Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Poppy

What's in front of me is the thing of fairy tales or a Hallmark movie. Is it possible my injured soldier is actually a romantic at heart?

There's a table with two chairs entirely set like a five-star restaurant, white napkins and all. A vase with red poppy flowers is placed in the middle.

"You got poppy flowers?" I gape.

Julian steps forward. "It seemed more fitting than roses," he replies, putting the plates with his spaghetti and meatballs on the placemats.

Twinkle lights sparkle overhead, creating the perfect mood lighting.

"I know we can't go out yet," Julian meets my eyes with a warning that this secret is temporary, "but that doesn't mean we had to stay stuck inside."

"You shouldn't have done this. It's too much," I take one hesitant step forward. If I walk closer, I'm scared I'll wake up to find this all a dream.

He closes the distance and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. "The fact that you think this is too much tells me you've never dated a real man before."

He's right. I only ever dated a monster. There are so many things Andrew did that I excused. I blamed his actions on me. I knew what I was doing was wrong, yet I kept making excuses.

Julian slowly puts his index finger under my chin and tips my face up. "I like you, Pumpkin. A lot. So, if I want to go out of my way to show you how special you are to me, you better get used to the shock and awe," his pupils dilate.

"I'll try to get used to it," I whisper. I push up on my toes to meet his lips. "But this is going to make your job so much harder. How are you going to out-plan this date?"

"I wanted our first date to be special. Refined like your wine. Don't worry, we'll have beer and liquor other times, but I'm going to surprise you now and then," he responds.

I press my lips harder against his and slip my tongue inside. Kissing Julian Sterling is like stepping into a dream. It's wonderful, thrilling, and makes you never want to wake up.

He guides us to the table and even pulls out my chair. "So, I have to admit Kent helped me with the lights," he rounds the table and sits down. "He said ladies love the twinkly shit."

"Twinkly shit," I repeat with a chuckle.

"You know what I mean."

"They do add something," I look up at them. My smile feels like it's stretching ear to ear.

"I talked with Kent, too. He won't make any more jokes about us, either. At least not at work."

We both pick up our forks and begin to eat. My first bite is heavenly; the oregano with the pasta sauce makes it taste so fresh.

"Did you really cook this?"

His fork pauses mid-bite. "Is it bad?"

"No," I swirl my fork around to take another bite. It's delicious. If your job as CEO fails, you could always open an Italian restaurant."

"I'm glad," he smirks as he dunks a slice of garlic bread into the sauce.

I copy him and dunk a slice into my sauce, soaking up all the yummy juices.

"It also makes me nervous as heck because I'm going to have to cook for you on one of these dates. I should warn you that my experience in the kitchen is refined only when it comes to baking. I'm confident with muffins, cakes, and cupcakes, but only when they come from a premade box. I can add eggs and oil like a pro but don't ask me to make something from scratch. But," I hold my finger up, "I can cook food if I can make it in the microwave, so there's that." I sink my teeth into the toasted garlic bread, and a butter explosion spreads over my tongue, making me moan.

"I think we're venturing into red flag territory, Pumpkin," Julian teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I arch an eyebrow, replying with a playful smirk, "Well, it's only a red flag if the man's a disaster in the kitchen. Someone in the relationship has to cook. That's your job now." I tease. "I'll bake boxed muffins."

He grabs the wine bottle, the sound of the cork popping echoing on the rooftop. He pours each of us a glass, the rich red wine swirling into the crystal.

"I'll eat your muffin anytime." He replies.

We both freeze for a split second and then the space erupts with laughter. It's a hearty, uncontrollable laughter that makes your stomach ache in the best way.

"I meant the muffins you baked," he clarifies between chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"I know, but imagine Kent and Harper hearing that one!" I manage to say, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.

"They would be proud, which makes my morals ashamed," he agrees. For the first time, I see a hint of blush creeping up his cheeks.

"What kind of microwave food are we talking about?" he asks as he sips wine.

