Page 45 of Cluelessly Yours

As he moves on to pull my coat off my shoulders, so do I. I won’t make a big deal of this, and I won’t shortchange myself the experience of a man showinggenuine interest just because there’s another one who has burrowed himself inside my brain and who just so happens to be good with my kids.

I clear my throat and smile up at him as he tucks my coat over one of the spare chairs and takes his seat across from me. “You look great too. Honestly, though, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look bad.”

He winks at me. “How about some wine?” He gestures toward the bottle of red on the table.

The mere sight of alcohol is a relief to my slightly frazzled nerves. I’m trying so hard to be confident, but I can’t seem to evict the nerves completely. You’d think after a few dates, I would finally be settled in, But a decade, I suppose, is a long time to be out of the game.

“Yes, please.”

He pours me a glass, and I don’t waste any time taking a hearty sip. It burns a little because of my overzealousness.

“Good?”

“Mm-hmm. Very good.” More than half of the bottle is already gone with just our two glasses, and it makes me start to wonder just how late I was running.

“Did I keep you waiting long? I thought I was on time tonight, but I truly don’t think I even understand the concept anymore.”

“Oh no,” he refutes with a magnanimous wave of his hand. “I got here a little early and figured I’d get our table while I waited for you to arrive.”

I smile. That makes sense. He probably had a glass or two while he was sitting here by himself. I’m sure with a job as serious as his, he needs to decompress from time to time too.

“Did I mention that you look absolutely beautiful tonight?” He reaches out to place his hand over mine. “Because you really do, Sammy.”

“Yes.” A giggle jumps from my throat. “But feel free to shower me with as many compliments as you like.”

“Well, then I must say how witty you also are.” He smiles again, and just like that, we ease into a friendly banter that makes me hopeful.

Hopeful that I’m where I’m supposed to be.

Hopeful that tonight will be a good night.

Hopeful that the dream of someone else—of finding someone to share my life with one day—won’t be a shriveled-up memory ten years from now.

Hopeful that I won’t find myself longing after the missed shots I should have taken with Noah Philips or Gavin Evans or anyone else.

“Thank you for dinner. Tonight was really fun,” I say as Gavin places his hand at the small of my back and guides me out of the restaurant.

When I say it was a good time, I mean it.

Gavin was charming and funny, and the conversation felt easier than it has ever been between us. At least on my end, I finally found some flow. We laughed and flirted and teased each other about the temperatures of our steaks—his rare and mine well-done—and I felt more like myself than I have in a long time.

Instead of worrying over the boys or feeling completely inept at dating or drowning myself in thoughts of relationships with unavailable men, I felt normal.

Like a woman who, even though she’s a single mom, can have a personal life too.

“It goes without saying that I enjoyed it too,” Gavin comments as he holds open the door for me to walk outside. “Any time spent with you is treasured.”

Sometimes, I can’t decide if he’s tossing lines my way or if he’s just really good at delivering compliments, but for tonight’s purposes, I’m not going to worry about it.

I laugh instead, patting a hand to his chest in thanks. Unexpectedly, he grips my hips with both hands and pulls me closer to him.

My heart rate spikes uneasily. The pressure of his fingertips is faintly unnerving.

We’re on the sidewalk, right in the middle of a crowded public setting, but with the way Gavin stares deep into my eyes, his gaze flitting to my lips, I feel like we’re alone.

Tucked there, in a crucial, delicate moment, my mind goes to the one place it shouldn’t—Noah.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Gavin says, his voice a throaty whisper, just before pressing his mouth against mine. His lips are firmer than I imagined they’d be, even though his aggression is soft and slow. His hands migrate up my back and over my shoulders and find their way into the locks of my hair, and the kiss turns heated. At least, on his end.

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