“Yep.” Lifting a glass, he holds it toward me. “Mimosa?”
“I’ll just have the prosecco.” Mimosas aren’t my favorite.
I watch as he loosens the wire cage on the bottle and tosses it in the basket. Next he starts twisting it carefully.
Turning the glass in my hand, I can’t help doing the math. “Three dates in three days? Isn’t this a bit much, deputy?”
He frowns, using a bit more force on the cork. “I’d planned to do this yesterday evening, but you had company.”
“And Betty Pepper had other plans for us.” The cork finally releases with a loud pop. “Yay!” I clap. A cork popping is always a thrill.
“Only good things today.”
Holding out my glass, I decide to agree. “Only good things.” I take a sip, and it’s cool and crisp, with a light pear taste. “That’s nice.”
He pours a glass for himself and gives mine a clink. “This can be our second date, since last night was sort of a bust.”
My chin drops, and I fiddle with the stem of my flute. “You were very sweet to Coco, winning all those animals for her.”
“She’s a sweet little girl.” I look up and he’s studying me intently, as always.
I take another sip of bubbly wine. “And you’re a closet bad boy.”
He exhales a laugh, and takes a sip as well. I notice he doesn’t contradict me. Picking up a fork, I take a small bite of frittata. A savory burst of cheese, tomatoes, onions, and meat makes me groan.
“It’s so good! Where did you learn to cook?”
His smile widens, and he reaches out to wipe the side of my cheek. I touch his hand. “When I was traveling, I discovered eggs are about the easiest thing to cook. Once you have a few good recipes, you can make just about anything with them.”
Nodding, I take another bite. “I want to travel. I’m saving up for a trip around the world.”
He takes another drink, eyebrows rising. “Where do you want to go?”
“Everywhere. Australia, Thailand, Egypt, Asia…”
“I’ve been to some of those places. Maybe we could go together.”
“Now you want us to travel together? You don’t think that’s moving too fast?”
“No.” His voice is low, and his eyes are leveled on mine. My stomach squeezes, my heart beats faster. “Once I find something I want to do, I don’t like to wait.”
Shifting on the sand, I watch as he pulls out another container. Dark red watermelon quarters are in it, and I hold out my hand, doing grabby fingers. He chuckles, passing one to me.
Slugging my wine, I put the glass in the sand and take a big bite. “Oh!” Juice runs down my chin and onto my shirt. “Hand me a napkin, quick!”
He digs through the basket fast. “Shit, I didn’t pack any.”
“Chad!” I hop up, my face covered in watermelon juice. “Can I use the towel?”
“Use this.” He stands beside me and pulls the tee over his head, putting his muscular torso on full display.
I forget my messy face when I see the lines cutting up his chest, the eight-pack disappearing into his low-slung, loose jeans. His arms are roped with muscles, and a chunky sta
inless watch is on his wrist.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, and he grins stepping closer to me. One hand is on my waist and he touches the edge of the shirt to my chin.
“Good?”