Page 44 of Courage, Dear Heart

I place enough money on the table to cover the bill with a generous tip. “You could cook old shoelaces with pasta sauce, call it spaghetti, and I’d eat it happily.”

She tilts her head. “Not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”

“Flattered for sure.”

Her phone buzzes again, and mine joins in. We silence our devices. “Back to reality it is. I’ll walk you to the store.”

“Didn’t you drive here?”

“Yes, I’m parked nearby.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t want to make you late for work.”

“I want to, and I kind of make my own hours. Plus, my father is the boss.” Not that it makes working for him any easier, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“I thought you said your father is a tyrant.”

I guess she already knows. “He can be. But I’ve learned how to handle the old man.” And then deal with the consequences. There were going to be a lot of those if I went through with shaking things up at the firm the way I planned.

The five-minute walk is far too short and soon we’re standing in front of her store like a pair of awkward teenagers after a first date.

She looks up at me. Those striking blue eyes catch the light, and for a moment, I’m at a loss.

“Thanks again for a lovely lunch,” she says softly.

“You’re welcome.” My words come out quieter than I intended, my gaze locked on hers, drawn in by the delicate curve of her mouth, the softness in her expression. I want to kiss her. More than that—I want to be close, to feel the truth of this connection that’s been building between us. But not yet. Not here, not with her employees trying to watch us through the glass.

Still, I lean in, moving slowly, watching her reaction, giving her a chance to pull back. She doesn’t move. Her eyesstay fixed on mine, her expression open—the diminishing space between us charged with expectation—as if we’re both waiting, holding our breaths for what comes next.

As I lean closer, the faint, floral hint of her perfume surrounds me. My gaze dips to her cheek, the delicate skin there, and I brush my nose gently along her face, a whisper of contact. She inhales sharply, a quiet intake of breath. My pulse spikes, every sense tuned in to her. I press a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek, staying there a second longer than I should, letting myself savor the warmth of her skin under my lips, the subtle electricity between us.

I pull back slowly, my heart thudding as I catch the look in her eyes. Her lips part in a small gasp, and she brings her fingertips to her cheek, touching the very spot my lips had just been. A hint of blush rises on her cheeks, a charming pink, and there’s the smallest, almost shy smile tugging at her lips, transforming her face into something even more beautiful.

The innocence of it, the simplicity of that one touch, knocks the air right out of me. I’m floored, thrown completely off balance, and suddenly every plan I had about taking things slow, about being cautious, is laughable. I step back, needing the distance to ground myself, even as my chest tightens at the thought of leaving her there.

“I’ll try not to call you every day like I want to.” My voice a little unsteady. “But I’ll keep texting.”

She laughs softly, her fingertips still brushing her cheek, and the warmth in her gaze nearly undoes me.

“See you tomorrow night.” I force myself to turn, giving her a parting smile, and take a few steps back. But thememory of that touch, of the way she looked at me—like maybe she wanted more—stays with me, making me feel more alive and more hopeful than I have in a long time. Then I walk the five minutes back to my car parked nearly in front of the restaurant. And I grin all the way back to my office. We have a date.

Late-Night Confessions

Elliott: What’s your guilty pleasure movie?

Jillian: Dirty Dancing. Love everything about it. What’s yours?

Elliott: Die Hard for me.

Jillian: A serious question. Is Die Hard a Christmas movie or not?

Elliott: Of course.

Jillian: Agree.

Elliott:

TWENTY-ONE

---