Page 90 of Trust My Bodyguard

“This place is incredible,” she laughs, wiping a snowflake off her nose.

“It is,” I say coolly, but I’m bubbling over in my head. I’m wrapping my arms around her and telling her it’s all for her, asking her to soak it in.

“...I wonder what the inside would look like.” Her words bring me back to the moment.

I snap my head out of those sappy thoughts as our feet crunch snow on our way into the grand interiors of the restaurant.

Rustic wood with green potted plants, and growers in the beams overhead, give the feeling of being outside in the summer. Which is a stark contrast to the white outdoors. Warmth phases out the chill from the cold night. A blazing fireplace in the corner of the space pops and crackles as flames swallow up the wood to illuminate the area in warm orange light.

Ivy pulls off her coat. I fight for control not to gawk at every inch she reveals. Looking away, I take off my jacket. Snowflakes rain down as I hang both on a coat hanger by the door.

We claim a table by the large windows, which offer a panoramic view of the mountains. The low lighting in the restaurant allows the moonlit expanse to be properly appreciated. While Ivy’s caught up in the sights, I watch the last wisps of snow clinging to her skin evaporate.

“Amazing,” she mutters.

I stare at her. I’ve been here many times, but her awe makes it feel like the first time—like I’m seeing it with new eyes.

That’s the way it’s been since we met. Everything looks different. Better.

A waiter offers us our menus and a complimentary bottle of wine to start the evening.

“I can see why you came back here,” Ivy says. “Pine Peaks has a special allure. Like it’s untouched by the rest of the world.”

My gaze is fixed onher. I’m certainly grateful I came here so I could meet her. The mouthy, sassy woman that has somehow worked her way into my head and refused to get out.

“I’ve been everywhere. At least,” I shrug, “everywhere my service in the military took me. Nowhere seems half as peaceful as here does. I don’t know why.”

She blinks languidly, taking me in. What does she see? “Sure it’s not because your mom is close by?”

I chuckle. “Yeah. No.”

“Not a mama’s boy?”

“I’m offended that you think that.”

“I’m offended that you don’t want to own up to what you are.”

“If I’m a mama’s boy, then the phrase loses all meaning. I’m not the most affectionate or doting.”

“I know.”

Something about the way she says it makes my ears click. “What do you mean you know?”

She shrugs and picks up her glass by the stem, twirling the amber liquid. “It means what it means.”

Suddenly, I have the urge to prove I’m not that. “I can be very sweet.”

She giggles. “Don’t say sweet again. Doesn’t suit your voice or your face.”

“Ouch.”

“You should see yourself. All hard lines, no smiles.” She puffs her chest and places her hands on her hips, then in a deeper voice, she says, “I’m sweet.” She sinks back to her usual position. “Bleh. No.”

A smile dances on my lips. “I’ll change your mind.”

“I’d like to see you try.” She smirks.

“I promise.”

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