Page 17 of Wanting My Husband
“You haven’t even been inside yet.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I love it.” I approach the front andam pleasantly surprised when John increases his pace to beat me there so he can hold the door open for me. Such a gentleman. Always looking out for me.
“Table for two, please,” I tell the hostess, a lovely older woman with red glasses and matching red lipstick.
“Ignore him, Marianne,” John mutters. I tilt my head as I look at him, scrunching my eyebrows together so he sees I’m confused, because why does he want her to ignore my request? I thought we were going to eat together. “We’re placing an order to go,” John insists, walking past the hostess to a counter where a teenager is standing in front of a cash register.
“You don’t want to eat here?” I pout, following him.
“Remember what I said about it being the only place in town?” he asks me quietly after accepting the menus the guy offers us. “People will talk if we’re seen eating here together, and I’m not one for their gossip.”
I blow out a big breath. “And you don’t want that getting back to Blake and Liam before their big day?” I guess. It’s not like anyone here knows me, but he must not want people gossiping about him with me. I wonder how true the small-town gossip thing is. Would the people say “I saw John Sullivan eating with a handsome man with brown hair” to each other? I’m kind of dying to know. This small-town thing already seems so fun. I like the idea of everyone knowing each other. I want to know them all too. Just like John knew Marianne. Maybe this is really where I was meant to be all along.
He mumbles what sounds like “sure” in response, and I nod before glancing down at the menu. I’m disappointed we won’t have the romantic evening I had planned, but I don’t want to distract from our best friends’ wedding either, so I get it. We’ll just have to come back after they’re married and Blake and Liam know. No biggie.
“So what’s good here?” I ask, not bothering to look at themenu. I’d much rather have John’s opinion than read the descriptions.
John arches his brow. “Do you need me to order for you, Princess?”
“Yes, that’s a great idea,” I easily agree. For some reason, John looks surprised by my answer even though he was the one offering, but he quickly shakes off whatever he’s thinking and turns to order burgers. He even remembers to get mine with no tomatoes without me even having to remind him. He’s so thoughtful, and it just proves he cares. Especially because the only time we ate burgers together was a drunk night in Vegas. “I’ll pay though!” I insist, handing my card over before John has the chance to argue.
He grunts, “Fine,” and when our food is ready a few minutes later, he grabs the brown paper bag.
I hold out my hand, but he walks right past me toward the door. “Do you want me to carry it?”
“No.”
That makes me smile. He pauses again to hold the door for me, and I realize he said he didn’t want to eat here because people would talk, but he isn’t exactly hiding the fact that we’re here together. And he called me Princess in front of the teenager! John can pretend he’s grumpy, adjusting my plans and grunting one-word answers all he wants, but he’s also holding doors open and carrying my dinner that he ordered for me. I know he cares.
I had assumed we’d go home, but John walks in the opposite direction of the car. “Wait. Where are we going?”
“We can eat up there, by the river.” He nods toward the water where a couple of old wooden benches sit. Huge trees provide shade from the setting sun, the river is flowing gently, and there’s even a family of ducks swimming around.
“Oh my God! John, this is perfect! It’s so romantic. I’ve never had a picnic in a park before. Thank you for spoiling me, Hubby!”
He stops right in front of the bench, turning back to look at me with wide eyes. His eyes are such a cool color. More green than I had realized was even possible, and when he looks at me like that, they really pop. “What the fuck? This isn’t romantic, Chad. I just didn’t want to eat it in your nice car, and it’ll be cold if we take it home.”
Oh my God, he said “home.” Not “his home,” just “home.” Ours. Our home! My heart feels so full at the reminder that I actually live here now. “It’s a perfect date, John,” I assure him as we both finally sit on the bench. “Thank you.”
He pulls out the two to-go containers, checking to see which is mine before handing my burger to me. “This isn’t a fucking date, Chad. I haven’t been on a date in ten years.”
I suck in a sharp breath. Is that why he’s so hesitant to advance things with me? I’ve been very up-front about how ready I am to explore things physically to prove to him I am all in. I’m actually kind of desperate for it after spending multiple nights sharing the same bed, waking up with him wrapped around me, but he’s still holding back.
I guess that explains why.
“You haven’t had sex in ten years?” I ask, the horror in my tone obvious.
“Jesus Christ, Chad. No. You don’t need to be dating someone to have sex,” he responds quickly. “There are other types of arrangements.”
Other arrangements?I tilt my head to the side, humming as I try to figure out what he means. Like a hookup? Or… “Ohh, like the people you blindfold?” I ask.
He drops his head back, looking up at the sky. “Can we just eat?”
“Sure,” I agree with a big smile. I’m hungry too, so waiting to talk makes sense. The food is delicious, my burger is cooked just right, and the fries are perfectly crispy. After a few minutes of eating though, I can’t hold back my questions for any longer.Attempting a gentle tone, I ask, “So you said almost ten years, was that when your ex died?”
John freezes with his burger in front of his mouth. Maybe I should have phrased that a little better…
After a moment, he sets the food down on the bench next to him and mumbles, “I’d hoped you forgot about that.”
