Page 44 of Challenged By You
“These are the perfect gift, Jonas. Especially from you.” She steps into my space and brushes her lips across my cheek.
My head swims at the simple contact that begins our date perfectly. I inhale the scent of roses and jasmine. I almost miss the baby powder, but tonight isn’t about Annie and Chris. Well, except for what’s in my other hand. “This for the kids,” I tell her as I place the brown grocery bag in her arms. “Well, Elle too, I guess,” I tack on.
“What did you…” Then Trina’s face softens as she peeks inside. “Jonas. You didn’t have to get them sundaes.”
“Technically, I got them the makings for sundaes. This way, Elle can determine how much they eat. Then again, I wasn’t sure how well an individual sundae would hold up. Why am I suddenly nervous?”
“Why does it make me feel better to know you are?” Her lips curve as she turns into the kitchen to put the fixings on the counter and to pop the ice cream in the freezer.
“Because—” I’m about to answer, when she bends down to fiddle with the strap of her sandal. “We need to go,” I say abruptly.
“We do? Do we have a reservation?”
“Yes. No. Yes.”
Confusion mars her lovely features. She steps closer and all coherent thought falls from my brain except, “You make my heart skip abeet; you’re so beautiful,” I blurt out.
Trina freezes where she is, just out of reach. Her lips part in surprise. “Really?”
Because I’m studying everything about her so intently, I catch the flicker of her pulse at the base of her neck. “Yes. Maybe it was the chocolate conditioner you used last night, but you look delicious.”
Stepping into my space, she splays her hands on my chest. As she tips her head back, her curtain of hair falls down her back. “Then let’s get out of here before Elle can’t keep Annie and Chris contained any longer.”
Twisting to the side, I hold out my arm. Trina precedes me, making me quiver inside when I see what that dress does to the back side of her. She nabs a small purse and calls out goodbyes before turning to me. “I’m ready.”
“So am I.” My words cause her eyes to flare.
We exit the apartment, Trina does her normal lockup, and we make our way to the elevator. “So, where are you taking me for the evening, Mr. Rice? A man of your refined tastes, I must say, it’s been on my mind.”
Mysteriously, I smile as I guide her down the street where I paid for metered parking. “You’ll see.”
* * *
“I still can’t believewe ate there.” I’m fairly certain Trina’s been in a catatonic state since we walked up to the tiny red building at the corner of East 114th Street. She stops walking to grab the lapels of my coat. “Their meatball is in my stomach,” she shrieks as she shakes me slightly.
“I would have thought you would have been more impressed with the dessert selection.” I’m thoroughly amused.
“And their seafood salad.” Her voice gets dreamy.
“Don’t forget the chicken,” I remind her gravely.
“How could you forget the chicken? It was perfection.” Trina steps back, and her lip trembles. “What just happened?”
I frown. “I’m confused. We only had dinner at…”
“I know where we had dinner! You have to promise to sell a kidney from each of your descendants to get the opportunity to eat there. There’s no ‘just’ about it, Jonas. How? No,” she interrupts as I begin to answer. “The better question is why? Why me? Why go through all that trouble to take me?”
“Maybe because like the ‘King of Cool’ sang tonight—you keep me spinning.” I yank Trina to me before she can protest. “I can’t give you an answer why I brought you here. I knew you’d love it on so many levels—as a woman and as a chef. I wanted to impress you, and maybe that was stupid because over and over you keep reminding me about spending money like the average New Yorker, but I couldn’t resist when one of my readers offered up their designated monthly table assignment. If it was too much, I…” My words are cut off by the soft press of her lips against mine.
“Forgive me?” Dumbly, I nod at her whispered words. I wish I could hit Pause so I could call Julian to ask what to do next. “It’s not every day a man hands you a dream on your first date just because you’re you.”
“Oh. That’s a good thing, right?”
“It is,” she assures me.
“Then maybe it wouldn’t earn me the Paxton Revenge if I were to ask you back to my place for an after-dinner drink?”
“The Paxton Revenge?” Her head tips to the side, sending her hair cascading over her bare shoulder.
