HAYDEN
I fly around the restaurant at lightning speed. Cleaning up has never been more urgent.
I glance at my watch. He’ll be here any minute. I wipe my palms on my apron, wet and clammy. Shit . . . I’m nervous. And I shouldn’t be. It’s just Christopher, but seeing him be nervous—someone who has absolutely zero to be nervous about—has now made me nervous. I should be nervous.
I haven’t slept with a thousand people and am totally inexperienced, I don’t have a figure to die for, and damn it, last time we made out, he ran for the hills.
I peer out the front window and see him walking up the street toward our meeting spot. I narrow my eyes to study him further. He’s dressed in a nice shirt and jeans and has an overnight bag with him.
Huh?
Are we going somewhere?
Oh no . . . I need to shower, and I need to shave my legs, and damn it, he can’t just surprise me with a night away on our first date. Another thought comes to my mind. Oh crap, he would have gone through my backpack to get my clothes, and I have dirty washing in there, and . . . ugh.
Without his drill sergeant ways of washing every day for us, I haven’t been doing it at all. The very last thing on my mind when I have a broken heart is housework.
I bet he’s done all my washing. Shit.
Why is he so damn neat?
I bet he’s made my bed and cleaned the room, and what happened to the stereotypical woman nagging the man? What if I wanted that job? I mean, I don’t . . . but still.
“Good night, Hayden,” my boss calls. “Thanks for today.”
“Okay.” My stomach flips. “See you next weekend.”
I go out into the kitchen and wash my hands and go to the bathroom. I try to fix my hair in the mirror and wipe the mascara from under my eyes.
Right . . . I drop my shoulders.
It’s fine.
I grab my bag and make my way out and up the street. Every step closer I get to him, I get a little more nervous. He stands waiting patiently, an overnight bag in his hand.
“Hi.” I smile.
“Hi.” He bends and kisses me softly, his lips lingering over mine.
I’ve missed him.
“What’s with the bag?” I ask.
“I . . . thought that . . . if it’s okay”—he’s tripping over his words—“I booked a hotel for the night.”
“Oh . . .”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m a sure thing,” he adds. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“Right.” I giggle. He takes my hand, and we begin to walk up the road. “Are you a sure thing, though?” I ask.
“Absolutely.” He gives me a sexy smile with a wink.
“We don’t need to stay in a hotel. That’s way too expensive, and the others aren’t even here.”
“I didn’t know that when I booked it.” He pauses. “Well . . . my brother booked it with some coupons he had.”
“Which brother?”
“Elliot.”
I smile as I listen.
“So if the hotel is shit, we have him to blame.”
“Good, I will.” I smile. We walk in silence for a little way. “Did you pack me some things?”
“Yes.”
“Did you do my washing?”