Loving Dallas(37)

For better or worse, I am his, and he is mine—even if only for a little while longer.





21 | Robyn

“WHERE IN THE WORLD ARE WE GOING?”

Dallas showed up at my hotel room right at lunchtime and said we were going out to dinner and that I didn’t need to bring anything except myself. We never made any official plans for today so I’m a little surprised to see him. He apparently wasn’t kidding about waiting for me to initiate the sex in our new arrangement because he walked me to my room last night and left me without so much as a good-night kiss.

We’re supposed to be heading to New Orleans tomorrow morning. I’d spent the afternoon getting some work done in my room so I’d have time for sightseeing in New Orleans.

“You’ll see,” he says, tugging me by the hand to the hotel lobby. He’s still holding my hand when we exit the hotel. He waves the driver off and holds my door open.

Tossing him a questioning glance of apprehension over my shoulder, I slide into the backseat.

“Do I at least get a hint?” The car pulls into traffic once Dallas is all the way inside.

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Remember that trip the honor society took in high school? The one that included Italy and Spain that you didn’t get to go on?”

I nod. I do remember. I didn’t get to go because my dad had died.

“You said you were really just upset because you were excited about the food.”

I smile. “This is true. But what does this have to do with where we’re going?” Surely he realizes we don’t have time to hit Italy or Spain before tomorrow morning.

“We’re going to get the food.”

Blue Restaurant and Bar is exactly what Dallas promised.

The menu is divided into locales and there are even more countries on the menu than there were on the National Honor Society trip. I don’t even know how he remembered that. We order dishes from all around the world. Some of them are amazing and some are, well, kind of gross. But we try it all and we laugh a lot. It’s the best date I’ve had in . . . forever. And I’m not even sure it’s a date.

I stare at the table full of half-eaten food. “I can’t eat any more. I’m so full it hurts. The dessert menu is tempting, but I can barely breathe.” Dishes with names I can hardly pronounce fill the table. Foie gras, a fish that’s pan seared, and soup referred to as bisque. It was amazing.

“That’s okay. We’re going to do a little walking, then I have other plans for dessert,” Dallas informs me.

“Oh do you?” I sincerely hope his dessert plans include sex, though I might need a nap first after all the rich food.

He pays the tab, then stands to help me up from the table. “I do.”

“Since when did you become such a planner?”

He makes a low satisfied noise in my ear. “Since now.”

After a gallery crawl in the North Davidson arts district, I am delighted when we stop in front of a French bakery I’ve wanted to visit since I saw it on Food Network.

It’s gotten late and I didn’t expect much of anything to still be open. But Amelie’s is open twenty-four hours a day.

“I’ve always wanted to come here,” I tell Dallas, squeezing his arm as we step inside. The menu is a giant chalkboard and the vibe is trendy and upbeat despite the late hour. “How did you know?”

“Seemed like a Robyn-type place,” he tells me with a self-congratulatory grin. “So I did good?”

I feel like a little kid at Christmas. “So good,” I gush, barely managing to tear my eyes from the display cases full of sugary confections.

Once we’ve ordered, we both descend on our coffees and sweets. Mostly I do a lot of inappropriate moaning, stopping just short of having a When Harry Met Sally moment.

“So you never told me,” Dallas says before shoving the last macaron into his mouth after I turned it down.

“Told you what?”

“What your dream is.” He meets my amused smile with a serious stare. “I’m serious. You know mine. We talk about it all the time. Hell, you’re watching me live it. So what’s yours?”

I take a bite of my caramel apple tart and chew slowly while I contemplate this. “Mine’s not as exciting as yours.”

“What? It doesn’t have to be exciting. Your dream is your dream and fair is fair. I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

I feel the heat that sweeps across my cheeks. “Pretty sure I’ve shown you mine more times than I can count.”

Laughing, Dallas shakes his head at me with amusement sparkling in his blue eyes. “There’s my dirty girl.”

I roll mine. “I don’t know, Dallas. I don’t think of it as a dream, I guess. More like a goal.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Tell me your goal then.”

I take a sip of my coffee and decide to buy a French press ASAP. “I have way more than one.”

He smiles like he knows this about me already. “I’ll text the driver and let him know we’re walking back to the hotel from here. These goals of yours, let’s hear ’em.”





22 | Dallas

“WELL, FOR STARTERS,” ROBYN SAYS, HOLDING UP ONE FINGER, “I want to be successful. I want to be the best at what I do. I want to be recognized for my sacrifices and hard work but not with like, a Grammy, or anything. Just with raises and promotions. So I can buy lots and lots of shoes.” She winks and I shake my head.