Page 151 of Never Stop
She chuckled. “Looking good, Mr. Crawford.” She patted my cheek and went to slide into the cab, but I stopped her by grabbing her wrist.
“No kiss, Mrs. Crawford?” She smirked and leaned in. Our lips met, and I savored the softness. “That’s better,” I pulled a single red rose that was sticking out of the back pocket of my jeans.
Brooke grinned as she took it. “Thank you.”
“I heard red roses mean love.”
She smirked. “I’ve heard that.” I swatted her butt, and she laughed before climbing into the truck.
Once we were on the road, Brooke asked, “So where are we going?”
I looked at her for a few beats and then back to the road. “Where do you think we’d wear cowboy boots?”
“Um…” She thought for a moment. “A rodeo?”
I laughed. “No, but close.”
“Bull riding?”
“Not sure that’s romantic.” I chuckled.
“Oh, so we’re on a date?”
“Yeah, babe. We’re on a date.”
“Then I guess we’re going to dinner?”
I nodded. “We are.”
“Where?”
“You’ll have to just wait and see.”
After driving for a while, I pulled onto a dirty road. She was quiet as she watched the trees and bushes pass. The moment she saw the red building with white trim come into view, she turned her head toward me.
“A barn?”
I nodded.
“We’re having dinner in a barn?”
“Well, there’s not animals in there. You’ll see.”
She laughed, and I pulled the truck in front of the giant sliding wood door. I hurried and got out, rounded the front and opened her door before she could.
“Dinner awaits.” I gestured for her to climb out. Once she had, I shut the door and grabbed her hand. We walked to through the open door. Candles were scattered throughout, their flicker the only light source.
“How did you do all this?” she asked, looking around the space.
“I have my ways.” I kissed the side of her head and then lead her to a table in the center. A bucket of champagne and another single rose sat on the table with place settings for two.
“It’s beautiful.”
I pulled her chair out for her, and she sat. After I sat in the chair in front of her, I poured us each a glass of the bubbly liquid.
“What’s the special occasion?” she asked.
My eyebrows arched. “Can’t a man take his wife to dinner?”
