Page 70 of Single-Minded
I know just what he means. The traffic is light and we arrive at my house around fifteen minutes later. Daniel parks his car in my driveway and walks me to my front door. I pull my keys out of my purse and stick the house key in the lock. I debate with myself as I turn the key—should I invite Daniel in or not? Asking him in for a cup of coffee or a nightcap would be the polite thing to do, but I’m worried that if I let him past my front door that things will move too fast between us. And unlike Nate, I really care for Daniel. I don’t want to let my outright lust get the best of me before I have a chance to get to know him better.
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I say.
“Thank you for having dinner with me tonight,” he says, as he leans forward ever so slowly. His lips are an inch or so from mine, and every cell in my body wants him to kiss me. I lean forward just a bit, bringing my lips closer to his. We stand like that until the agony of anticipation is too powerful to overcome. He slides his arm around my waist and leans in to kiss me, his body pressing deliciously against mine. I let myself melt into his embrace, my arms around his neck.
We stand out there for a long, long time, kissing against the door. I drink in every detail of the moment, the scent of his skin, his soft yet insistent mouth, the length of his eyelashes when he closes his eyes to kiss me, the firmness of his back and arms. I want to invite him in, but I’m certain of what will happen if I do. My body is as ready as it’s ever been, but my brain is warning me to go slowly, take my time, get to know him better before I leave his clothes in shreds at the bottom of my bed.
“Invite me in,” he whispers softly in my ear. His kisses trail from my ear down my neck, leaving a wake of shivers and goose bumps in their path. My flesh is on fire, and it would be so easy to say yes. I want to say yes.
“It’s too… soon,” I say breathlessly, “I need to slow things down.”
He smiles and his blue eyes dance in the porch light. He leans forward and kisses me gently on my lips, slowly moving to my cheek and kissing me again, and then nuzzling my neck. “We’ll go as slow as you want,cher.”
He steps back, kissing me once more, softly, on the cheek. “Until tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow,” I say wistfully, wondering if I’m out of my mind for letting this delicious, gorgeous man go off into the night. I sigh, step inside my front door, and watch him leave through the open door.
He steps back from the front porch and walks to his car.
“Sweet dreams,” he says, just before he opens his car door.
“Sweet dreams,” I reply.
He grins. “I’m certain of that.”
***
Wistfully, I watch Daniel leave.
And the spilt second he pulls out of my driveway, I’m on the phone with Darcy.
“Nate is a painter.”
“Hunky tool-belt Nate?” she asks. “Wait… I thought he was a drywaller.”
“No, I mean he paints portraits.”
There’s a long, long pause on the other end of the line.
“What kind of portraits?” she asks.
“Nudes,” I say.
“Oh shit.”
58
I feel this incredible new buzz of sexual tension every time I’m around Daniel that I never experienced before with Michael. I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know it could be different, that itshouldbe different. Maybe, like me, Michael didn’t know either, until he did.
Everything is fun with Daniel, not just our nights out together, which have been incredible—but the mundane stuff too, like the two hours we spent rearranging tables for the setup in the bar. The space is unusual, so it took a few tries. (Okay, like eighteen.) But Daniel was so patient, and he kept me laughing while he moved them all around, back and forth, until the arrangement was perfect.
Designing the environment for Boudreaux is a challenge, because what Daniel wants it to be is intangible in many ways. How I dress a restaurant signals its customers what to wear, how long to stay, how much their check will be, and what kind of experience to expect. But what Daniel wants Boudreaux to communicate is an extension of himself. Elegant but comfortable, polite, Southern, hospitable, creative, romantic, fun. The Boudreaux legacy. Those values are challenging to convey in the selection of table linens, the size and grouping of tables, the angles of the chair backs and depth of the seat cushions, the flow of foot and staff traffic from dock to deck. They are, however, embodied in Daniel, in who he is as a person and a chef. I’ve decided the best way to give Boudreaux the feel of Daniel Boudreaux himself is to create a neutral backdrop for his warmth and creativity, using soft, flowing whites and colors of the sea. Mixing the traditional with the new, and pulling every bit of history and charm out of that boat that he loves so much, from the polished mahogany bar to the stunning arched leaded-glass windows to the collection of photographs of Daniel’s beloved family of cooks and grand Louisiana eateries.
It feels like we’ve spent every minute together this week, working on Boudreaux all day, and then hanging out together, laughing and relaxing into the night. It’s scary to me, how fast I’m falling for him. But there’s something about him that makes me feel safe, something that feels like we’ve known each other forever.
I’m just afraid to trust it.
I mean, I felt that way about Michael and look what happened.
