“That’s OK, pookie.” He gives me a wicked grin. “I can take it.”
After a couple of hours on the road, we make it to the city as the sun sets. Ryland directs me through the downtown traffic, and we park on a street full of fashionable boutiques and bars, spilling music and the sound of laughter out onto the street. He leads me to a restaurant in the middle of the block, a place with a cool, rustic-looking design—and people lined up outside.
“Jaybird,” I pause, looking up at the restaurant sign. “Why does that sound familiar?”
Ryland looks bashful. “It’s my brother’s place. I thought since I haven’t checked it out yet… And I wanted you to meet him,” he adds, looking away.
I feel a glow. “That sounds great,” I smile, sliding my hand into his. He walks us past the line and opens the door for me.
Inside, the place is packed, every table taken. There’s a bar along one wall with a polished wooden countertop and black-and-white photographs framed on the walls. I glance closer at the pictures by the door, and stop. “That’s Beachwood,” I exclaim.
Ryland looks. “Emerson’s wife, Juliet, takes photos in her spare time,” he explains. “She’s good enough to make it a career, but she likes having it be just for fun.”
“They’re beautiful,” I say, admiring the shots of the dunes at the beach and the ocean foaming on a cloudy day.
“You can tell her yourself,” Ryland nods to where a slim, brunette woman is crossing the restaurant towards us, a huge smile on her face. A man follows a few paces behind, and the resemblance to Ryland is so strong, this could only be his brother. They both have the same dark hair and chiseled jaw, but Emerson is a little taller and leaner with a look of quiet intensity.
Juliet pulls Ryland into a delighted hug. “It’s so great you’re here!”
“We almost didn’t make it past the line at the door,” Ryland says, looking around. “Looks like business is good.”
“We just had a write-up in Southern Living,” Juliet confides. “My sister, Carina, has been doing PR for us. She’s got every food critic in the state wrapped around her little finger.”
Emerson extends a hand to me. “And you must be Tegan.”
I feel a ripple of nerves. “Hi,” I say shyly, shaking his hand.
“Tegan was just saying how much she likes the photographs,” Ryland speaks up.
Juliet beams. “Thank you! Beachwood Bay means a lot to us, so even though we’re here now, it’s like having a little piece of home.”
“I better get back.” Emerson keeps one eye on the front desk. “They’ll be rioting soon for seats. Good to see you,” he slaps Ryland on the back as he passes. “Tegan, don’t let this guy lead you astray. You know he’s trouble.”Ryland looks embarrassed.
“How do you know I’m not the bad example?” I shoot back. Emerson laughs.
“I stand corrected. You’ll handle him just fine.”
Juliet ushers us through the restaurant to a booth in the back. It’s tucked away in a dark corner, but there are candles flickering, beautiful fresh flowers in a crystal vase, and even a bottle chilling in an ice bucket. “Best seat in the house,” Juliet tells us with a conspiratorial wink, “Just the way you ordered.”
“I owe you one,” Ryland tells her.
“The server will be right over. Enjoy!”
Juliet leaves us. Ryland pulls out a chair for me, and I take a seat, overwhelmed. “This is gorgeous,” I whisper. “Did they do all this just for us?”
“For you.” Ryland looks bashful again. “I told them it was a special occasion.”
“Thank you,” I breathe, reaching across the table to take his hand. “This is perfect.”
“Something to drink?” he asks, reaching for the ice bucket. I pause. “It’s sparkling apple cider,” he adds.
“You thought of everything,” I tell him, relieved and touched. I take the glass, and Ryland raises his in a toast.
“To tonight,” he says softly. “And having all our cards on the table.”
I touch my glass to his. Ryland smiles back at me across the table, the handsome lines of his jaw lit up in the candlelight. I feel my stomach twist again, this time with the simple pleasure that we’re here, together, all the drama behind us now.
“What?” he asks.
I give a mysterious smile. “Nothing. Just, I’m happy.”
“Good.” Ryland’s eyes are warm with tenderness. “That’s all I want, you know. You deserve to be happy.”
He leans across the table to kiss me. I shiver at the sudden touch of his lips, warm and firm and searching. He slips a hand around the back of my head, drawing me closer, and I sink against him, breathing in the rich, citrus scent of his aftershave. His jaw is smooth, cleanly-shaven for our date, and I stroke along the chiseled line as he parts my lips, kissing me deeper. His tongue slides into my mouth, and God, I feel it everywhere, sparks igniting in my bloodstream; heat pooling, damp between my thighs.
He pulls away, too soon. I blink and see the server hovering a respectful distance away. I blush as he approaches. Ryland goes ahead and orders for us, amazing dishes that sound incredible, but it’s not food I want, it’s him. The hunger twisting inside of me craves those arms tight around me, the weight of his body settling over mine…