Page 93 of Against All Odds

“Like a motherfucking charm.” I took a picture of her letter to me and sent it to Wyatt. “I’m framing this one.”

“Good luck, brother.”

CHAPTER 32

sable

He wrote me thirty letters. Count with me. One, two, three…thirty!

I looked forward to them every day; I loved getting them and reading them. Finally, when he asked me out, my love for him won out over my fear, and I saidyes.

Now, as I smoothed my dress for the third time since we sat down, fear was back in action.

For our date, he took me to Bosq, thehighesthigh-end restaurant in Aspen. With its sleek lines, dark woods, and beautifully plated dishes, it looked like it belonged in a magazine, as did the people who ate there—polished women in designer dresses, men in tailored suits, and a smattering of the Aspen elite scattered across the room like perfectly placed chess pieces.

Heath fit in like a dream. He was in a dark suit that made him look fucking delicious. He was a silver fox with soft silver streaks in his dark hair, and those deep, deepblue eyes. He stood out in a room. You gravitated toward him without him even trying.

“Have you been here before?” Heath asked, picking up the one-page tasting menu, his attention on me.

“No. It’s not…ah…within my budget.”

Jack and I had talked about coming here for an anniversary, but money was tight for the longest time when he started his business,andI couldn’t afford this on my salary or…even now.

“I thought you might like it,” he said softly. “If you don’t, we can?—”

“I’ve always wanted to come here.” I licked my lips and looked down at my hands that rested on my lap.

“What is it I’m feeling coming off of you, Bambi?”

I shrugged but didn’t look at him.

“Do you feel that you’re too good for this place?”

“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes, now lookingathim.

“So, it’s the other way around? You think you’re not good enough for this restaurant?”

I wrinkled my nose but shut the hell up.

He winked at me. “Bambi, you say stuff like that again, we’re gonna have words.”

“Are we?” I challenged.

“Oh, yeah.”

I knew what he was doing. He was making me comfortable by drawing me into a conversation that was meant to push my buttons, and he succeeded.

“I may order the most expensive thing on the menu,” I teased, flapping the menu dramatically. There was only one chef’s tasting option, and it was absurdly expensive.

“I’d be honored,” he said without missing a beat.

I smiled despite myself.

“Maybe if we date again, I’d be doing it for your money,” I quipped, testing him.

“Whatever your reasons, I’ll be happy,” he said softly, tipping my chin up with his hand, his palm warm against my cheek. His eyes were full of love—steady, unwavering—and I found myself getting lost in them. “And, Bambi, we are on a date. There’s no ‘maybe’about us dating.”

I raised an eyebrow, feigning doubt. “Is that so?”

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