Page 12 of Dear John

He wouldn’t see it that way.

“We’re starting over,” I smiled. “Let’s just remember that and…try to let the past go.”

But he didn’t look so convinced. “I know I broke something between us. I swear to you, I thought I was protecting you—that it would all be over and you’d never have to deal with the senator’s bullshit.”

I remembered what he was like. He was charming and suave, but a snake underneath it all. I understood why Kavanaugh didn’t want me near him, and why he tried so hard to hide it from me. The problem was his fake fiancée. I couldn’t forget about her quite so easily.

I squeezed his hand and tried to appear happy, but something inside me wasn’t working quite right. Maybe it was just the stress of everything that happened. Between my husband trying to kill me and all the bullshit with the senator…I just needed time to adjust.

“How about I take you out for a nice dinner tonight?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll get away. You’ve been cooped up in this house too long.”

I cocked my head at him, smiling as I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Are you checking up on me?”

He huffed out an uncomfortable laugh. “Maybe more than is respectable.”

“Do you watch the cameras in my rooms?” I asked, suddenly feeling just a little uneasy with the idea that he would see me at my worst.

“No, I only check the sensors.” Then a grin twisted his lips. “Did you want me to look at the cameras?”

I hid my unease with a laugh, pretending it was all in good fun. “So, dinner?”

He leaned in to kiss me, then stopped. “You know, this is really bad, but I think this is our first date.”

He was right. We’d had plenty of sex and spent a lot of time together, but we hadn’t gone out on an actual date. “Then I guess I’d better get dressed.”

He smacked my ass and watched me head upstairs.

Two hours later, I was sitting across from him at an Italian restaurant. With a glass of red wine swirling in my hand, I studied him, watching how he slouched back in his chair. His black suit paired with a red button-down shirt was gorgeous, but it was the way he wore it so confidently that made me think of all the things I wanted to do to him when we got home.

And worse, the smirk on his face told me he knew everything I was thinking.

“So, if this was really a first date in the sense that we didn’t really know each other, I suppose I would ask you something about if you like Italian food.”

I smiled at him, willing to play along. “And if you didn’t already know from our childhoods that Italian is my favorite, I would gush about how much I love it.”

“And then I’d ask what your favorite food is.”

“I might tell you it was lasagna?—”

“Which we both know is a lie,” he chuckled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “You’ve always preferred to eat bruschetta instead of a full meal.”

My lips twitched at how well he knew me. But there were so many things about me that had changed over the years. “Since you already know so much about me, how about I tell you something that’s different than you remember?”

His eyes seemed to drag over my body as if he was remembering all the ways my body had changed since we were kids. I tossed my napkin at him, hitting him in the face.

“That’s not what I meant!”

He laughed, folding up my napkin before handing it back to me. “Maybe it’s not, but you definitely don’t look the same as when you were fifteen.”

“I would hope not or I would be wondering why you were so attracted to me.”

“Alright,” he sighed. “That’s it. You’ve officially ruined it. I can’t possibly hit on you when you’ve now put the image of fifteen-year-old girls in my head.”

The waiter happened to stop at just that moment, his eyes widening at Kavanaugh’s words. I choked back a laugh at the horror on his face, slapping my hand over my mouth.

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