Page 10 of We Can Forever

It’s like that for the rest of the two-block walk to Get Stuffed. It seems everyone in town has heard about Michael renovating the firehouse kitchen. Everyone but me, that is.

Michael is kind to all of them, but underneath his soft voice and smile I can sense the tension. I don’t know whether anyone else can see it, but he’s eager to finish each conversation.

And I would really like my date to myself.

“People are really curious about what you’re doing,” I comment as we finally reach the pizza place.

He sighs. “That’s one way to put it. I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. Don’t be.”

He holds his arm outstretched toward the door. “Shall we?”

It’s such a romantic, formal gesture for such a casual setting, that I have to laugh.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing. I just… I like that we did this. I was nervous.”

He drops his arm. “We haven’t even started dinner yet.”

My face warms. Oh no. Did I just put my foot in my mouth? Do I look too eager?

“I—” I try to recover, but Michael is going on.

“But I’m glad, too.” His bright hazel eyes drink me in.

A giddiness wells in my chest, and I accept his offer to hold the door open for me. As we walk into the restaurant, I feel the kind of excitement that I haven’t had since I decided to open Knit Happens.

This date isn’t at all what I expected, but maybe it’s exactly what I need.

Chapter Four

MICHAEL

Hannah walks in front of me as we make our way through Get Stuffed and to a table in the back, and I take the opportunity to smile as big as I feel like.

I had my reservations about tonight, but the moment I set my eyes on her, I was floored. I’m not even sure what I noticed first—her big blue eyes, the freckles splashed across her button nose, or her pink, full lips. They’re all perfect.

And I feel like one very lucky man.

“Hey, Michael.” Emmy Jane, one of the waitresses, approaches us before we’ve even taken a seat.

“Hi, Emmy Jane. How are you?”

She ignores the question and splits a smile between Hannah and me. “It’s so good to have you both in. We have some appetizers here, on the house.”

She unloads her tray, placing jalapeño poppers, breadsticks, and the house salad on the table. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Oh.” Hannah looks up at her. “Thank you. I doubt we can eat all this…”

“Don’t worry about it. Christine just wanted to make sure you have whatever you want for your special night. On the house,” she repeats.

Through the kitchen window, Christine, whose husband volunteers part time at the fire station, waves at me. I wave back, embarrassed that we have about the same amount of privacy in here as we did on the street.

“I’ll take water,” I tell Emmy Jane.

“Same,” Hannah says, and Emmy Jane bustles off with a nod.

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