12. Esme

12

ESME

G iving myself the once-over again, I pucker my lips to get another layer of lip balm on. As much as I'm going to tease Keats for not picking me up at my door, I think it would be a little too classic and make the uneasiness of how we are approaching this date a little odder. Plus, he is coming home from work, and I will jump into his car at the curb. A sort of drive-thru but picking up a date instead.

I'm dressed in a casual cotton dress that maybe clings to my body, with sandals. I threw on hoop earrings and several bracelets. With no clue what we will be doing tonight, I'm still eager, and I open the door and quickly lock it behind me.

"Oh hello, dear." Immediately I hear Mrs. Tiller call out.

Looking to the house next door, I see that she is watering her potted plants. "Keeping busy, I see. I guess we haven't had a lot of rain recently." Smiling, I make my way over to the property line for a little chitchat while I wait.

"You look all dolled up. A date?"

My smile stretches more, but I look away with the hope that she doesn't see me looking so timid. "Something like that."

She turns her hose off. "With our dear neighbor?"

My face squinches. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"Kelly across the street said her contractor mentioned that someone got a little territorial with the neighbor he was trying to ask out. Naturally, Kelly asked me if something was blossoming between our two neighbors, and we both hope it will take the street arguments down a notch. Then, of course, young Oliver who lives down the street and works with your new beau was more than eager to give his two cents when he was out for his run. Then we have the Browns' kids who mentioned they saw Keats collect your pizza box at your door the other week. Neighborhood watch also started a separate email chain to discuss our theories."

My entire face drops from the happenings going on around my back. "Wow, that's… I have no words," I reply blankly.

She assesses me. "Are you sure you don't want to grab a light sweater?"

"No. I'm fine."

She cocks her head to the side gently. "Just a little coverup or something. You don't want to give your gentleman caller the impression that you are too easy."

"What the hell," I mumble to myself. What is happening? Nervously, I do my best to keep my face bright. "Really. I'm not chilly." Besides, Keats had already done indecent things to me.

I never knew that I would be so thankful to hear Keats's car drive up the street.

"Oh, look at that. I need to run. Don't forget your tomato plants in the side yard."

"You two kids have fun. Don't be out too late. "

I almost skip to the street, and Keats doesn't even have opportunity to fully stop because I already open the passenger's side door, and for the brief few seconds he does stop, I slide onto the seat in record time and close the door.

"Go. Now. Hurry."

Keats looks at me strangely but listens, with his foot on the accelerator. "What in the world?"

Buckling up, I take a deep calming breath. "Mrs. Tiller was giving me fashion advice, as I'm apparently encouraging you to be an improper gentleman caller."

He snorts a laugh. "She's not exactly wrong."

I glare at him that I'm not amused. Not because it isn't funny. "There's more. The entire street has been talking about us. Even secret conversations and bets, I'm sure. If you actually show me your A-game tonight, then neither one of us can enter the other's house because someone from neighborhood watch will be out with their binoculars and inform everyone by 8am tomorrow."

Keats just chuckles. "This is classic. Another reason I live on Everhope Road. We have a great cast of characters."

My smile is uncontrollable at this point. "You're not the one that Mrs. Tiller is probably now knitting a sweater for, as I'm apparently dressing too scandalously."

Keats grows quiet for a second, calming down. "You look good," he comments in earnest.

Taking in my surroundings, I remind myself why I'm here.

On a date.

With Keats.

For a man who probably just worked a 12-hour day, he seems refreshed. My favorite, with a few buttons undone, and his cologne with a tint of nutmeg tingles just right to my nose .

"Thanks. How was work?"

"The usual. Those are for you, by the way." He motions with his head as his eyes remain on the road.

It doesn't take long for me to search the back, as the bunch of flowers are on the middle of the seat. Maybe he noticed my wildflowers in a vase near my desk when we shared pizza and that's why he chose this bouquet. It's a far-too-sweet gesture, even for me, but oh gosh, I like it.

"They're lovely."

Right away, he seems proud of himself. "I was debating on a fruit basket, but that would insinuate you would need to make me a pie, and that's more serious than marriage, so we are not going down that road."

I laugh softly. "For a man who is a little high-strung, I never expected you to be… funny? Relaxed? Somewhat normal." My face must show that I'm unsure how to phrase that.

He glances to his side with feigned shock. "Thank you, I think."

Another thought dawns on me. "Where are we going, by the way? You never mentioned. This is your make-it-or-break-it moment on the dating front."

"You're going to be surprised again."

"Oh yeah?"

"How do you feel about bread-making and wine?"

Lines form on my head. "As in…"

He laughs to himself. "The Riverbell by the dock, they have a wine-and-loafs night once a month, and it just so happens that tonight is the night." The moored riverboat is a restaurant that is borderline casual.

My brows rise, as I'm very impressed. "So, like a wine tasting with cheese and bread? "

"Sourdough bread. Not just any bread. Let's get that clear. It's a classy bread."

