Page 45 of Rushing Into Love

“Yes.”

She shouted over her shoulder. “Bye, Brooks! Don’t wait up!,” then led the way out the door, into the chilly night air. She shivered and I moved closer to her, putting my hand on the small of her back. It wanted to migrate lower, but I forced it to stay PG this close to her sister’s watchful eye. Opening the door for her, I helped her into the SUV.

“I made us reservations for the only fine-ish dining Peachtree Grove has to offer. I hope that’s okay.”

She smiled. “Sounds good.”

I pulled through the circular drive and headed back out to Main Street, cutting through the center of town. A few minutes later, I pulled into a lot behind the shops and parked the car.

“Il Tavolais really good, I think you’ll like it,” I said, holding the car door open for her. Taking her hand, we walked through the lot, spilling out onto the sidewalk that ran up and down the town square.

It was dark by now, and old-fashioned street lights lit the path. Glittering white lights lined the storefront awnings, making Main Street sparkle in the darkness.

Music and ambient voices spilled out ofIl Tavolaas I held the door for Bree. Warmth and the smell of freshly baked garlic bread rushed over us as soon as we entered.

“Reservation for McCauliffe,” I told the hostess, who just happened to be one of my high school classmates, Emma Grace.

“Hey, Ryder. Your table’s ready, please follow me.” Emma Grace expertly weaved her way through the dim room, past tables of people eating and drinking and being merry. She led us to a booth in the far back corner. She motioned to the table and I nodded, thanking her.

“Tell your mama I say hi,” said Emma Grace, then she was gone.

Bree slid into the booth and I sat opposite her. Candles flickered on the table and white string lights twinkled around the room, giving the restaurant a very romantic vibe. I took a sip of ice water, trying to get rid of the cotton mouth that had taken hold of me in the car.

“Ryder, this is lovely,” Bree said, glancing around the restaurant. “It smells delicious, too.” She picked up her menu, scanning the options. “What’s your favorite?”

“I’m partial to the spaghetti Bolognese myself,” I said. “But they also have a great ribeye, and the lasagna is a family recipe. They guard it with their life. Seriously, only the matriarch knows it.”

She laughed and I began to relax, my muscles loosening as I leaned in towards her, clasped her hand. Her eyes met mine and my breath hitched. She was so beautiful, her eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

The waiter interrupted the moment. “Could I offer either of you anything to drink this evening?” He handed me a wine list and I scanned it.

“What would you recommend?” I asked, hoping he’d bail me out here.

“White or red, sir?”

“White?” I guessed, looking to Bree for confirmation.

“Yes, a Chardonnay would be great,” she said, chiming into the discussion.

“I’d go with Bin 25 then,” the waiter said, pointing to the wine in question on the menu.

“Sounds good,” I said, handing him the list.

“How’s work going?” I asked, finding Bree’s hand again.

“It’s good. I spent the past week answering personal questions about Pax, cheating, and the tabloid scandal on my blog.” She grimaced. “But I did manage to complete a new podcast,Dating and Social Media,and I’ll be posting that on Monday. Hopefully everyone will forget about the pictures once I put the new podcast up.”

“I’m sure they will,” I said, a pang of guilt ripping through me.It was partially my fault all of this happened.You’re the famous one with a crazy ex.

Shoving that thought out of my mind, I said, “How are your clients holding up without you? Any plans to go back to LA soon?” I held my breath, waiting for her answer.

“Not right now,” she said, shaking her head. “Things would be way too crazy for me there. I’ve counseled via webcam this week and it’s worked out fine. Overall, my clients were understanding of the situation, so it’s working for now.”

My stomach instantly unclenched as warm relief rushed through my body. She wasn’t leaving anytime soon; there was no rush, we had time.

“That’s great.” I smiled, caressing her hand in slow circles with my thumb. Her skin was soft and smooth, like silk.

“Your wine.” The waiter reappeared, uncorked the wine, proffered a sample to me. I nodded and he poured us each a glass.

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