Page 74 of Stealing Forever

She doesn’t deserve him.

A knock on my door has me jumping, straightening upright. A rush of excitement floods me, and I swipe my clutch purse off the side table, tossing open the door.

Declan stands there, leaning against my doorframe, looking amazing in a light blue button-down shirt that’s rolled to his elbows, and a pair of dark wash denim jeans. His unruly hair is slicked back, and his beard has been trimmed.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets, handing me a bouquet of pink peonies and baby's breath.

“These are beautiful. Thank you.” I lean my face down into them and smell their soft fragrance.

“Of course. How are you?”

Moving into my condo, Declan follows me into the kitchen so I can put the flowers in water before we leave. “I’m okay,” I tell him honestly. “Excited to go out tonight.”

“Me too,” he agrees with a grin. “It’s high time I wine and dine you.”

“You spoil me enough as is, but I am pretty excited to check out this restaurant.”

A few minutes later, we’re in his car, driving through the neighborhood. With his hand on my thigh, Declan grips the inside of it as he drives with one hand.

“Are you ready for this weekend?” The Bears have a game tomorrow night against the Rocky Mountain Raptors—finally, their first home game.

“Yeah. I think the guys have it in the bag. The Raptors are good, but we’re better.” He gives me a wicked grin, and I see the playfulness in his eyes.

“I can’t wait to watch,” I tell him earnestly.

Sailor and I will be there tomorrow and to my dismay Addison brought it upon herself to accompany us, squealing when she realized friends and family get to sit in the VIP boxes by the dugouts. Declan isn’t pleased she’s coming, but she flies out the next morning so he’s humoring her.

The rest of the car ride is short and silent. When we pull up in front of the restaurant it’s packed with people dressed to the nines, flooding out onto the street. I feel underdressed, but everything I read online said this wasn’t that fancy of a restaurant, so maybe there’s some sort of special event happening.

Finding a place to park is a challenge, but we’re able to find a space a couple blocks over. Declan parallel parks perfectly, and comes around to open my car door, extending his hand so I can take it.

Playfully, he holds our hands in the air and encourages me to do a twirl. It’s lighthearted, and we both laugh.

When we start walking down the street, he immediately switches sides with me, making sure I’m on the inside, and he’s on the outside. It’s a small gesture, but one that means a lot—I know that’s not something a lot of men do anymore.

By the time we’re seated at our table, both our stomachs are rumbling, and everything on the menu looks delicious.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he says, still looking down at his menu. “I was hoping for an empty restaurant and a corner booth so I could push you past your comfort zone a little.”

My eyes snap to him. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

He flashes a toothy smile, and shrugs, pretending like his words mean nothing, but the underlying meaning of them makes my thighs clench beneath the table, heat rushing both between my legs and up to settle on my cheeks.

When the waiter arrives, I order the lobster mac and cheese, and Declan gets the surf and turf platter. We talk about everything under the sun, making small conversation and having fun. It renews a sense of comfort in me, and I needed that so badly.

My cheeks hurt from laughing, and dinner is delicious, but while we’re waiting for the check to arrive, I notice a group of people a few tables down from us staring and making gestures in our direction.

I feel my face fall.

Declan turns, following my line of sight. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re talking about us.” I’m openly staring at them, letting them know I see them.

From my peripheral, Declan shrugs. “Let them.”

Once the bill is paid and we’re back in the evening air, he takes my hand in his. Bridge Point has a beautiful downtown, with old-fashioned gas lamps that line the street, and benches everywhere. String lights twinkle as we stroll down the sidewalk.

“Do you want to get dessert?” he asks as we pass an old-fashioned looking ice cream shop.

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