Page 45 of Don't Burn Bridges
“Maybe I'm just happy you're here.”
For a moment, she seemed surprised. Then she rolled her eyes exactly as he'd known she would. “See? Now I'm suspicious.”
He laughed and climbed out of the truck. The evening air carried the scent of fresh-cut grass from a nearby field and whatever was cooking inside the restaurant. When he walked around and opened her door, Shylo stepped onto the pavement. The tan wedge sandals made her legs seem a mile long.
She pointed towards the restaurant. “This looks like a nice place.”
“Good. That's what I was going for.” He took her hand, lacing their fingers together and trying to ignore how good it felt as they headed toward the entrance.
“You put actual thought into it?”
He pressed his free hand to his chest. “Darlin', I'm wounded. Of course I put thought into it. I even asked Paige where I should take you.”
Her gaze whipped toward him, eyes wide. “You did not.”
“I did.”
A few seconds passed before she said, “Wow.”
He laughed. “Don't sound so surprised.”
“I have to admit, I am a little surprised.”
The smile she gave him made pretending to be offended impossible.
“Yeah, well...” He shrugged. “Usually, I don't put much thought into it and just randomly pick a place.”
Her expression softened. “But not this time?”
The question gave him pause. For a second, he considered brushing it off with a joke. Instead, he shook his head. “For you, I wanted to get it right.”
His honest answer hadn't been planned, but he didn't retract it either.
She held his gaze for a moment before looking away. Whatever she'd been thinking, he wished she'd say it out loud.
Keeping hold of her hand, he led her toward the entrance and pulled the door open. “After you.”
She stepped inside, and he followed her into the restaurant. The Copper Kettle was busy without feeling crowded. Rich wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, while a stone fireplace anchored one end of the dining room. Wrought-iron light fixtures cast a soft amber glow over tables dressed with crisp white tablecloths, polished place settings, and simple centerpieces. Everything about the place felt thoughtfully done—comfortable enough that nobody worried about speaking too loudly, yet refined enough to make the evening feel like more than an ordinary night out.
The scent of grilled steak, garlic, and fresh-baked bread drifted from the kitchen, making his stomach remind him it had been several hours since lunch. A few families occupied the larger tables while couples filled most of the booths, their conversations blending into a pleasant murmur beneath the soft country music playing overhead. The hostess led them through the dining room to a booth near the back.
Once they were seated, the woman handed them menus and wished them a pleasant evening before heading off. A server appeared a minute later to take their drink orders. By the time he returned with a beer for Seth and a glass of wine for Shylo, their conversation had already wandered through several subjects.
He was beginning to suspect she had an opinion on almost everything. And, for once, he found that more entertaining than annoying.
After their dinner orders were taken and a busboy dropped off a basket of rolls and butter, Seth took a sip of his beer and met Shylo's gaze. The soft lighting caught in her eyes, and for a second, the rest of the restaurant faded into the background.
Curious to learn more about her, he asked, “So, what's your favorite movie?”
She didn't hesitate. “My top three are The Shining, The Amityville Horror, and The Exorcist. Can’t say which is my all-time favorite, though—I love all of them.”
Seth stared at her in disbelief. Of all the answers he'd expected, those hadn't even made the list. “You're joking.”
Her grin appeared instantly. “Nope.”
“Those are horror movies.”
“Nice observation, Sherlock.”
