Page 45 of Conflagration
“Fiancée,” I repeat.
“I’ll be honest. When you said casual, I had no idea what that meant, and then, when the limo pulled up, I may have hit my internal panic button for a moment. But this? This is perfect. This fun. This is us.” She sits back against the booth and gives me an indecipherable look. “You’re nothing like I expected, you know. You’re so much more.”
My throat goes dry at her admission, and I have to take a drink of my beer. I’m about to tell her that she’s the same for me, but the waiter interrupts to drop our food off at the table. As we dig in, I decide to shift the conversation into safer, first-date territory. Tonight’s about being fun and carefree. If we keep up this line of conversation, I’m afraid I’m going to say something I’m not quite ready to.
Instead, she shifts gears for me. “Okay, Branson, we need to talk,” she says, giving me a serious look.
I’m mid-bite into a hot wing, and she watches me as I chew and maybe take a little longer than normal. I wash it down with my beer then brace myself.
“We do?” I ask, confused.
She nods then takes a sip of her drink. Her eyes nearly roll back in her head. “God, that is so good. Whoever thought to mix cinnamon whiskey and apple ale is a genius,” she informs me. “So you once told me that you knew me well enough and all the little stuff would come later. While the sentiment was really sweet and I agree with it wholeheartedly, I’m about to meet who knows how many family friends and relatives next weekend. I’ve been to plenty of weddings, and since you’ve kept me a well-hidden secret, I’m already preparing myself for a barrage of questions. Therefore, tonight’s date is the perfect setting for all those ‘getting to know you’ questions we overlooked when we decided just go to ahead and get engaged.”
I nearly choke on my beer, not expecting that at all. And she knows it according to the wicked gleam in her eye.
“Oh, what? Did you think I meant something serious? Oops. My bad.”
“You’ll pay for that,” I growl.
She leans in close. “I’m counting on it.” She laughs then pauses to eat. “I have never been on a date where I could eat a hot dog. Ever. I know I’m setting the bar low, but this is already shaping up to the best. Okay, so where to begin. Favorite color?”
“Really? That’s how you want to start this?”
She points a chip at me and gives me a dirty look. “Fine. Then the first question is all yours.”
“I’m just saying. My grandma Kate isn’t going to ask you my favorite color. In fact, they probably won’t ask you anything about me at all. I have a feeling all the questions will be about you or directed to you. Like, for instance, where would you want to honeymoon?”
Her eyes light up at my question and she mulls it over. “Honestly, my idea of the perfect honeymoon is staying home. Turning off all phones and electronics and just staying home together.” She blushes and tucks her hair behind her ear before looking up at me. “I guess this past month has spoiled me.”
“That sounds perfect to me, but there’s one tiny flaw in your plan.”
“What’s that?”
“We live two blocks away from my mother.”
She laughs.
“I’m serious. She’s already seen you nearly naked twice, and if I hadn’t taken her key away from her, it would’ve been more times than that.”
She flops back against the back of the booth. “Damn. And I thought it was such a good idea.”
“The mountains are just a quick drive away. We could hole up in a cabin and not come up for air until our stay is over. That’d be just as easy as staying home, but with privacy and a change of scenery.”
“You know, of all the places I’ve been, I’ve never stayed at a cabin in the mountains. I like the sound of that.” She smiles at me.
My heart constricts, and for a split second, I forget we were talking about a honeymoon that’s never going to happen. Clearing my throat, I backtrack.
“Orange.”
She looks at me mid-bite, confused. “What?”
“My favorite color. It’s orange.”
She tells me that hers is blue, and we go back and forth while we finish our meal, learning those menial things I once said didn’t matter. Because, in truth, I like that she wants to know those things about me, and in return, I want to know them about her. I want to know everything about her.
After she gets a kick out of the fact that I used to dye the tips of my hair blond in junior high, I get the check and hold my hand out to her. “Ready to get your ass kicked?”
A huge grin spreads over her face as she taps my crutches. “I’m so torn between my competitive side and the guilty side that feels I need to take it easy on the cripple.”
