rest of the horizon Gabrielle and I can now see. But Dockland’s has been a teal and white shingled eatery for as long as I can remember now, back when my parents had a wedding anniversary party here when I was in elementary school.

It’s a single story, twenty-table bar and grill with the best seafood in Pennsylvania—if you ask me—with a hundred-yard dock floating in the water behind it. At the end of said dock, past the various boats that usually tie up to it for diners to come in right off the water, is a gazebo hung with twinkling fairy lights.

And for tonight, a private table for two.

“Oh, Liam.” Gabrielle unconsciously grabs my hand, and I count this as a victory.

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