Page 56 of Ten Hammers

“Twenty-five if I speed a little.”

I drop the sledgehammer I’m holding with a resounding thud and take off running out the front door and across the street.

I don’t have anything to wear to Chez Margeaux.

“Excuse me, coming through, out of my way, girl in crisis,” I cry, pushing past Mason and Max who are sitting on the porch steps of the Hammer house. I squeeze between them, because pole vaulting over their shoulders wouldn’t be within my physical capabilities, even if I had a pole.

Shit shit shit.

Where’s Goldie when I need her? Ugh, and Sam and her magical powder puff?

I race up to my room, fling open the door, and flick on the lights. I suck in a sharp breath, my eyes immediately filling with tears.

My feet are rooted to the spot even though I want to run to the bed and pick up the dress that’s been carefully laid out across the duvet and hold it up to myself and spin around with it like a six year old who has just been given her first fairy princess costume.

The steps I do take, finally, are small. Timid.

It’s probably the most gorgeous dress I’ve ever seen, a soft, floaty wrap dress in deep blue, adorned with glittering sequins.

There’s a piece of paper laying on top of it. A note. I pick it up.

I know you don’t usually wear dresses, but I hope you’ll make an exception this time. I’ll pick you up at 5:30. ~ Gav

Gavin Hammer bought me a dress.

The lump in my throat is immense. I want to sit down on the edge of the bed and cry from the emotion filling me all the way through.

But then I remember I don’t have even a second to waste.

I get ready as quickly as possible, and when I’m done, I somehow manage to feel like a sensuous goddess. The dress clings to all the right places, the sequins catching the light with every step, highlighting every one of my curves. The flared sleeves add elegance but the plunging neckline adds pure sex appeal. Gavin is going to lose his mind. Hell, I almost lose my own mind when I see my cleavage.

The girls look fabulous.

When I descend the stairs, hoots, hollers, and wolf-whistles fill the house in a sudden burst. My cheeks warm, but the way my boys are all staring at me, adoration and lust radiating off them all, has me engulfed by flames.

Gavin’s eyes are shining, full of appreciation as he pulls me into his arms, drops a soft kiss on my lips.

“You’re stunning,” he says, his voice so husky he has to clear his throat. It’s impossible to keep restraining myself from dragging him up the stairs to my room and stripping his suit straight off him.

As if he can read my thoughts, he takes my arm. “Let’s go, Pooh Bear.” And then he adds, low in my ear, making me shiver, “I promise we’ll play later.”

The rain doesn’t make its presence known until we’re nearly at the restaurant. The day has been clear, the sun blasting at our backs all day, but now ominous clouds have gathered, releasing a steady drizzle that soon turns into a relentless downpour.

We arrive at Chez Margeaux, and a valet takes over, his umbrella large enough to keep me fully dry, thankfully. Despite the storm raging outside, Chez Margeaux envelopes us in warm, golden light, which spills from delicate chandeliers overhead. The enticing scent of fresh herbs and rich sauces wafts around us.

“It’s incredible,” I say, wishing I could give him a kiss to thank him right now.

Instead, we follow the hostess (Maria) to our table. The soft hum of hushed conversations mingles with a clinking of silverware on fine china, and a cascading waterfall wall at the back of the room, but no one makes a fuss over Gav as we pass.

“Here you go,” Maria says. “Your server tonight is Henri, and he will be here to take your drinks order shortly. Bon appétit!”

The moment we sit, Gavin reaches across the table and takes my hands in his. “Let’s leave all the work stuff behind for now and focus on only us tonight.”

I nod, and a smile tugs at the corner of my lips.

As we wait for our food, we dunk bread in herbed oil and balsamic vinegar, and share stories from our school days, laughing and getting to know each other all over again. The best of friends for all our lives, but now he’s telling me secrets, about all the times he wished he could have acted on his feelings for me. He even confesses that he got his first piercing because he wanted to make sure every time I looked at him, he knew I was seeing him, never, ever mistaking him for Gunnar.

As we savor each spoonful of our French Onion Soup, I’m sure that I have never had such a warming and delicious night out before, and I don’t want our date to end. By the time we’re done with our plates of Coq au Vin, I almost dread going back to the house, where we will surely be accosted by the others. Not maliciously, but all of our true alone time will come to an end, nonetheless.

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