Page 18 of My Knight Before Christmas
“I’ll be fine in a minute.”
He ran a hand through his hair, making his tamed curls frizz. He still looked hot.
“Um, but if we were going to the beach and here, why did we have to dress nice?” The sweater I chose was way more appropriate than the blouse and blazer Anna forced me into.
“Because,” he elongated the word. “Of that.” As we rounded the bend, a table adorned with a white tablecloth, candles, flowers, and glass flutes stood underneath a massive oak tree. The branches had outdoor lights strung from limb to limb. A round metal fire pit had flames leaping toward the sky. The scent of burning wood was so cozy and perfect for the fall evening. Soft piano notes played from a speaker. The ambience of it all took my breath away. I couldn’t believe he did this for me.
A teen with black dress pants and a white button-down shirt waited for us.
“Hey Bash,” Liam greeted him.
“Hi, Mr. Knight,” he managed to get out with a shaky voice.
“We’ll get started on our salads and sparkling cider.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bash moved ten yards away where a cooler and a few brown paper bags sat on a folding table.
“How do you know Bash?” I asked Liam, who helped me into my white folding chair. The oak mixed with the burning wood had me inhaling deeply. I loved that smell.
“He’s my boss’s son.”
I placed a cloth napkin in my lap. “And how did you convince him to be our waiter? He barely looks fifteen.”
Liam smiled at me as he took a seat across from me. “He’s sixteen. I needed someone who could drive himself. And I’m paying him.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, he’s only staying until we’re done eating.”
I wasn’t worried about his company. Merely curious. “Are you ready to play a get-to-know-you game?” I asked.
His brows raised, his chin tilted down. “Trying to take over my date?”
“Isn’t thisourdate?”
“I’m the one who planned it.”
I held my hands up defensively. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”
He grinned. “Thank you. Besides, don’t we know a lot about each other already? I may have lost my old phone, but I still remember what we talked about in our texts.”
About two weeks after he’d stopped talking to me, I went through every message we’d exchanged. I was so close to deleting them. I couldn’t. An invisible force restrained my finger from pushing the little garbage can icon.
“Fine, let’s recap our favorites then, shall we?” I challenged.
He smirked like he already won this competition that was all together unnecessary. “Your favorite ice cream is Tillamook mudslide. Color, yellow. Children’s book is anything by Mo Willems. On an adult level, it’s anything by Katherine Center. The best football games you played were on Thanksgiving with your family. You love chocolate. I’d say it’s more like addicted, but who am I to judge?” He shrugged, while holding his hands out to the side, palms facing me, in anot megesture.
I nodded. He’d remembered everything so far.
He continued, “Your favorite tv shows areGilmore GirlsandFriends. You loved college, except junior year because of your ex. Who, by the way,” he leaned toward me, “is an idiot of epic proportions.”
Again, I nodded. He was like an elephant with that impressive memory of his.
“Your favorite food depends on what you’re craving. Though Big Doc’s wins for barbeque. You love your job, but not the annoying customers.”
Heat crept up my neck, spilling into my cheeks.
