Todd’s chin lowers as he gives me an even look. “Since when?”
“Since now.” He frowns at me. “Relax. I’m a big girl.”
“Who hasn’t really dated since she got a divorce.”
Justin gets out of the car. As usual, even dressed in jeans and a dark blue windbreaker, he’s hot enough that I want to push my hands into his messily styled hair and attack.
Todd leans closer to me. “Just beware of going from zero to sixty in like three seconds,” he says before walking off and giving Justin a wave.
My teeth grind. If I can be strong with Trevor, surely I can keep Justin at arm’s length. Forcing the tightness from my face, I move toward Justin.
“Hey,” he says, leaning in and kissing my cheek. “You look great.”
Because of the chill still hanging in the March air, I’m wearing jeans, my usual boots, a hoodie, and a pink beanie. Hardly great. “Um, thanks.”
“What was that about?” He nods to where Todd is getting into his car.
“Nothing, just work stuff.” I slide into the seat. Hoping to end his curiosity, I add, “And I’ve had enough of work.”
“Then no more shop talk tonight,” he says, closing the door.
After he backs out of the lot and onto the street, I ask, “So where are we going?”
His sideways glance is smooth. “It’s still a surprise.”
I roll my eyes and he shifts the car into drive. He only goes about eight blocks, passing the center of downtown and parking on a side street near the river in front of a loud bar. I give him a questioning look. Drinking with a bunch of beer-swilling college kids is hardly a unique idea for a date. He had me all nervous for nothing. And what was with the warm clothes request?
Once we’re out of the car, he grasps my hand and we head toward the bar. “Hope this is a first for you.”
Confused, I let him lead me across the sidewalk. A sarcastic remark about this date being a rerun since we’d met in a bar last week almost escapes my lips. But a moment later, he surprises me. Instead of going into the bar, we enter a door on the side of the building and climb a long flight of stairs. At the thought of going to his apartment, I’m getting nervous again.
“You live up here?”
“No. I live in the dorms.”
He clearly isn’t in the mood to explain.
We round a landing studded with several apartment doors and climb another staircase. At the top, he unlocks then opens one of three doors, and more stairs come into view. Since this staircase is extremely narrow, he waits for me to go ahead of him. With him at my back and the unknown dark at my front, I move cautiously.
When my feet connect with a flat surface, I turn to him. “Um…”
A light flicks on.
We’re standing in a small room filled with stacked chairs.
He smirks at my baffled expression. “Almost there.”
I follow him past the towering stacks of chairs to a ladder screwed into the wall. As he climbs the ladder then pushes the hatch above it open, I realize that for whatever insane reason we are going on the roof.
Near the top of the ladder, he holds out a hand for me, and I’m raised into a deep blue starry night. “Oh,” I say in awe. Watching me and not letting go of my hand, he tugs me closer to the edge.
“Oh,” I say, stunned again as a cool breeze hits us.
The river, its surface dark and oily, is below us. To the right, the docks are lined with bobbing boats, more riverfront bars, and old warehouses turned into condominiums. Their brightly lit windows reflect off the water, casting long shimmering columns of sparkling yellow light. To the left, the town’s biggest bridge spans the black water, and the headlights of cars moving across it gleam in the night. Above everything is the clear night sky riddled with bright stars.
Justin’s thumb rubs the top of my hand. “The surprise. Your own
“
“Yes,” he agrees, his thumb still rubbing my skin. “I saw it at the Musee d’Orsay.”
Feeling overwhelmed, I study the stars above us as the wind off the water ruffles my hair. My gaze goes back to the view of the river and bridge. “It’s beautiful. Who would have thought a view like this existed in our city? I’m not sure which would be better. This or seeing the actual painting.” I imagine the strings he had to pull for this. “Thank you.”
His eyes are soft and liquid in the shadows of the rooftop. “You’re welcome. But having had both experiences, I’d say this is far better.”
My heart picks up speed as he stares at me. Feeling overwhelmed again, I turn back to the view. “Because?”
“You’re here.”
Geesh. Being with me is better than being in France? Desperate to lighten the mood, I say, “Where’s the cheesy romance music?”
He inches closer to me. “Tonight’s about art, about you.”
Afraid of what he might reply next and that leg humping will ensue, I stay silent.
We stand, taking in the lovely view for several minutes until he says lightly, “There’s another surprise over here.” He motions behind us.
On the curling tar of the roof lies a spread-out sleeping bag. He pulls me down and we sit with our backs against the rough chimney. The ledge is less than five feet from us, leaving nothing to separate us from the incredible view.
There’s also a duffel bag, which he is rummaging through. He sets a small battery-operated lantern on the blanket in the few inches between us. “Not especially romantic, but during the test run the wind blew the candles out.”
My fingers pull at the material of the slippery sleeping bag. “Test run?”
“Hey, I’m going for perfection.”
I watch him open a bottle of wine and don’t say aloud that his version of perfection has seduction written all over it. It’s also possible that he’s trying to take things deeper than simple seduction. I’m not sure which would be worse.
He hands me a plastic cup of wine, then lifts his own and knocks it with mine. “To van Gogh.”
“And starry nights,” I say, lifting my cup.
“I’m damn lucky that it’s a clear night and not raining or cold,” he says, looking at the sky. Then he holds the cup under his nose and takes a long whiff. “Tell me what you smell.”
I take a sniff. Then another. “Wine. Is it red?”
“You can do better than that.”
I take a longer sniff. “Berries?”
He nods.
Sniff. “Cherry?”
Another nod.
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. “Maybe a touch of something woodsy?”
“Ah, the only thing you missed is the hint of currant.”
“Currant? I have no idea what you’re talking about. And if this wasn’t in a plastic cup, I’d think you were a wine snob.”
His teeth gleam when he smirks. “Oh, I’m a wine snob. You can’t go to Europe for three summers and not become a wine snob. I’ll drink any crap beer but never crap wine.” He takes a sip. I watch the shadows along his throat as he swallows it. “Try it. Tell me what you think.”
Dragging my gaze from his throat, I take a sip. The liquid’s warm and rich and fruity. “It’s good. A little dry.”
“Good thing I went mild.”
