Until December (Until Her/Him #8)(28)

“What is your favorite movie of all time?’

“Die Hard.”

“Such a guy.” I roll my eyes, and he chuckles, taking a sip of his beer while leaning back in his seat. I take a sip of wine, amazed at how relaxed I feel. This morning, I was a nervous wreck even thinking about going out with him. But now, I feel surprisingly at ease, even with the constant flutter of butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

“What are you thinking about?”

“This is easier than I thought it would be,” I say truthfully, and he tips his head to the side questioningly. “It probably hasn’t slipped your notice that you make me nervous, but I’m not tempted to run away, or fumbling around knocking over glasses and tripping over my own feet.”

“If you run or if you fall, I’d catch you,” he says, holding my gaze, and my heart begins to pound while my blood warms, making my cheeks hot. “I love it when you blush,” he adds quietly.

“It’s annoying.” I duck my head and fiddle with my napkin on my lap.

Warm fingers touch my cheek and I look up. “It’s adorable and refreshing.”

“Why?”

“It shows that you’re worried about what I might think and are interested in me enough to care. Most people try to hide how they feel; that way, if things don’t work out like they want, the person responsible for hurting them doesn’t know they ever had the power to hurt them. You can’t hide how you feel. Your emotions are written on your skin.”

“I think you just proved why my blushing is annoying,” I say, and he smiles.

“You can think that, but just know I feel differently about the cute way your cheeks get pink,” he tells me, smoothing his thumb over my warm skin, and I lean into his touch. “You should know I’m just as interested as you are.”

“Ahem.” Simon clears his throat, and Gareth’s eyes locked on mine fill with frustration before he looks up at him standing at edge of our table. “Sorry to interrupt.” He places a plate of fried tomatoes between us then bows and backs away quickly, looking nervously at Gareth, and I almost laugh.

“I wonder if that’s what it’s like for royalty?” I muse, spearing one of the fried green tomatoes and placing it on my plate.

“If it is, that’s probably why they always look so pissed,” he answers, and I giggle.

We talk about random things as we devour our appetizer, and when our meals arrive, we pick food off each other’s plate without permission. Once we finish, we agree to share the chocolate molten lava cake and vanilla bean ice cream for dessert.

“Oh my God,” I whisper as warm chocolate and cold ice cream meet my tongue.

“That good?” Gareth asks, and I look up at him, about to make a joke, but the look in his eyes is so hot I feel it sizzle against my skin, making my toes curl.

“It’s good,” I whisper with nothing else to say. He nods, not even lifting his spoon to take a bite. Instead, he lifts his chin to someone over my shoulder, and a moment later, Simon appears.

“Can we get the check?”

“Mack insisted your meal be on the house this evening,” Simon replies, and Gareth’s jaw ticks.

Reading his expression, I reach for his hand and he looks at me. “You can always leave a tip.”

“Are you finished?” he asks. Even though I wouldn’t mind having another bite of cake, the shortness of his tone tells me I shouldn’t, so I nod. “Let’s go.” He stands then offers me his hand to help me from my seat, and I take it. I turn to grab my bag from the table as he tosses two hundred-dollar bills down, and my eyes widen.

Feeling a little awkward about what’s happened the last couple of minutes, I look at Simon and smile. “Thank you.”

The older man pulls his eyes off the money waiting for him and grins at me. “Come back soon.”

I make a non-committal sound as warmth and pressure are applied to my lower back to lead me away. When we reach the parking lot and stop at the passenger door of his SUV, I look up at Gareth and break the silence. “I think a two-hundred-dollar tip was overkill.”

“That was our first date. If I couldn’t afford to take you there, I wouldn’t have.” The angry tone in his voice surprises me.

“Okay.” My brows draw together in confusion.

“I have two boys I’m raising on my own, and everyone who knows me knows that my ex walked out and left me with bills, a mortgage, and two boys to take care of.”

I shake my head, unsure of the point he’s trying to make. “And?”

“And I don’t like people feeling sorry for me,” he growls.

Realization slams against me, making my temper flare, and I turn to face him fully. “You think your friend Mack offered dinner on the house because he felt sorry for you?” I know my voice is full of disbelief. He doesn’t respond with more than a twitch of his jaw. “My dad owns a construction business; he’s always getting free stuff from the people he works for. It’s the way of the world. When you help someone, they want you to know they appreciate you, and if they are able to give you something to show it, they do.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? Why? Because you’re a single father whose ex left him?” I laugh without humor. “Maybe instead of feeling thankful the next time I get a gift card from one of my students’ parents, I should be offended that they think I’m a poor teacher who can’t get a cup of coffee from Starbucks without their help.”