Page 13 of Blind Date With a Cop
I’m glad the walk to the car is short, because every time I look at her, my knees get weak.
She slides into the passenger’s seat, and I swear the interior of my Jeep lights up like someone flicked on a hundred Christmas lights. Every glance I steal while driving confirms what I already know—this woman has me in over my head, and I don’t want out.
When we pull up to Top’s Steakhouse, Cassie’s brows lift. “Blake… this place is impossible to get into on a Friday night.”
I smile, handing the keys off to the valet. “Lucky for us, the owner owed me a favor.”
“A favor?”
I rest my hand on the small of her back, the soft scent of her perfume drawing me closer. “About a month ago, someone tried to rob the owner, Chuck Allen, at gunpoint while he was making a deposit at the bank.”
“That’s awful!”
“I know,” I hold the door open for her. “Thankfully, I happened to be across the street getting a coffee. I sneaked up behind the gunman, took him down, saved Chuck from being robbed, and now I get to give my girl steak.”
Cassie leans up, pressing a soft kiss to my mouth. “Thank you.”
Beaming, we weave through the crowd waiting to be seated. Bobby Vinton singing “Blue Velvet” drifts from the speakers, and the corners of my mouth tug up. Chuck has outdone himself.
We stop in front of the hostess stand, “Hi, reservation for Blake Donovan.”
“Welcome to Top’s. Follow me.”
We follow her through the packed dining area to a private room in the back. Candles flicker on a table draped in crisp white linen. Turquoise cloth napkins fashioned into swans sit proudly on white china trimmed with gold.
“Mr. Allen hopes this will be to your liking.”
“Be to our liking?” Cassie’s gaze darts around the room, “This is amazing!”
“Good,” the hostess nods. “Mr. Allen has requested the chef to prepare a special menu for you tonight. There is a bottle of Cristal on ice on the table. Truffles and crab cakes will be served momentarily. Enjoy your dinner.”
“Blake…” she whispers, “This is going to cost a fortune.”
“Babe,” I wrap my arm around her waist, walking her to the table. “Chuck refuses to take one red cent from me.”
I pull her chair out; she sits and looks up at me. “I would like to paint something for him as a thank you.”
“Babe, he’d love that.”
“Good.”
I pour champagne, offering her a glass. “To us.” I clink my glass to hers.
A flush spreads over her cheeks, followed by a sweet smile, “To us.”
We sip Cristal, nibble on appetizers, then enjoy a delicious dinner of perfectly seared filet mignon, buttery potatoes, and asparagus that melts in my mouth. But it isn’t the food I’msavoring—it’s her. The way she lifts her glass, her musical laughter, the heat in her gaze when our eyes hold.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this happy.
The song changes. Percy Sledge’sWhen a Man Loves a Womanbegins to play.
I stand, holding out my hand. “Dance with me.”
“I’d like that,” she slides her hand into mine.
I pull her into my arms as Percy sings about a man giving up everything for the woman he loves, and I know that for her—I’d do anything.
Chapter Eleven
