Page 17 of Mixed Connection
“So ready.” So. Very. Ready.
He opens his car’s front seat passenger door wide, offering me his arm as I slide into the soft, camel-colored leather seats. Leaning into me, his lips are but a breath away. I release a small gasp at his proximity, looking into his eyes that hold a glimmer of the same excitement that has me giddy. Without realizing it, I must have leaned in closer to him. My gaze dips down to his mouth and I watch him pull his bottom lip with his teeth, his tongue running over it before he sucks in a breath. His presence is intoxicating. I don’t think I will ever get over how good this man smells. I’m so drawn into whatever this moment is I don’t realize what he’s doing until I hear the seatbelt click into place. He nods more to himself, before closing the door and getting in on the driver’s side.
Soft music plays in the background as we make our way to our destination, one I’m still not privy to, but my focus is more on the man sitting next to me than on where we are going. He wears a pair of olive green, tailored dress pants that taper just abovehis ankle with an off-white button-up shirt which is folded at the widest part of his biceps. A brown leather belt matches his laced-up dress boots, completing his outfit; and it takes every bit of effort not to take a peek at his face after I have been ogling him. Before my eyes take their chance, I watch as his hand strains against his lap, it’s not hard to imagine those hand necklaces I read so much about.
“So where are we heading?” I need to break this tension before I climb over the gear shifter, straight into his lap.
Turning his head toward me, his eyes peek over before returning back to the road. “There is this place, right outside of town, that I want to take you to, The Republic. Have you heard of it?”
Tucking my hair behind my ear to relieve a bit of nervous jitters, I ask, “How did you even get into that place with such short notice?” My surprise is more than evident.
The Republic isn’t a place people are able to get into within a week. He’d either have to have a connection or have made the reservation months in advance. His knowing smile is one that tells me he isn’t going to tell me, at least not yet, but if he wanted to impress me, it’s definitely working.
Allowing the music playing through the car speakers to take the lead, I go silent for a beat and let the content feeling fill me as my shoulders relax. I twist my hands in my dress, quite literally twiddling my thumbs as I peer at the town from the window, appreciating the beauty of the place I’ve grown up in and have gotten so used to—I tend to forget how special it is. I peek at him from under my lashes, wanting to enjoy the view of the man who has stolen my breath away, and I suddenly let out a gasp as an ornate building comes into view.
He pulls his SUV to the front of our destination. A valet attendant opens his door, then Jameson makes his way around the front of the vehicle. Opening my door, he extends his handand I intertwine my fingers with his as I step out. His hand is warmly wrapped around mine, and I can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. I welcome the delicious shivers trailing up my arms from the contact of his skin on mine.
Holding my hand, Jameson leads me up the steps to the entrance of the restaurant where I finally notice the twinkling lights along the trees that frame the doors. The Republic is beautiful. Tall, white columns, with vines wrapped around each one, welcome us. My eyes follow the vines to the ceiling composed of low-hanging lanterns from different points all over the restaurant. Making an effort to close my mouth, I listen to my heels clicking against the floor. Pale wood planks stained a cool gray are set in a chevron pattern—even the floor is stunning.
The body of water the restaurant is situated by allows for the perfect scene for a romantic dinner. The inside is lit with wall sconces that flicker with a faux flame, giving off a warm and intimate vibe that I really appreciate. Small candles flicker at the center of each table, all the lighting working together to create a space for everyone to feel as though they are in a world of their own.
“Mr. Bennette, it has been some time.” The hostess’ smile is bright as she welcomes us inside and steps behind her stand to grab a couple of menus. Everyone Jameson interacts with seems to be just as welcoming as he is. Her eyes drift to my hand locked in his before looking back up at me—her gaze is a warm hug and she ushers us into the dining area.
Jameson gives my hand a small squeeze as we follow her deep into the restaurant where the walls are made of glass overlooking the sun setting on the lake. It is an incredible sight and reminds me of a serene backdrop I’d see in a nature documentary. The grounds just outside the window appear untouched and ripples appear on the surface of the lake from what I assume are fish swimming to the surface, along with adeer making its way to the water’s edge to take a drink. The hostess leads us into a corner where we have ample privacy to enjoy our time together.
“Jenny, thank you,” Jameson says, before she departs with a gentle nod after letting us know our waiter will be with us shortly. Jameson pulls out my chair, allowing me to sit and get adjusted before taking his own seat.
“Spill it, Mr. Bennette,” I mock, shimmying in my seat with a matching, mischievous smirk.
