Page 30 of Sharp Lies

Now, two days later, I was wondering if there had been some mistake, though. I’d been in the house for those two days, clearly working, and yet he’d never stopped by. Hell, I hadn’t even seen him in his own yard or at any of his windows. And I’d looked.

I wondered if he was regretting having asked me to dinner—or if he was just embarrassed that I’d seen him the way I had. If it was the latter, there was no reason to be embarrassed. He’d obviously been in the midst of a panic attack, and no one could help that. If it was the former...

Well.

Our dinner was supposed to be tonight, and I didn’t know where he’d wanted to go. I only knew the time. So he was going to have to come get me if he still wanted to go.

If he didn’t show up, I guessed that would answer the question of whether he thought he’d made a mistake or not.

***

I OPENED THE DOOR TO the knock, my heart living somewhere in my throat, and found Warren standing in front of me in nicer clothes than I’d ever seen on him. He had on jeans that were slightly tight around the hips and a button-up shirt, along with a cowboy hat, and the result was...

Mouth-watering. It was the only thought I could come up with. Narrow hips and broad shoulders, skin tanned and slightly creased with age and exposure to the sun, bright blue eyes and lips that were half-smiling. My eyes dropped from his face to his chest and then a bit lower as I remembered the night I’d seen him getting undressed for the shower, and when I jerked my gaze back up to meet his, I knew my face was bright with a flush.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” I breathed.

His head tipped in question. “And why wouldn’t I come? I owe you dinner. Besides”—he held out his arm, and I slipped my hand through it—”I’ve been looking forward to this all week. I wasn’t going to miss it.”

I wanted to say something clever. Honestly, I did. But this was such a new version of Warren that I wasn’t sure what to say.

I’d already known he could be a hero. I’d had no idea he could also be charming.

And I’d never considered that this charming side of him would have a flock of butterflies turning up in my stomach and my cheeks flushing like a girl with a crush.

***

THE RESTAURANT WAS fancier than any place I’d ever been.

“I didn’t even know this place was here,” I said, looking around at the dark wood, red leather, and checkerboard floor. It was like a place I would have expected in a big city, not a small town outside of Chicago. I glanced down at the menu and saw a range of fancy dishes with suggested wine pairings, and the table itself held not only a range of candles but also a vase with flowers.

I was starting to feel really out of place. I was a small-town girl who had grown up in a bakery and then gone on the road for five years. This sort of restaurant...

“The owner moved out of Chicago but wanted to have the same restaurant he’d had in the city,” Warren said. “I did some mechanical work for them when I first moved to Oakville.”

I nodded and looked around, thinking that the place looked exactly like a restaurant from Chicago should. There weren’t many people in here, though—probably because it felt out of place—and I wondered how much longer it would even be in business.

“You don’t like it?” Warren asked suddenly.

I brought my eyes back to his and grimaced. “I feel like I’m standing out like a sore thumb,” I admitted. “Like I can’t go to the bathroom because I might break something on the way and get in trouble.”

Warren chuckled. “Want to go somewhere less... fancy?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

He reached out and took my hand, wrapping his strong fingers around mine. “Luckily for you, I had a Plan B.”

We were out the door in a flash, Warren calling to the hostess that we’d decided on another place, and ten minutes later, we were sitting at a picnic table under the stars, a range of food trucks to our right and a fire burning in a fire pit to our left.

“Better?” Warren asked.

I grinned at him. “Much. I’ll like it even more if that truck’s barbecue is as good as they claim.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “We’ll see. I don’t like to judge barbecue until I’ve had it, but this far north?”

He made a face that said pretty clearly what he thought of barbecue managing to exist at all in Illinois, and I straightened in outrage.

“Hey, we know how to use a barbecue up here!”