Page 23 of Branded

I sit in my car at the parking meter for far too long, until I literally have to get out or he’s going to think I’ve bailed on him, and that’s the last thing I want.

I slide my crossbody on and climb from my car.

When I round the corner onto the street I’m supposed to be meeting him on, I stop when I see him standing there.

He’s scrolling through his phone with one hand in his pocket, dressed in dark jeans and a short-sleeve, white T-shirt. His hair, dark and rich, is perfectly messy in that sexy, annoying way guys manage to pull off.

The streets aren’t as busy as I expect them to be for a Sunday night, especially since the fall hours mean cooler weather and earlier sunsets.

I finally make my way closer until he senses the movement of me coming up to his side and raises his face toward mine.

“You made it,” he says simply, and that damn smile greets me like an old friend.

“I did. Sorry I’m a little late. I just… I’m a little nervous is all.” I shrug a little. If I’m really going to give this a chance, I figure honesty is the best policy.

He slides his phone into his back pocket. “If I’m honest, I’m a little nervous too.”

“You are?”

I’m honestly shocked he even admitted that to me. Every man I’ve ever been with in my life would rather chop off his own arm than be vulnerable, so this is refreshing.

“I’m on a first date with a beautiful woman. If a man ever tells you he’s not nervous in that situation, he’s lying.”

“Then I’m happy we are equal footing.” I shift nervously.

“What do you say we head on inside and have a drink before things get started?”

“What are we doing exactly?”

“You’ll see.” He smiles wickedly. “Shall we?”

He places his hand on the small of my back and shivers climb up my spine in the best way. His touch is warm and kind. There is nothing about it that makes me feel uncomfortable or pressured.

“We shall, Mr. Black. Lead the way.”

“Haven’t you ever done this before?” I sip my sweet moscato from the stemless glass, as I watch him very carefully and very slowly slice a cucumber into strips.

I don’t know what I was expecting for a first date with him, but making sushi from scratch in a cooking class certainly wasn’t it.

“Not exactly, but I’ve got it. How hard can it be?”

He squints in concentration. I’ve offered to take over after I prepped the sticky sushi rice with sugar and vinegar, but he’s determined. Clearly.

The room is laid out like a swanky home economics room. There are a dozen individual cooking areas, complete with everything you could need to make a meal, plus the instruction area at the front.

Every cooking station is occupied by two people, wine is flowing, conversation is being had. It’s easy. It’s nice.

I watch him closely as he makes the final slice into the cucumber and places the knife down.

“Got it.” A huge smile appears on his face.

I just giggle. “Nicely done.”

We set out to start building our sushi rolls, working in tandem, one roll each at a time. We work in sync surprisingly fast, like we’ve done this many times before.

“So how long have you lived in Sunset Valley?”

I pat out a layer of rice onto my nori then answer, “I’ve been here almost a year.”

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