Page 41 of Wall

I return to the bedroom, ignoring the outfit I’d laid out on the bed, a conservative black button up shirt and gray pants. Job interview clothes. I pull out a sweater in dusty- rose that’s cut a little too tight and my second favorite jeans. They’re worn with a hole or two, but they do magical things for my butt.

I check myself again in the full-length mirror. You can see all my curves. I suck them in and let ‘em out. Then, I draw my shoulders back. John’s gonna stare at my boobs all night long.

My lips curve up as I tug on snow boots and go wait in the living room. I’m ready two hours early. Well, crap.

There’s a small hole in the wrist of my sweater. Maybe I should change. Maybe it’s a touch too clingy. I get up, and the doorbell rings.

Who could it be? It’s five o’clock on a Saturday. I’m not expecting any packages.

I go to the door and stick an eye to the peephole.

And there’s John, hands jammed in his thick Carhartt jacket, his breath visible in the air. He’s stamping snow off his boots.

Why does he have snow on his boots? The walk and porch are shoveled.

And why’s he here so early? Is he canceling? Maybe something came up, and he’s come to just drop off the ring.

That’s okay. I’d be fine.

I steel myself and open the door. He smiles, wide and blinding.

“Oh, good, you’re ready. We can beat the rush.”

I realize my jaw has dropped open, and I snap it shut. John looks amazing. One hundred percent my kind of man. He’s clean-shaven, his hair is neatly trimmed, and he smells faintly like woodsmoke.

I search for something to say. “Why’s there snow on your boots?”

“Went out back before I knocked. Checked that dining room window and the window over the sink. Made sure they were locked tight.”

“You were checking up on me?”

“Yup.” John grins again. “You gonna get a jacket? Or are you not hungry yet?”

There’s no way I can eat with these butterflies beating around in my belly, but I don’t think I can handle sitting with him in the house, thinking about last night in the bathroom, blushing red as a tomato.

“One second.” I grab my coat, purse, and keys. John waits on the porch.

I lock up, and then I look up at him. His lips are still curved.

“You got the ring?”

“Yup.”

“No one got hurt, did they?”

“It turned out all right.” John walks me to his truck, opens the door, and hands me up to the running board. “I’ll give you the ring after.”

“Are you holding it for collateral? I’ll go to dinner with you. I said I would.” I settle in, click the buckle. The cab smells like him. Plus a hint of gasoline.

“You’re in my ride now. You’re goin’ where I take you.”

It’s silly, but my lower belly tightens, and a throb starts between my legs. “To Broyce’s Bar and Grille?”

“Wherever I want, woman.” He mugs a mean face. “Yeah. Broyce’s. Unless you changed your mind. We could always drive up to Pyle.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to spend an hour in the car to get three shrimp and two pieces of cucumber artfully arranged on a scoop of rice.”

“Phew.” John playfully wipes his brow. “I’m relieved your tastes haven’t changed.”

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