“And yet, you’re running circles around me.”
He smiles. “I’m freaking out on the inside.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure.”
“I am!”
“Well, let some of it spill out, would you?” I retort. “Level the playing field a little.”
“Okay.” He nods, and a smirk consumes his lips as he taps one long index finger to his chin. “Let’s see… I, well, I changed my outfit three times before settling on this.”
“Really?” That’s at least a little embarrassing. I’d never expect a guy like him to do anything but fall into perfectly arranged clothes. And strangely, it does make me feel a bit better about myself.
He nods.
Hungry for more, I prod, “What else?”
His smile widens. “My daughter—she’s twelve—gave me all sorts of hell about my choice, even after all the effort.”
“Really?” I ask, surveying the shirt’s tight hold on his muscles. “I think you look fantastic.”
His eyebrows pop into an involuntary waggle, and I blush.
“Apparently, I have diarrhea of the mouth tonight.”
He smirks. “Better than actual diarrhea.”
“Oh my God.” I fight the urge to laugh and place my hand over my mouth.
“Too much?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“Stop being funny.” I glare at him, but also, I’m smiling. “I’m trying to be aloof here.”
“Why are you trying to be aloof on a first date?” he questions, eyebrows raised in curiosity and blue eyes shining. “Is that a thing? Have I been out of the game for too long?”
“It’s a me thing. Not a ‘game’ thing.”
“Why is it a you thing?”
“Because we’re in a fancy French restaurant, and I cackle like a hyena when I laugh. Classy ladies are reserved, respectful of other patrons. Not hyenas.”
He glances around the room in fake suspicion and leans closer to me, dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper. “So, where would we need to be to make you feel like you don’t need to be aloof?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper back. “Petco?”
“Let’s go, then.”
“What?” I blurt out. “Go where? To Petco?”
He nods and smiles, and my heart does a tiny little flutter in my chest.
Holy crap. I’m in big trouble.
“We haven’t even ordered yet,” I state. “Or eaten. And we’re just going to leave and go to Petco?”
He shrugs one casual shoulder. “Why not?”
“I don’t know…it just seems…”
“There aren’t any rules. Nothing says we have to stay where we start. We can go to Petco. Get some burgers or something somewhere.”
“We’re not going to Petco. That’s crazy,” I retort with wide eyes. “I just said Petco to be random. I don’t actually have a pet.”
“Why is it crazy? Sounds fun to me.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, my skin absolutely buzzing with anxiousness. I don’t even know how to handle such a spur-of-the-moment change in plans. My life is very routine. Planned. Succinct.
Other than the moments I have to make fast-paced medical decisions regarding my patients’ lives, I don’t do spontaneous or on the fly. I consider my choices painfully until all the joy is robbed out of them.
Isn’t that the way all adults are supposed to handle things?
Before I can get a bead on myself and the situation, Garrett is standing, dropping some money on the table for the time we occupied it, and holding out a hand to me.
I take it—I mean, I’m not a lunatic—and rise to my feet. When someone who looks like him holds out his hand for you and smiles, you take it. Period.
Quickly, he pulls me through the restaurant and past an openmouthed, confused hostess.
I almost offer an explanation over my shoulder as we near the exit door, but what in the hell would I say? Uh, sorry to leave dinner early, but we need to go to Petco even though neither of us has pets? So, yeah, I keep that crazy info to myself and simply follow Garrett’s determined lead out the door.
I run behind him as he breaks into a jog down the sidewalk. It’s all I can do to keep up with his long legs, even at almost five and a half feet tall—a respectable height for a woman.
The locks bleep on a Suburban that’s obviously his, and he helps me into the passenger seat with warm hands on my hips.
I don’t say anything—I can’t. I’m completely drugged out on the adrenaline of the wildest date I’ve ever been on. And I know that says something about me—that a spontaneous trip to Petco is a wild time—but it’s honestly the craziest thing I’ve ever done.
It isn’t until he shuts the door behind me, rounds the hood, and climbs in beside me that I realize a very important detail.
“Wait. What about my car? I drove here.”
He laughs as he turns on the engine, and I’m not sure if it’s because he also forgot, or if he thinks I’m silly.
“I’ll bring you back to it, I promise.”
I nod then, not wanting to delay the fun any longer, and he pulls away from the curb and out into traffic.
We pass my car on the street as we leave the block, and I give it one last glance of uncertainty.
I’m having fun, but a small part of me still feels all discombobulated. I’m just not used to it.
Which is…a little sad.
Listen to yourself, Lauren. You are literally nervous because you’re not used to having fun.
I think it’s about time I live a little.
Just let go, I coach myself. Do what feels right.
Not thinking for the first time tonight, I reach over and grab Garrett’s hand. He doesn’t balk at all, lacing his fingers together with mine.
They’re big—stretching the space between my own impressively—and unbelievably warm. It feels so good.
“So, you said you have a daughter. Is she your only child?”
He shakes his head, glancing over at me in the moonlight to try to get a read on me as he drives. I kind of like that he has to split his focus, though. It makes it a little bit easier to ask the real questions.
“No. She’s a twin. Fraternal. I also have a twelve-year-old son, Hayden.”
“Wow. Twins. Was that totally wild when they were babies?”
He smiles. “It was honestly so much fun. They fed off each other. The vibe, the playtime. I think Bethanny—my ex—was a little overwhelmed, which I can understand, but I had the time of my life.”
“And how are they now?”
“A handful,” he says with a genuine laugh. “Especially my daughter.”
Big, flapping wings scrape at the lining of my stomach as I try to get my butterflies under control. The way he talks about his kids makes him even more attractive, but I am also terrified. I mean, at my age, any guy I consider dating could be a single dad. It’s not like I’m fresh out of college at this point. But still, the idea of coming into a life that’s already halfway in progress—I guess I don’t know for sure how good at it I’d be.
“In what way? Is she wild?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all. She’s mature well beyond her years. Beyond my years. Beyond your grandma’s years. She’s too smart for any of our own good.”