Tequila Rose (Tequila Rose 1)

Robert looks like he’s going to say something, his lips parted and his brow furrowed above his questioning gaze, but he doesn’t have a chance. The bell ringing above the door interrupts him and in steps the topic of conversation himself.

Wearing khakis and a light blue polo that actually matches my skirt quite nicely, I know Brody dressed up. Brown dress shoes and all. He’s still got that blue collar feel to him with the top of his hair a bit messy and rough stubble lining his strong jaw. Thump, thump, my heart races in my chest and it’s far too hot all over the place. I can’t escape the rise in temperature.

Oh my Lord. Please. Please, help me to keep on breathing. Both of these men in this gallery suddenly makes it feel oh so small. It’s suffocating.

“Hey Magnolia,” Brody greets me with a wide and charming smile. He’s so unsuspecting when he glances at Robert, offering him a smile. I can tell he’s about to walk over to where we’re standing and strike up a conversation.

Oh, heck no. No, no, no. Rushing around the side of the counter, I practically sprint out to meet him and hook my arm around his.

“I’m all set,” I say evenly although I don’t know how. I’ve never been graceful. I’ve never been … ooh, what’s the word … calm under pressure … hmm, my grandmother used to call it something but all I can think right now is that I need to get the two of them the hell away from each other as quickly as possible.

“Have fun, lovebirds,” Renee calls out and I catch Robert’s glare at her comment as I pull a questioning Brody to the door.

Robert doesn’t say goodbye and I don’t either, but he doesn’t let me leave without one more remark. “You look good, Mags.” Robert’s statement doesn’t go unnoticed by Brody, who merely lifts his left brow as my cheeks flame. It’s not until the door closes behind us that I can breathe. Even then, it’s staggered.

“He’s right, Mags,” Brody says and then rests his splayed hand at the small of my back for only a second to lean closer to me and whisper in my ear, “You look beautiful.”

Oh, my heart. My poor, dumb, ready-to-be-torn-to-shreds heart.

Brody

There wasn’t a single second I was nervous back then. The memories of the bar years ago filter in and out as I wait for Magnolia to come back to the table. I know damn well, I wasn’t ever nervous.

Maybe when I thought she was leaving me … maybe then there was an ounce of it. But as I sit here, staring between the lit candles and the double doors to the restrooms, the silver fork in my hand tapping restlessly against the white tablecloth, I’m nervous as fuck.

When the hell did I become this guy?

Running my hand down the back of my neck, I note that it’s hotter in here than it should be, or at least it feels like it is and that’s not helping any.

Morgan’s smells like melted butter and the perfect steak seasoning. Given the classic décor I saw online, I thought Magnolia was right and this place would make for the perfect first date. The pictures on my phone didn’t do it justice, though. Maybe this is too much, too classy.

I don’t know. Something just feels off.

Not trusting myself to speak since something seems to be lodged in the back of my throat, when she reenters the room and glances around, searching for where the waiter sat us, I lift a hand in the air, waiting for her doe eyes to meet mine. When they do, it all seems to calm.

Everything is normal again. Everything’s fine. Why? Because she smiles, soft and sweet and only takes her gaze away from mine to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and pretend like she’s not blushing.

My pulse slows and it’s all right. She’s here and whatever the hell came over me simmers down.

“You really do look beautiful tonight,” I say and I’m proud that it comes out as smoothly as it sounded in my head. With an asymmetric grin on my face, Magnolia lifts her gaze to mine, taking her seat in the booth across from me. I silently thank whoever’s in charge up there for not giving us chairs. I would have pulled it out for her if we were … if I wasn’t stuck right where I am, watching her practically glide in. “I’m not just trying to make you blush,” I add and she huffs a small laugh, shaking her head and looking away for just a moment.

“Compliments will get you nowhere,” she replies with a smile and a playfulness I remember. But then her eyes drop to the water goblet, where her fingers rest on the stem and her simper drops too.