Page 51 of The Last Date

She nodded quickly. “I can take it.”

Kneeling beside her so that Glen could sit on the crate, Sasha stared over at me instead of the needle.

“Well, isn’t this an exciting start to the night,” I smiled as she flinched at the first stitch.

“I’m sorry if I’ve ruined everything,” she said.

“Not in the slightest. We’re not going dancing tonight. Just standing and sitting activities.”

“You were so sweet with my mom,” she said. Then she jumped, her fingernails digging into my palm.

“Hey, maybe I scored some points with her,” I said.

“Maybe.” Sasha winced again.

“That’s number three,” Glen said, finishing up. He had the area covered and taped down in seconds. “Rest, don’t get it soaking wet for a few days, take a painkiller if you need to, and if the area itches or feels hot, get to a doctor immediately.”

“Okay. Thank you so much,” Sasha smiled at him.

I shook Glen’s hand. “I really appreciate it.”

“This is what I’m here for, Chef. Well, that and the spectacular plating.” He grinned at Sasha. “My steady hands are very convenient some days.”

He took off, as I packed up the rest of the kit, then ushered Sasha back into the car.

“I hope I didn’t kill the mood,” she said, looking over at me as I pulled out onto the street.

“Not at all.” I waited for a red light to reach out and slide my fingers up the back of her neck to watch her shiver. “But I need to know the truth. Do you feel okay to go out to dinner? If your leg hurts, or you’re just rattled, I could take you to my place and we’ll order in. It’s no problem at all, and we could go out next week.”

Her smile was pure sunshine. “Now that it’s sealed and covered, it doesn’t hurt at all. I’m fine.”

“Okay. Then we’re off to the Plaid Door.’

“The what?”

“You’ll see.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

* Sasha *

My stomach was in knots for having created so much drama on our first date, that I assumed had been intended to be mellow. But as always, Oakley took care of everything.

Although my leg still ached a little, I figured that a glass of wine would dull the pain. Then I suddenly wondered if I shouldn’t drink in front of him.

We arrived at a large, old-fashioned house that didn’t look at all like a restaurant, except that the entry was very brightly lit, with a valet standing in front of the bright blue plaid door. Oakley ran around to help me out, tossing his keys to the young man.

Oakley was always handsome, but tonight he looked stunning in a crisp black suit with a black shirt and tie, and polished fancy shoes. He looked like a billionaire playboy who should be on a yacht surrounded by women.

When we walked in, the hostess immediately began making a fuss about Oakley. His arm tightened around me as he told me with a murmur to relax, that this was normal. It was exciting being with someone whom everyone seemed to know. Like a movie star.

Sneaking glances around the room as we were seated at a large table on a riser near the front window, I loved that the energy was very quiet and posh, yet there were quirky little details, such as far too many chandeliers, and not one of them matched.

“This is one of the great old-school supper clubs,” Oakley said, pulling his chair around so that he was sitting beside me instead of across the table.

As soon as the server returned with the wine list, and to tell us the specials, they automatically moved his place setting.

Oakley ordered us the beef and broccoli balls as an appetizer, then turned to me. “Do you know if you’re having chicken or beef? Or do you even care about matching your wine to your meal?”

---