“They’re still married, right?”
“They’re married, but I never thought they were happy.” Lexi’s lashes lowered to the flickering flame between them. “I can’t prove it, but I don’t think they even sleep in the same bed—since I was born.”
The sadness came back to her voice. Stephen cleared his throat. “What do you think the secret is to a good marriage?”
“You got me.” Lexi sighed into her coffee cup and blew before taking a sip. “My two best friends are married and have been for years. They keep it going, I guess, by being brutally honest with each other.”
Under the lighting, her face lit up as she talked about her friends. “Brutally?”
“Yes, but I’d rather keep a scorecard for most guys. They have to rank high in the nineties in order to keep my interest.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Stephen’s mouth. “Do I have one?”
“Bless your heart, I started a card on you the minute you walked through the doors of Grits and Glam Gowns.”
Stephen closed his eyes and groaned. “I can only imagine what my scorecard looks like.”
“Don’t worry. Your marks are at least over fifty.” The corners of her eyes squinted as she bit the inside of her lips.
Stephen feigned a heart attack and clutched his chest. “I come from a long line of annoying cousins. I can dish brutal honesty and take it.”
“All right, then, try being brutally honest with me.”
Stephen leaned forward, as well. “I want nothing more than to clear off this table and thoroughly kiss you again.”
* * *
Once upon a time, Lexi would have taken the dare, but right now she had too much at stake. Resisting Stephen’s seduction tested her willpower but at least he did not let her rejection spoil the moment. A flash of lightning struck the center of her diaphragm at his lazy yet dangerous smile.
After paying for dinner, Stephen came around to Lexi’s side of the table to help her out of her chair. His hands caressed her shoulders, then fell to his side, where the natural thing to do was cup her hand in his. Instead of heading upstairs, he suggested they take a stroll and walk off some of their dinner. She did not mind one bit. Thank God for Spanx, or she’d be bursting at the seams right now.
Their footsteps fell in sync with one another. His strong, long legs had to slow down so she could keep up with him along River Street. Careful not to take a misstep on the cobblestones, Lexi leaned in close to Stephen for security. The evening’s cool breeze off the Savannah River played the perfect wingman; Stephen stretched his arm around her shoulder and they cozied up together.
“These streets remind me of Villa San Juan,” she mentioned.
“They do,” he agreed. “You should come with me this summer when I bring the kids. I will show you the real city, rather than the tourists’ side.”
The idea of spending more time with him left her dizzy. The last relationship
she was in involved a spoon and Ben & Jerry’s—the ice cream. She missed dressing up and going out with someone. Turned out his life seemed pretty much parallel to hers; he didn’t date much because of work and even spent some nights in his office.
“When was the last time you visited?”
Stephen shared with her the story of how his brother and sister-in-law perished in a car accident, and the debate as to where the kids needed to live. Her heart ached at the sadness in his voice.
“Nate and I didn’t want the kids to grow up entitled like our cousins. Besides, they don’t speak a lick of Spanish and we did not want them judged.”
“Do you?”
“¡Claro!”
“Well—” she grinned “—my Spanish isn’t up to par. My French is better.”
They stopped walking and leaned against the black rail above the river. The lamppost behind them illuminated his handsome face. The breeze blew her hair in front of her eyes, and when Stephen reached over to brush the strands back she inhaled deeply, struggling with the idea of kissing him. She needed to focus. Maybe his eyes? No, she’d get lost in the dark orbs. She settled on his mouth, surrounded by his beard, then solely on his lips. No, she told herself. She couldn’t get involved with a parent—or a guardian—not when she needed to rebuild her reputation.
“French is a beautiful language, especially when being spoken by a beautiful woman,” he said quietly. “Tell me, what is going on with your hair?”
Absentmindedly her fingers reached the ends of her tresses. “Is it flying all over the place?”