I lean back in my chair, relaxing in this atmosphere we have. It's casual yet supercharged with chemistry. "Harper and I were in college, and our food plan was atrocious. We got food poisoning twice within the first month of school, so we never returned to the cafeteria. I became the in-house chef, and our microwave was basically my Easy-Bake." I take a sip of the wine. "You actually can cook a lot more in the microwave than you think," I murmur into my glass, "but don't try to cook a steak. We tried that once, and I think chewing leather would've been easier."

He tips his head back, letting out a deep belly laugh that goes to my core, making my thighs clench.

"You tried cooking a steak in a microwave?"

I nod as I bury my nose in my wine glass.

He picks up his glass and takes a sip. A drop of red wine lingers on his lips before he swipes it off.I wish I were that drop.

"The Texan in me is highly offended." He replies.

"The cow would have been offended if he knew his sacrifice was in vain." We both laugh, but then the mood turns serious. "I don't think I've ever met anyone I can talk to as easily as you, Julian."

He leans forward on his elbow, his eyes smoldering. "Me too."

"We better not mess this up because you would have been a great friend to have in my arsenal," I reply.

"Well, good thing I don't just want to be your friend, Pumpkin."

We finish our pasta, and Julian pours us a second glass of wine. "I still feel like there's so much I don't know about you."

"That's what dates are for," he replies. "Let's check off the basics. What's your favorite color?"

"I don't know if I have a favorite color, but I have a least favorite color," I confess, grabbing my wine glass and taking an inappropriately large sip.

"What is it?" He leans back in his chair and watches me closely.

"Black," I say as I swirl the red wine around. "I don't ever want to wear a black dress again, so if you ever plan a date that requires a black dress, expect me to wear the opposite." I raise my red wine. "I'll probably wear red."

He gets more comfortable, crosses his ankle over his knee, and asks, "What's your bone to pick with black?"

"The truth?"

He nods.

"I had to wear black to both my parents' and my older brother's funerals," I feel a bead of sweat form on my brow. "Every time I see a black dress, I remember seeing it hanging in my closet, waiting for me to put it on and accept reality."

I glance past him over the edge of the building. In the far distance, I see the city skyline lights of Dallas. "That's probably deeper than you wanted," I mutter. For some reason, I want him to see all my fractures. I don't want to lie more than we have to. If he doesn't like what he sees, then so be it.

So far, he hasn't run. So far…

"It's never deep enough when it comes to you, Pumpkin," he says.

I try to lighten the mood. "That could be taken very sexually," I smirk."You're on a roll tonight."

"That's me being honest. Sure, we don't know all our favorite likes and dislikes, but I know what I do feel. That's why I'm sitting here, trying to make you fall for me."

"Well, you don't have to try hard," I deadpan as our eyes connect.

"You don't see it, do you?" He leans closer, reaches across the table, and takes my hand. "You don't see how stunningly attractive you are, Poppy. You don't see that when you peel back your beauty, an even more beautiful soul lurks and hides."

Time slows. I try to swallow, but my throat constricts.

"I don't know who hurt you, but I know someone did. I see it when you withdraw, when you look scared, when people yell, and when I look at you right in those gorgeous eyes, and you glance away. I'm going to make it my job, no matter if this thing between us grows or dies out to just a friendship, to make you see just how special you are."

My eyes drop to our hands. I want to run and hide. I want to run right into Julian's arms.

"You shouldn't—"

He interrupts me, "Don't tell me I shouldn't say things like that. The problem is you haven't heard them enough. This is normal. Me doing everything I can to make the girl next door fall for meis normal. Yeah, I'm a soldier and an ass most of the time, but the other time, this is me. I'm a relationship guy. I don't fuck around. I don't have the time or patience to waste if I'm not interested. I just want honesty, and that's what you've been with me, so please don't stop because you're worried I'm going to judge you. Don't run from me, Poppy."

"I don't want to run… but sometimes it's my first instinct." I brush my thumb over his knuckles; they are hard and bear a few scars.

"That's okay. I'm good at chasing, too. If you want me to chase you, that is."

I look up into his stormy eyes and nod. "I'd like that."