Page 28 of Butter My Biscuit

There’s a pair of high-heeled leather boots, slacks that make my ass look fabulous, and a dark green baggy sweater that swoops down low. I close the door, drop the towel, and slide them on. Then, I look in the mirror and smile.

A moment later, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I say, and Harrison opens the door.

“Daaaaaaamn, girl.” His eyes slide up and down my body, and he gives me a mischievous grin. “You look amazin’.”

“Only because of you. I’ve never paired these things together before.”

He meets my eyes. “Oh, I know. And I’m happy to take full credit.”

I laugh. “Keep it up, and you’ll become my personal stylist too.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst job I’ve ever had. I muck shit often.” His smile doesn’t falter. “Are ya almost ready? We gotta get goin’ if we’re gonna make our dinner reservation.”

“Yep.” I grab my phone and then follow him to the truck.

The sun has already set, and the temperatures have dropped from the cold front that moved in yesterday, but it’s enjoyable.

On the way to Baymont Island, we pass tons of buildings decorated with Christmas lights. Holiday music plays low in the background, and we talk about nothing. I’m glad for the mindless conversation though, and I’m happy to be with Harrison instead of being alone. And I’ve always had a good time with him, so I know tonight will be fun. It’s what I need.

When we pull into the restaurant, Harrison turns to me. “Maybe we can watch the moonrise tonight. It begins at midnight. Will come up over the horizon.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

I guess that means Stephanie is amaybe.

We get out of the truck and walk into the old historic building that was previously a speakeasy during Prohibition. This restaurant was featured on TV, and there are nicely framed pictures of Guy Fieri in the waiting area.

The lights are low, and a pianist is playing in the corner. The high ceiling is tiled with decorative gold tin, and a gigantic crystal chandelier hangs from above.

I chew on the corner of my lip as Harrison gives his name, then returns to me.

“You had a reservation?”

He smiles. “I’ve had this planned since you asked me to join you.”

“With me?”

“Yes.” No hesitation.

Before I can ask any questions, the host interrupts us with two leather-bound menus and directs us to follow her. We’re sat by the windows so we can watch the tourists walk the street. We also have the perfect view of the beach. The candlelight casts a warm glow between Harrison and me, and I look around, amazed that I’m here with him.

“This place is like …”

“A movie?” Harrison laughs.

“Yes! How’d you know?”

“I saw the pictures online. And watched some videos on YouTube. Thought you’d like to visit.”

“It’s incredible,” I say as a bottle of rosé is delivered.

A man with a cloth over his arm pours our glasses and then places the wine in the bucket of ice.

“What brand is this?” I ask, taking a sip.

“Gaslighter. Taylor Swift’s favorite.”

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