Page 57 of Almost Perfect
His eyes shot to Chase, whose hands rose in a helplessI would nevergesture.
“I appreciate it. It’s hard to find privacy once word gets out sometimes, so thank you,” I added, hoping that would buy me at least a few more days before word spread I was here.
I still didn’t know if I’d stay longer. I wanted to, but I hadn’t told Warrick. I needed a reason to stay, and the mountains, the fresh air, and the space were all wonderful. Silverton, each time I came down from the ranch, was wonderful. But I wanted one particular reason, and I hoped maybe it would materialize tonight.
Wyatt steered me away from the table, past two others whose occupants were deep in conversation and didn’t seem to notice the interaction we’d just had, and finally into a room all the way at the back of the restaurant.
I’d eaten in a fair number of back rooms or banquet rooms, usually with the entourage I honestly didn’t miss even a little bit. Well, I missed Gareth, my stylist, because he did amazing things to my hair I could never hope to attempt. But otherwise, no. And he’d needed time off to take care of his ailing father, so I wouldn’t have had him around anyway.
The point was, this little back room, which might accommodate four or five ten-top tables when packed to the gills, had one two-person table situated next to an exposed brick wall with a large window looking out on a patio strung up with lights, even now in the middle of winter. The rest of the room was empty except for one round set at the opposite end. Blond wood floors stretched between, and though it should’ve felt oddly empty, the lights outside and the brick, and the fact that the huge windows didn’t make the temperature of the room too cold, all combined to make it welcoming.
“It’s adorable,” I said, unable to stop myself or the little leap of excitement that jumped through me. I hadn’t bothered to eat in a restaurant in far too long—I’d been in hideaway mode long before I arrived here.
“This place is great.” He led me forward, and it occurred to me Lizzie had faded away, likely back to the hostess stand. We stopped next to the table. “Can I take your coat?”
“Of course.” I unbuttoned the front of the wool jacket, hoping I’d be warm enough with it off. The room felt great, but if we were sitting right next to the window, it might not stay that way.
“They open the patio in late spring and you can sit outside. They have herbs and such planted out there, too. It’s really—” He made a sound, and I heard his breath hitch.
And I knew exactly why.
He’d pulled the jacket from my shoulders and found what the otherwise rather simple-looking little black dress revealed—my entire back. From nape to just above my tailbone, the dress left the skin of my back and much of my sides exposed.
“It’s really…?” I prompted, turning to face him where he stood behind me. My face showed pure innocence, of course. Inches upon inches of bare skin—who, me?
His eyes jumped to mine. Instead of finding heat in those eyes like I’d expected, he looked ashen. Like the sight of so much skin hadn’t intrigued or tempted him, hadn’t turned him on, but instead had shocked his delicate mountain man sensibilities.Well, crap.
“Pleasant.” The word came out low, quiet.
Not unusual for Wyatt but maddening in that I couldn’t read the tone. I definitely couldn’t read the expression on his face, and it reminded me yet again how frustrating theget-to-know-youphase of meeting someone could be. How on earth did he do this every week?
With a dip of his head, he moved past me to a coat rack I hadn’t noticed before and hooked mine over one peg. Then he slipped out of his jacket, a nice peacoat-style wool in dark gray, and hung it next to mine.
I took in his collared blue-and-gray shirt, the belt that matched his black boots, and had to smile. How often had I been out in a fancy dress and the men around me wore tattered jeans and holey T-shirts? Granted, they were purposefully torn and cost a fortune, but they didn’t look nice. It was always a race to look like you cared the least, even though that very casual look consistently took time and effort no one wanted to own up to.
But then, there was Wyatt. Not afraid to put in effort, or make clear he had. In fact, now that I had a chance to look at his face in good lighting, I noticed he’d trimmed his beard.
My stomach flipped as he approached.I like him. It was the simplest, dumbest thought, but I liked him so, so much. I liked that he’d asked me, and that he’d tried when he got dressed. I liked that he’d found this private room, and that he’d introduced me to his friends—even his ex. Some weird, potentially masochistic part of me even liked that he didn’t immediately and obviously react to the dress.
Granted, I wanted a reaction.Oh, how I did. Because a woman does not wear a dress like this on a date andnotwant a reaction. But Wyatt was just so…him. He probably had to think about his response before he gave it. He’d want to make sure it was respectful and gentlemanly.
That I wouldn’t mind a less gentlemanly version of him would need to be part of the conversation at some point if he kept this up.
“Have a seat,” he said and gripped the back of my chair to help me.
I sat and scooted in as elegantly as possible, which was essentially not at all, but with his help, I didn’t have to bump along too much. I could’ve sworn I felt his eyes on my back, taking in the bare expanse and the hints of tattoos that peeked out along my sides.
Maybe that was wishful thinking. Maybe he was singing a hearty rendition of “Home on the Range” in his head and hadn’t even noticed the cut of the dress.Get over yourself, egomaniac!
When he took his place across from me, a waiter appeared before we could speak. He handed us menus, introduced himself as Josh, listed off several delicious-sounding specials, and took our drink orders. He left us to peruse the menu, which I did as studiously as I could, hoping Wyatt would say something. If he didn’t, pretty soon I’d end up asking him how he liked my dress, which was just too depressingly desperate to consider, and yet I could feel the words pickaxing their way up my throat to my tongue.
“Everything here is good. You can’t go wrong,” he said, not looking at me over the leather-bound book of a menu.
“Good to know.”
“Also, sorry about earlier.” His eyes cut to mine and held, then dropped back to theAntipastisection.
“With your friends?” I stared him down, already decided on my meal.
