Page 46 of Awaiting the Storm
She’s wearing an embroidered denim shift dress—short, with long bell sleeves. It tapers just enough to show the shape of her waist, but is loose enough for the fabric to sway as she walks toward me. Her legs are bare and tan, and dark ankle boots with a slight heel cover her feet.
Her braid is pulled over one shoulder again, thick and a little messy. A few strands fall loose around her face, catching the candlelight. Her makeup is light, just enough to make the blue of her eyes stand out.
And for the first time in years, I forget how to breathe.
I stand automatically as she approaches, trying not to look too eager, but hell if I can help it.
“Evenin’, Matty.”
Her lips curve. “Hey.”
“You look”—I pause, my eyes scanning her from head to toe—“incredible.”
Her gaze darts to the floor, then back to me. “Thanks. You clean up pretty good yourself.”
I grin and pull her chair out. “Allow me.”
She hesitates for a beat, staring at the chair. Then she finally takes a seat, and I scoot her forward.
That alone feels like a small victory.
Once she’s settled, I sit again and lean forward slightly. “Can I get you something to drink? Wine? They’ve got a nice Malbec on their list or—”
She shakes her head quickly. “No. I think I drank enough and showed my ass plenty the other night. We don’t need a repeat.”
I chuckle, but my voice is soft when I say, “You were perfect that night.”
Her eyes widen a fraction as a blush creeps across her chest and up her neck.
I like that I can do that to her.
She clears her throat and glances down at her lap. “I don’t remember all of it.”
“I do.”
She looks up. I don’t say more. Just meet her eyes and let the silence stretch between us.
The waiter comes by and offers us menus, then lists off the specials. Matty takes hers and scans it quickly.
I study the way her fingers move along the surface of the page. She doesn’t fidget, but she’s definitely on edge.
“The salmon looks good,” I say eventually, breaking the tension. “Bourbon and brown sugar marinated. Grilled. Comes with some kind of fresh veggie melody.”
She snorts softly. “Fancy wording for overpriced sautéed squash and carrots.”
“Probably better for me than the burger and onion rings I had for lunch.”
Her lips twitch. “Probably.”
“So, what do you think? Wanna give it a try?” I ask.
“Yeah. I guess a little bourbon marinade isn’t gonna hurt me.”
That makes me chuckle. “I think you’re safe.”
I flag down the waiter. “We’ll take two of the salmon. Medium on both.”
She doesn’t argue.
