Page 125 of Best In Class
“Sounds magical,” I murmur.
“Yeah. It will be when you’re there.”
If I could fall any more in love with Dom, I would. “You getting maudlin on me, Calder?”
“I’m a man in love, Moonbeam, we’re a maudlin bunch.”
He hands over the keys of the Taycan to the valet outside the Kimpton Brice Hotel.
It’s a Savanah establishment with a classic brick façade,and is a perfect blend of historic preservation and urban sophistication.
Inside, it’s lush and modern—cozy meets edgy. All whitewashed walls, velvet banquettes, brass fixtures, and bold geometric art. It’s not trying too hard, because it doesn’t need to.
Dom walks beside me, his hand on the small of my back. Subtle but proprietary.
He’s in a navy jacket, no tie, white shirt open at the collar, and that lazy confidence that makes me ache in inconvenient places.
Since we were going somewhere fancy, I exchanged my jeans and T-shirt for a soft gray, raw silk dress. It hugs my body without being constricting, and feels lush against my skin.
We go to the hostess desk at Pacci, the restaurant tucked inside the hotel. It serves Tuscan cuisine and has a very good wine list, according to Dom.
This is a far cry from drinking sweet iced tea, and eating Miss Abigail’s fried chicken. Dom has come a long way, and I’m very proud of him. What he has achieved takes the kind of grit not everyone has.
We wait behind another couple who are talking to the hostess.
“This is fancy! Very first date kind of place,” I remark.
“We’re not on a first date, Moonbeam.”
“What are we on?” I challenge.
“A second-chance renaissance.”
Because it’s the perfect answer, I kiss him.
The hostess seats us at a corner table on the garden patio, beneath a canopy of old oak, and strings of lights that twinkle like fireflies.
The air smells like rosemary and grilled peaches.
The hush of the fountain nearby softens the world into something private.
Dom browses the wine list. “Old country or domestic?” he asks.
“Old country.”
He nods as he flips the pages. “French or Italian?”
“This is a Tuscan restaurant, so…Italian?”
I watch him as he reads through, suddenly feeling incredibly safe about our future.
This is how it’ll be. Spending time together. Making decisions, small and big, as a team.
“Tuscany or Piedmont?Orsomething else?” He looks up at me.
I frown. “Tuscan. I think that would be most appropriate.”
“Brunello or Chianti.”
