Magical Midlife Dating (Leveling Up 2)

“Here.” He reached into his back pocket and dragged out a gold money clip pinching a dull green wad. “How much do you need?”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it. I need my phone, too, so he can just bring the whole lot.”

“I’ll call, but just in case this date ends as quickly as the last one…” He slipped the folded pack of bills out as he glanced at the restaurant. “This place is pretty pricey.” He leafed a few fives and twenties out of the way before sliding out a hundred-dollar bill, and then another. He handed them over.

“No, it’s—”

“Jess, take it. If you don’t need it, great, no biggie, I’ll get it back from you. I’ll ask Niamh to drop off your clutch on her way into the bar. She has to be less embarrassing than that clown Mr. Tom—damn it. Earl.”

“Just give in.” I couldn’t help the giggles. “Just give in and call him Mr. Tom. You know you want to.”

“No,” he ground out, threatening a smile. He slipped the wad of cash back into his jeans, the material hugging his large package and muscular thighs. I didn’t know if he bought them tight to show off on purpose, but they did a great job of drawing the eyes.

“Right, but where am I going to put it…” I held the notes in my hand, looking down at my tight dress.

Austin’s eyes snagged on my bust.

“It’s not going to fit in there,” I said with a grin.

In the dim light, I just barely saw a flash of hunger in those deep blue eyes. “No, I guess not. Your shoe?”

I laughed, folded it, and threaded it into my bra. “Just kidding—there is always space for money.”

This time I was sure of it—hunger, wild and ferocious, moved within his gaze. My body warmed, then pounded, my core tightening in response.

He didn’t comment, nor did he drop his gaze.

“So,” I repeated in a strained whisper.

“I’ll see you”—he gritted his teeth, spared another glance for the restaurant, tense now, and stepped away again—“when I see you, I guess. Good luck.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask,” I called to his backside while admiring the view. The man must have been created in the mold of a Greek god. “What’s the status of those guys? Did you silently sort out the king of the hill?”

“Of course,” he said over his shoulder without stopping. “It’s always going to be me.”8The interior of the restaurant was fashionably elegant, with white linens, flickering candlelight, and red carnations in dainty glass vases. Most of the tables within were taken, couples or families dining quietly. A small bar sat off to my right—room enough for four people, but only one seat was taken, a younger guy with a black collared shirt and rimmed hat.

The memory of my father reminding my brother to take his hat off at the table kept my gaze rooted to him, and in a moment, the attention was obviously noticed. His shoulders tightened and he turned in his seat. But instead of looking around for the source of his creepy-crawlies, he looked directly at me.

I should’ve shifted my gaze—I was the rude one in this scenario, staring at a stranger for no reason—but I couldn’t. He had a fresh face that spoke of a guy in his early twenties, but something in his eyes felt…ancient. I couldn’t see their color, or really any details from this far away in a dimly lit restaurant, but they carried the ennui of someone who’d lived this life three times over and was just waiting around for something different to happen. An old soul, clearly, or maybe just a guy in a small town desperate to get out.

“Can I help you?”

I jumped, not having seen the hostess walk up. After giving my name, I glanced over at the guy again. He was back to looking at his phone, a sweating brown bottle waiting in front of him.

“Right this way,” the hostess said.

I held my breath as she led me into the back, to a table by the window where a man was already seated. He looked to be about my age, with a shaved head and a modest brown beard. His nose was long and straight, and his lips, partially hidden by the beard, were turned up in a large smile.

He stood when the hostess stopped by the table with a menu in hand.

“Hi. I’m Ron.” He held out a hand.

Thankful he hadn’t moved in for a hug, I offered him a relieved smile and shook hello. “I’m Jacinta. My friends call me Jessie.”

“Please, sit.” He gestured to my chair and sat, waiting for me to follow suit, and didn’t speak until the hostess strode away. “Do you live around here?”

“I do, yes. Just down the street, really.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve been to this town a million times for wine festivals and because I have some friends here. Which area?”