Page 97 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“You ready?” he asks.
“I am.”
His fingers skim the small of my back as we descend the porch steps. When he opens the car door for me, I make sure to brush against him as I climb inside. I hear his breathing shift and I hide my smile. Two can play this game.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he accelerates down the street.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Is the surprise in Brown Oaks?”
“Coopers Hill.”
Coopers Hill is two towns over. My curiosity is piqued. “Any other hints?”
“Nope.”
I let out a huffy breath. “I’m not very good with surprises.”
“I never would have guessed,” he says in an amused voice.
“Hey, I’m getting better.” My gaze takes in the clean interior of his car, no food wrappers or other trash lying around. “You know, this is a novelty for me.”
“What is?”
“A car ride without the pressure to playI Spy.”
His chest rumbles with laughter. We fall into conversation about my work and his travels. It’s easy to talk to him, but with no Lisset to distract us, the silence doesn’t feel as comfortable as our conversation. The awareness so often simmering between us feels even more intense in the close confines of the car. Tonight, my body feels responsive and my mind still. No whisperings from past ghosts.
I turn my head on my seat to study him. He drives with cool confidence, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. I imagine those hands on my bare skin, his fingers tangled in my hair. I catch a hint of his cologne and a flash of warmth curls low in my belly. He flicks a glance at me, a smile shaping his lips. What would it be like to kiss him? How would he taste?
Gideon is not immune to the tension either. Every time I cross my legs, his hands tighten on the steering wheel. I decide to conduct an experiment. I stretch in my seat, arching my back, and out of the corner of my eye I glimpse his entire body go rigid.
Oh, the two of us are playing with fire tonight.
Thirty minutes later, we arrive in Coopers Hill. I straighten in my seat, eager to find out what Gideon has in mind for our first date. My guess is an upscale restaurant. Possibly French.
When he turns into the parking lot of a large red-brick building, I catch a glimpse of the sign outside.The Unique Food Museum.
“Is this where you’re taking me?”
“Yes.”
I break into a delighted grin. Food in all its forms fascinates me and from the sign alone, the museum promises to be a real treat to a foodie like me. “I haven’t heard of this place before.”
He looks pleased at my reaction. “I believe it just opened. Fortunately, it closes late on weekends. I thought after we tour the museum we could have dinner together.”
I touch his forearm, charmed by the degree of thought and ingenuity he’s clearly put into our date. “That sounds like a lovely plan.”
We climb out of the car and make our way to the glass-fronted entrance.
“How did you hear of this place?” I ask.
“Someone told me about it,” he replies, a little mysteriously.
“You’re not going to tell me who?” I tease.
‘Not right now, no.”
