Page 59 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

I laugh. “Slow down, Lee.” Then I extract my hand from my pocket, take a step closer to her, and take her fingers gently in mine. I rub my thumb over the back of her soft skin. “So, what you’re saying is, I’m free as a bird?”

“No.” She studies me from behind her glasses. “What I’m saying is, tonight you’re all mine.”

My lungs squeeze, and it takes a moment before I can talk after that kind of declaration. I lean down and press a soft kiss to her cheek. “Good,” I whisper in her ear before pulling back. Then I give a gentle tug on her hand. “Then let’s go find our table, shall we?”

She nods, color rising in her cheeks as she follows me through the crowded lobby to the restaurant. Here, it’s dark, lit only by candles on each table and another chandelier hanging over a small dance floor. Harry Connick Jr. croons over hidden speakers that get quieter as our hostess leads us to a booth for two in the back corner, nestled away from prying eyes. The white linen-covered table is set with fine china, silver cutlery, and black cloth napkins. Water goblets have already been filled, and wine glasses await the possibility of a drink to go with dinner.

Marilee sits and adjusts her dress, and I scooch in on the other side. Our thighs settle against each other, but neither of us moves apart. A young waitress in a white shirt and black tie brings us our menus, asking if we’d like to start off with any of their finest wines.

“We won’t be needing those glasses, thank you,” Marilee says before I have a chance to decline for myself.

“You can have some if you’d like.” I know she enjoys the occasional alcoholic beverage with her friends, and I don’t want my decision not to drink to affect her enjoyment of the evening.

She pats my knee. “That’s okay. I don’t need it.”

And that right there, folks, is why I love this woman. Because in that simple statement, she reveals her support. She doesn’t even understand my reasons for not drinking—I’ve never fully revealed to her just why I avoid it, except for the obvious reason of my father’s alcoholism—and yet still she supports me.

After perusing the menu, we both decide on steaks and a large side of mashed potatoes and asparagus to split.

Then the waitress leaves…and it’s just us again.

My throat’s suddenly parched and I take a drink of water. Then wait. Because this is her rodeo. Clearly, she arranged this dinner, going so far as to involve at least Chloe and Mitchell—and, knowing her, probably all of her friends.

But why?

Does she simply feel guilty about ignoring me this week? Surely she wouldn’t dress up like this only to let me down easy? Then again, we’ve gone out to dinner together a thousand times. Maybe not on Valentine’s Day, and maybe not in a different town where we dress up at a fancy hotel and?—

Aaaaand yeah. I’m spiraling.

So finally, I shift a bit in my seat so I can look at her and ask the question: “Lee, what’s going on?”

Just at the same time, she says, “Let’s dance, yeah?”

Blinking at her, I nod and follow her from the booth onto the dance floor, where there are several couples swaying in each other’s arms. I hold out my arms to welcome her into proper dance position, but she just shakes her head and places her hands on my chest, moving them up until they’re looped around my neck. “Hold me for real, Jay.”

“Yes, ma’am.” My hands slide down and around that silky dress to press into her back, pulling her as close as possible. The heels help to iron out the height difference between us, allowing my lips to rest against her forehead. Michael Bublé serenades us as we fall headfirst into the moment, into each other. I have never wanted anything more in my life than this, with her, a woman who doesn’t even know half of her value.

But I want to spend the rest of my life showing it to her, mining it from her depths and helping her to recognize the diamonds produced by all the pain she’s gone through.

“Jay?” Her tenuous voice touches the deepest parts of me, and I move back slightly to take her in, allowing myself the pleasure of rubbing a silken strand of her hair between my thumb and forefinger. She sighs and leans her head against my hand. “I thought maybe…if the invitation is still open, I could go with you to Mitchell’s site tomorrow.”

“Really?”

She gives a slight nod.

“I’d love nothing more than that.” I tilt her chin upward, bringing her lips oh so close to my own, which practically tremble with the need to kiss her. To make her mine for real. Our first and only kiss was done for Constance, for show.

But I want this one to be for us.

“Have I told you lately how utterly gorgeous you are, Marilee? How you wreck me completely in all the best ways?”

Her mouth opens slightly, like she can’t believe what I’m saying, and I swipe her bottom lip with my thumb. Then I press closer, centimeters from taking—from giving—what I’ve always wanted?—

“Well, look who it is.”

The voice stabs me in the throat, and I freeze. Marilee’s sharp intake of air tells me she recognizes the blast from the terrible past as well.

My hands flex on her waist, I step back… And there he is, the smug idiot himself.

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