“I think I kind of like you calling me by my last name, I may have to get used to that.” A low chuckle leaves him and he leans on to the table, my body hums in appreciation of him. “I helped the owner close on this location and we have been friends since.”
The waiter arrives and Jameson looks at me from across the table, “Do you trust me?” he asks, and I shrug my shoulders, feigning doubt.
“Hmm, well, that depends… but I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” I state, gazing up at him for a moment before my eyes return to the menu, smiling to myself at my playful indifference.
“Challenge accepted.” He requests a bottle of sweet red wine I’m not familiar with and asks the waiter to give us a few more moments to look over the menu.
“Tell me, how did you go about helping the owner get into what is now, The Republic? Who are you, Jameson Bennette?” I ask him, as I prop my elbow up on the table and rest my chin on my hand.
The waiter is back in no time, bringing the deep-red, almost purple wine, and pouring each of us a glass before taking our orders, and then quickly disappearing to wherever he came from. Picking up his glass, Jameson takes a heavy drink of his wine. My eyes follow the path of his tongue, swiping at the corner of his mouth. I do the same and my eyes widen as the flavors of ripe blackberry, plum, and strawberry burst on mytongue. “Wow, okay, you can order me wine any day of the week!” I exclaim, taking another sip from my glass.
“I’m really glad you like it, it’s one of my favorites here. Not many places have it, but any time I come to visit the owners, I make sure to order at least one glass.” He beams at my clear love for my new favorite wine. I make a mental note to search for it through my vendor list.
“Please continue…” I urge him on, wanting to know as much about him as he will share.
“The Republic, or rather the building it’s in now, just so happened to be a property I was looking into but it didn’t feel right, at least not for me and not in that moment. The current owners are friends of previous clients, they were looking to open a restaurant and I simply connected the investors of the property with them. It’s really done well here.” He wets his lips in thought and continues, “I would have never been in the position to introduce them had it not been for working with my best friend, who you already know” —he smirks, raising one eyebrow up—“we grew up together.”
“We’ve basically spent our entire lives together, from tots to university. His dad and grandfather worked on a lot of houses and I picked up a lot of renovation skills from spending the summers with him. I started flipping houses roughly six years ago, while Anders got everything in order for Crews Construction. We could have gone right into flipping houses but he was adamant about getting his general contractor’s license so he could not just work on the projects, but be in charge of them as well, not needing someone to be an overseer is a privilege we both enjoy. Once the business was ready and he realized how profitable flipping was, he asked me to come on as his partner. It was a no-brainer for me to agree.”
I huff a small laugh in disbelief. The man sitting in front of me right now can’t possibly be real. He has to be a dream I created inmy head. Everything about him seems to be what I truly want in a man. He’s quick-witted and smart, his drive alone in creating something for himself is incredibly sexy. I don’t think there has been a time where I laughed or smiled as much as I do with him, not to mention his confidence alone is sexy as hell. Jameson seems to be the kind of man who truly cares for those around him, he’s not hard on the eyes either. Who am I kidding? He is easily one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. From his wide shoulders and trim waist, it’s like I’m stuck in a movie from the eighties creating the perfect man, and if that’s the case, I’m never leaving. I could have never dreamed that I would be sitting across from Jameson Bennette, my first major crush. I thought this entire situation would feel weird, and obviously new—but in reality, it feels normal and comfortable, like we justclick.
His lips draw up in a crooked grin, tilting his head in my direction as if to tell me that it’s my turn to entertain him with who I am now. High school felt like yesterday. I would see him in the hallways, and on occasion, with my own friends. It’s not that I didn’t want to be friends with him, it’s just that somehow, our paths never had the chance to cross. But by the way he talks and looks at me I feel like he already knew who I was.
What in the Lifetime-movie is wrong with me right now?
High school was never a fun place for me, I was the fat girl, dealing with finding myself. Figuring out who I was, but without anyone to tell me that I was perfectly fine just the way I was. I’ve always had wide hips and a large chest which left me feeling hyper-sexualized my entire teen life, except I also felt incredibly withdrawn from it, trying my best to cover up a plus-size body I was learning to love. I was used to being spoken about, but not to. My body and my weight were picked apart or I was given back-handed compliments about how pretty my face was. A comment every fat girl has heard at least once in their lifetime, because how could they possibly consider complementing morethan my face. I felt like more of an object for onlookers than a teen girl trying to find her footing in a sea of hormones and growing responsibilities.
When I did date, during high school and college, I was never the first choice. Always coming in second best or not being a choice at all. Only being good enough for quick touches and anticlimactic thrusts which left me feeling ashamed for even wanting that kind of contact with someone.
