Page 27 of Needing You

“Thank you for waiting,” Jill, the hostess, said with a sheepish tilt to her ruby-red lips. “I’m not sure what happened, but it appears there’s been a mistake with your reservation.”

Brad clenched his jaw and nodded once. “I see.”

I watched my date carefully out of the corner of my eye, taking in his posture and tone of voice. You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat the help. It was usually subtle, but as a waitress in a cute—yet totally unambitious—diner, it was obvious to me.

It probably also helped that I’d grown up with maids and a butler and a red-faced old lady for a cook. I’d gotten plenty of practice watching them be slighted by people who thought they were better than them simply because of their job title or bank account. Even as a child, I could always tell which of my parents’ polite friends were actually trash beneath their shiny facade.

“If you’d like, you’re welcome to sit at the bar and have a cocktail or two while you wait for a table to open up,” Jill offered, sweeping her hand toward the bar area at the edge of the crowded dining room. “I’ll be sure to seat you at the next available one.”

I looked up at Brad, surprised to find that he was looking at me with a decidedly unbothered and friendly expression. “What do you think?”

“I could go for a cocktail,” I replied, warmed by the ease of his responding shrug.

Smiling up at Jill, he said, “That would be great, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” she replied.

Brad held out a hand to gesture for me to go first, and as we walked through Granite Springs’ fanciest Italian restaurant—yes, also theonlyItalian restaurant—I found myself with high hopes for this date. Many other men would have puffed out their chests and made that hostess feel like crap for daring to overlook his reservation. The fact that Brad hadn’t seemed the least bit put-out was a serious check in the plus column for me.

After we were seated at the bar and served, Brad dove right in, asking questions and appearing to genuinely care about my answers. I could tell he was sweet and attentive, and he had an easygoing way about him that felt like it would fit well with my own temperament.

But then as we’d talked, he wanted to know about where I was from—which I’d been vague about. He’d asked about work—which I’d also been vague about. And right about the time we were nearing the end of our glasses, he asked about the son April had told him I had. You guessed it, I’d been vague about Jackson, too. After all, this was a date. No doubt Brad was trying to figure out if he’d have a jealous ex or a wife-beating baby daddy to worry about.

Was dating this exhausting for women who didn’t have children? Did they feel the need to skirt around little questions that seemed designed to fetter out as many red flags as possible? Maybe they did. I wouldn’t know. It wasn’t like I’d gone on many dinner dates before that fateful party where I’d met Will. And since then? Well, let’s just say I had a very important little guy at home, and I hadn’t let myself want for more.

“So, is he in the picture then?” Brad asked, sipping his fresh cocktail with feigned disinterest. But judging by the slight tremor in his hand, he wasmorethan a little interested. I supposed I would be too, if I were a guy dating a woman with a teenage son.

I licked my lips, scarcely believing what I was about to say. “He is, actually. He and Jackson are… close.”

Closer than they’ve ever been before, anyway.

“That’s great. I had a terrible relationship with my old man, so it’s good that he’s close with his dad even though you two aren’t together.”

“Yes, I’m glad for him,” I managed, keeping my voice as even as possible.

I wanted to be annoyed by his questioning, but how could I? Brad was being perfectly sweet, and he had no idea what a mess this whole situation had been. And it wasn’t like this was his opener or anything. We’d been sitting here long enough to get a second round of drinks, and we’d already covered a few of the basics.

So, unless I wanted to give up on dating entirely, I should probably suck it up and get used to my date being curious about the man I’d had a child with. It was only natural to wonder what role Will would play in a potential future between us.

Besides, Brad was every bit as attractive as April had promised he would be. He had smooth, tan skin, a chiseled jaw, and blond hair with streaks of gold. It was styled like you’d expect from a financial planner—neat, polished. But it looked long and soft enough that running your fingers through it would be really satisfying. And he’d probably be even hotter if he was a little more… mussed up.

Startled at how Will’s unruly, windblown hair appeared in my mind’s eye, I shifted away from analyzing Brad’s looks. It didn’t matter that Will had that sexy bad boy vibe, and it was unnecessary to compare the two men. In fact, if I were going to compare, I’d say I wouldpreferto be with someone who was as clean-cut and wholesome as Brad.

Not only that, but Brad had a stable job and sounded like he lived a safe, normal life. Judging by what I’d heard so far anyway. He also sounded like he was every bit as well-off as April had told me. Not that that really mattered, but hell, it didn’t hurt. I was too old and too weary to pretend otherwise. I didn’t need a man to pay my bills, but at least if he were wealthy, I’d know he could pay for his own.

Not that Will couldn’t.

Damn that man.Get out of my head, Will Walker!

“How long have you been in banking?” I asked, setting my martini glass on a round coaster with the Antonelli’s logo.

“Twelve years at my current bank. Before that, I worked my way up the ranks at a major player in New York,” he replied. My smile faltered for only a second, but he caught it. “What? Not a fan of the Big Apple?”

I chuckled, probably a little too loudly. “Oh, well, maybe I’m more of a small-town girl.”

“Can I let you in on a little secret?” he asked, leaning closer—close enough that I felt his breath on my ear. “I’m not a fan of big cities either.”

As he leaned back, I forced a smile and dipped my lashes slightly. His “little secret” was hardly worth leaning close to purr into my ear, and unfortunately for him—and for me too, I guessed—it hadn’t had the desired effect of turning me on. That was what he’d been trying to do, right?

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