One Funeral (No Weddings #2)(5)

“And I think you look great driving your Jeep.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “Not gonna tell me what you were thinking about?”

“Nope.”

“It’s okay.” He smirked as he turned into the parking lot of Giuseppe’s. The soft glow from the metal gas lamps flooded into the Jeep, lighting his face. “I can tell it’s good.”

“Oh? So you’re a mind reader now?”

He shook his head. Then he parked, unbuckled his seat belt, and glanced at me. “No.” Leaning over the gearshift, he gazed at me, a spark lighting in his eyes. “When that gorgeous blush pinks up your cheeks, I know you’re thinking about me. And I know it’s something good. Or maybe bad…”

I unbuckled my seatbelt, a small smirk curving my lips as I pulled away. “Maybe.”

He gave me a penetrating look. “No. I’m revising—definitely.” Then he got out of the car, raced to my side, and opened it, holding a hand out to assist me down. “But I’m escorting you into the restaurant now to show you I can be a gentleman. Even in the face of definite temptation.”

By the time we entered the restaurant, waited at the podium, and were seated at a table in the center of the dining room with menus, my earlier nervousness had faded somewhat. The sommelier brought us wine glasses, poured a small amount into Cade’s glass, and offered the sample to him. He held the stem, swirled the liquid with a gentle motion, put his nose into the opening, inhaling for a moment, then took a sip. He gave a curt nod, and the man poured us two glasses of the rich burgundy Malbec before leaving the table without another word.

Cade leaned forward. “I only do that to make them happy. And because I know how.” He winked.

I smiled. But the corners of my mouth fell, nervousness edging in on my relaxed happiness. Thank God for tablecloths; my knee bounced like it belonged to the Energizer Bunny. I grasped the stem of my glass, looking to Cade for our toast. I was in no condition to spout off anything remotely sane. And I wished he would get on with it already. I needed to swallow down vast amounts of numbing liquid therapy.

But he read me like an open book—a tragic comedy, if I had to guess the genre—and pulled my glass from my hand, sliding it beyond my reach. I met his gaze and took a deep breath.

“Should I have brought a bottle full of Valium?”

“No.” I shook my head, sighing. “Damn. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You need to relax, Hannah. This is a date. Not an IRS audit.”

“But it’s our first date. My first. I haven’t dated since…” I winced. There was no greater breach of dating protocol than mentioning your ex.

Cade slid his large hand over mine, and I closed my eyes, absorbing his soothing warmth. “You’re in your head again, Maestro. Go to a happy place. Pretend like you’re in a meadow of cupcakes.”

Keeping my eyes shut, I smiled. “Are you there?”

“Would you like me to be?” His voice was soft, gentle. Like his only mission at that moment was to calm my racing heart, and he didn’t want to intrude on my happy place unless invited. And he was definitely invited.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m glad I’m there with you. Now do something fun and silly there.”

I imagined myself taking a flying leap as I knocked him down into a pile of fluffy cupcakes. Icing covered him everywhere. I snorted at the image and took a deep breath.

“Attagirl.”

In a dining room filled with beautiful oil paintings and wealthy patrons clinking sterling silverware onto fine bone china, the world fell away into a muted hum. All I registered was Cade’s soothing voice.

“Now open your eyes.”

I did as he commanded, taking in the handsome man in front of me. His rugged attractiveness seemed to contradict the conservative black collared shirt he wore. In blatant defiance of the restaurant’s perceived dress code, he’d worn it tie-less with the top two buttons undone. Which resulted in pursed lips of the ma?tre d', followed immediately by Cade’s arched brow and our rapid seating.

He pushed my wine glass in between my fingers that remained spread facedown on the tablecloth. “Now I think you need to give the toast.”

I gave a firm nod. Moments ago, I hadn’t been able to string a coherent sentence together, let alone a toast. Now I was ready.

“To the naked man rolling around in a meadow of my cupcakes.” I raised my glass high.

He blinked and lowered his glass halfway to the table. “Holy shit, Hannah,” he whispered. “That’s what you imagined?”

I grinned wickedly. “It’s what I’m thinking now.”

“Damn, woman. I love when you visualize.”

With my glass still raised, I looked pointedly at his dropped hand. “Well, are you drinking to that, or what?”

In a rushed motion, nearly splashing the contents of his wine over the rim, he raised his glass to mine, and we clinked them together. The chime echoed until I brought my lips to the rim.

He took a sip, his gaze smoldering. “So I’m rolling in a meadow of your cupcakes, huh?”

I let out a slow exhalation as I stared at him in an I’m-so-not-going-to-elaborate kind of way.

Yet he leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face, like he’d won something of value.