“Well, where to?” she asked as he pulled down the gravel road away from the inn. “This is our first date, after all. I assume you have something very elaborate planned.”
“I think you’re mistaken.”
Stella’s heart lodged in her throat. Oh no.
What if she got everything wrong? What if this wasn’t a date?
Embarrassment burned at the back of her throat, and her brain went haywire trying to figure out how to backtrack.
Could she laugh it off and claim it was all a joke? Of course, I know this isn’t a date. It’s only an expression. Perhaps, but not until her tongue shrank down to normal size and she was capable of formulating full sentences.
“According to a few helpful ladies in town,” Sam continued, “this is actually our second date.”
All at once the warning bells in Stella’s head quieted. Bless those three nosy theater ladies. She let out an exhale on a laugh and nodded. “I heard something similar. Apparently, picnics in the park are considered dates.”
“Apparently.” Sam glanced over at Stella out of the corner of his eye. “If I’m being honest, though, I already knew that. It’s why I asked you to go eat with me.”
Sam’s silence at their picnic lunch made slightly more sense now. One flirtatious remark from Sam, and Stella felt out of her depth. Gladly so, though. She was treading unknown waters, but boy oh boy, did she love the view.
13
Stella expected Sam to head down the gravel road, turn onto Main Street, and take her to Romano’s. She’d already looked up the restaurant menu online and planned what she would order in an attempt to assuage some of her nerves.
Instead, he turned left before they reach the main road, taking a side road instead.
A shortcut, she thought. But when he pulled into a driveway in front of a navy-blue bungalow with white trim in the middle of a residential block, she knew this couldn’t be the Italian restaurant.
When he killed the engine, she frowned. “Are we stopping here?”
“Is that okay?” Sam was already standing outside of the truck, talking to her through the open door. His easy smile melted into worry. “I’m sorry. I should have asked first, right? Crap.”
“No, it’s okay.” It was okay; Stella just had to quickly rearrange her expectations of the evening. She’d had it all mapped out in her head, and now she needed to reroute.
“This town is small, and if they see me out on a date, they’ll pester us all night,” he said. “As it is, everyone will still know by morning, but at least they won’t be interrupting us all evening. Are you okay with that? Because I’ll gladly deal with the nosiness if you’re uncomfortable.”
“This is perfect,” Stella said gently, touched by his obvious concern for her comfort. “Let’s go inside.”
Stella hadn’t lived with a man—Jace didn’t count—since she lived with her parents, so she didn’t know what to expect walking into Sam’s place. Sitcoms had her fearing the worst as they walked in: pizza boxes, beer cans, a stench foul enough to burn her nostrils.
But she was pleasantly surprised. His house was clean. And organized. The air smelled like a lemon cleaner with something richer underneath—the same warm smell from his truck. It was pure him. The walls were mostly bare, but his couch was modern, the fabric a deep blue. Splashes of the same shade of blue were present in the curtains, the checkered tablecloth draped over the dining-room table, and the kitchen cabinets. All-metal hardware had been painted gold, and all of the wood was dark. Some thought clearly had gone into the color palette and overall design.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Sam walked ahead of her through the dining room and into the kitchen, giving her space to take in her surroundings. “Do you like wine?”
“Who doesn’t?” Stella laughed as she did a slow circuit of the living room. “You have a real eye for decorating.”
Sam returned holding two glasses of red wine. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“I’m sorry, do I?” She lowered her head in embarrassment as she accepted the wine and took a long sip. “I could tell from the body shop that you were organized, but seeing that you have a design language is a nice surprise.”
“You’re a graphic designer yourself, aren’t you?”
“I am, but all design is kind of similar in that you want things to meld properly. You can’t design a room or a poster with clashing colors and fonts and styles. Things need to work together, and you’ve done a great job of that in your house.”
Sam looked around his house as though seeing it for the first time. He smiled at Stella and raised his glass. “To working together.”
They clinked glasses. Stella had a feeling they were toasting to more than house décor.
Sam led Stella to the table, which had been set with white plates and crisp white cloth napkins, and then went into the kitchen, returning with two takeout containers.
“I wanted to avoid my neighbors at a restaurant, but my cooking can’t compare to Romano’s. I put in a carry-out order just before I came to pick you up and paid one of the waiters twenty bucks to leave it on the back step. Hopefully it’s still hot.” He pulled back the Styrofoam lid to reveal a massive square of steaming lasagna as big as Stella’s head. The other box was full of breadsticks.
Stella’s mouth watered as Sam dished out the food, and she tried her best to remain ladylike. But when she finally took a bite, she could barely hold back a moan. “This is incredible.”
The noodles were perfectly al dente with creamy layers of ricotta cheese and marinara seasoned with garlic and oregano. The parmesan cheese on top
