Page 5 of One Night Collision

“Just the way you like it,” I quip back, earning another laugh.

She leans against the doorframe, a smile playing on her lips. "I’ve gotta start getting ready, then. If I’m going to figure out what evening casual means, it’ll take some time."

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be here by seven, unless you wanna tell me where you live?” I step back, giving her a mock salute. "Looking forward to it."

"You can pick me up here," she confirms, not yet wanting to give me the address to her place. Can't say I blame her.

As I walk back to my truck, I feel her eyes staring into me, even after I drive away. The afternoon stretches on, filled with anticipation, and I realize that this—sharing these moments, planning these nights—is something I've been missing.

I spend the rest of the day tying up loose ends, ensuring that everything is perfect for tonight. Time seems to move at its own pace, each minute a reminder of the evening to come. By the time seven rolls around, I’m at the flower shop again, this time nervous as fuck and ready to take her out.

When she steps out, wearing a dress that flows with her movements, I can’t help but be awestruck. It hugs her in all the right places.

“Maggie,” I say, offering her my arm, trying not to look as interested as I am. “You look stunning.”

Her cheeks pink, and there's a spark of mischief in her eyes, as well as a little bit of interest. "And you clean up pretty well, too."

As we walk down to my truck together, I know tonight could mean more than dinner. I've never been the type of guy who really wanted to impress a woman right off the bat, but there's something about this woman that makes me want to do all the shit I've never done before.

Chapter

Four

MAGGIE

I’m not too familiar with Lexington. While I was married to Calvin, he didn’t like me coming into the city alone. But he didn’t want to bring me and he wasn’t exactly the sort to encourage friendships. He thought everyone in and around Bellehaven was beneath him—and by extension, me. When Damien pulls his truck into the long drive of what appears to be an antebellum mansion, I know this is not the kind of place I would normally go. Because I can’t afford it. Because I’d gotten used to avoiding the nicer places back home because that could mean running into my ex. Still, this place is gorgeous.

He pulls up under a black awning, and the valet rushes over to open my door for me before walking around and taking the keys from Damien. The Merrick Inn is swanky, but not in that fussy, overdone way. It’s a kind of place that screams old money.

“You weren’t kidding when you told me to dress up,” I tell him as he ushers me up the steps, his hand hovering at the small of my back. Why the hell is it so hot when a man does that?

“It’s definitely not the place for jorts and flip-flops,” he says with a grin. “The space itself isn’t casual, but I promise you that it’s much more laid back inside than you might think. There’slive music, great cocktails, and the best damn fried chicken you’ll ever eat.”

“I’m not much for cocktails, but you had me at fried chicken,” I tell him. And then it hits me that I’m actively flirting with him. Not because he dealt with the situation with my landlord and literally fixed that whole hot, weeks-long mess in less time than it takes me to do a load of laundry. I’m flirting with him because he’s hot, because despite our first meeting, he’s charming in that self-assured, cocky country boy kind of way. And maybe that’s it. Because fancy truck and nice suits aside, he still seems like a country boy. “You grew up in Bellehaven, right?”

The hostess greets him warmly as we walk in, grabs a couple of menus, and ushers us back to a large room full of tables. There’s a small stage set up in the corner with acoustic musicians setting up to play for the night.

Once we’re seated with our menus and our drink order placed, he finally answers my question. “Born and raised in Bellehaven. My parents still live there—they’ve got a farm just outside of town. I like to go out there and play at it every once in a while. Get my hands dirty just to remember how much I don’t like it. I’m better suited to the courtroom than the cow pasture.”

I laugh at that. “I cannot see you in a cow pasture. Not for the life of me.”

“I’ve got some stories to tell about cow pastures. That’s where we used to party back in the day,” he tells me. “I’ve been in lots of them. Just not to work.”

—

I’m staring at the last piece of chicken on my plate, literally at war with myself over whether or not I should risk making myself ill to eat it. It’s so good I can’t stand to let it go to waste, but at the same time, I’m painfully full. “It should be a crime to walk away from chicken that good… I’d pack it up and take it home, but heating it up in a microwave would be a sacrilege."

He reaches over and picks up the chicken leg from my plate. “I’ll take one for the team.”

I can’t even be mad about it. “How was your prime rib?”

“Excellent… as always. I know you said you weren’t big on cocktails. Is there a reason for that?”

“I just don’t drink much. I never really had a taste for it. I do like a hard cider once in a blue moon, but that’s about it,” I answer.

“Good. Because I’m not quite ready for this night to end just yet… How do you feel about a dive bar with cheap pool tables and a jukebox?”

“A real jukebox?” I ask. In all honesty, given what his office looks like and where he brought me for dinner, I’m a little curious about how he defines “dive.”

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