Sputtering a laugh, I love this. "This is a first. Inventive, for sure."

"I passed the make-it-or-break-it test?"

"With flying colors."

Since we only need to park by the river, the drive is quick and parking is a breeze. He even opens my door, and I'm not sure if it's to be genuine or to tease me about last time.

Either way, I'm already having fun, and when we walk up the dock onto the boat, there's a nice vibe inside. The restaurant was refurbished a while ago, and inside are hanging lights, and the industrial feel gives an alternative flare. I see a long table, and we take our seats next to one another.

The cheese plate, olives, and other appetizers are a relief, as it's enough to be a dinner.

"I don't think I've ever made sourdough bread. Doesn't it take forever?"

Keats shrugs while he studies the set list of wines for tonight. "They mentioned something about already having the starter yeast. Tonight is the dough and baking part. Not sure what that means, but I'm just going to trust it."

I pinch his arm. "Using your hands to knead dough. I believe there is a sexy theory about hands and the ability to bake bread. You better prove the theory right."

"Except you've already felt my hands, so your theory has been solved." He pops an olive into his mouth.

"Do we get to take the bread home? And do I have to share? Because that might be a problem. My neighbor is dreadful."

Keats turns in his seat to face me fully. "Listen, my little demon, as much as pushing one another's buttons is our style, perhaps we can try another method of communication. A little more angelic, perhaps."

My fingertips begin to feather the back of his hand that is resting on the table, and we both observe my actions. "I would like that," I agree.

Our eyes meet, and we are both happy, having a good time, feeling the new direction of how we interact with one another. We almost get lost in the elation, but then Keats snaps out of it.

"Okay, bread-making. They said on the phone that we get to go home with sourdough starter, whatever the hell that means. Apparently, you need to take care of it like a plant. We get to mix the dough and knead it, and then they provide a different dough that's already risen," he explains.

I pick up the laminated sheet in front of us. "Wow, there are like a gazillion steps. This is what sophisticated bread does to us?"

"We can thank San Francisco for this. It's the sourdough capital of the world, apparently. Well, actually, Germany has the most consumption of sourdough bread. Although the Polish make some damn good stuff, too."

"Research much?"

He tries to hide his satisfied smile.

We order wine and a few minutes later, I'm picking up my glass of white wine, I take a sip. "Yum," I comment on the drink.

Keats also takes a sip of his wine, although he poured a much smaller glass for himself since he's driving. "I'm relieved you seem to be on board with tonight. I kind of noticed stuffy cocktail parties are not your thing and you prefer fields."

"I would say that I like to mix up my social calendar, but I do love nature for my daily outings. My heart is with wild fields and farm feels for engagement photos. There is a creek just out of town, and that's a great spot, too."

"Your face lights up when you talk about it."

I lift my shoulders. "It's a calming place. Is this when you tell me that bread-making is your calming zone?"

He has a deep chuckle. "Hell no. I can cook and grill, but baking is not my forte."

The waiter places a tray in front of us. We shuffle items around on the table to make space. With quick instructions, we get busy on mixing the ingredients.

My arm gives out mid-flour-mixing, and I collapse back into my seat. "Here. We need your muscle to finish this."

Keats takes over. "Your hero is here to assist."

The next hour we continuously laugh and joke around. It's constant switching what we produce with the staff who provide a new dough to keep the steps flowing.

We are at our last step where we are shaping the dough to put into a Dutch oven dish with all eyes on us due to our hysterics. While the bread is baking at a solid 450 degrees, we enjoy nibbles and drinks.

"I won't need to go to yoga for days. What a workout that was," I comment.

"But that smell from the kitchen is worth it. Do you prefer butter or olive oil on your bread?" he wonders.

"Hmm. Probably olive oil and mix that with a little balsamic and herbs. I'm sure we could steal a few from Mrs. Tiller's garden. The dog across the street eats her plants anyhow."

Keats brings his arm around me to rest on the back of my chair, and I can't help scooting a little closer to him. "Aren't you a little rebel," he responds.

Watching the people around us, it appears everyone seems to be on a date except the trio of girlfriends in the corner chatting about single life. Another reminder that I'm here with someone, and I like that a lot.

I nearly faint when the loaf of bread is brought to us. "Wait," I say and dive into my bag for my phone. "This deserves a photo."

Keats grins. "Okay, that makes sense. I need to send this to my sister, and then she will send a bunch of questions in return."

I elbow him in jest. "But you love it." I get a few shots, and then I hand the bread knife to Keats. "You may do the honors."

He's so laidback tonight, with ease remaining on his face the whole night. The bread's crust makes a crackly noise, and I nudge his arm with excitement.

"Ooh, this is nice and soft inside. Probably warm, too." He quickly winks at me, and I playfully roll my eyes.

Keats offers me a piece, and the first bite is nearly orgasmic, and I murmur a sound.

"I've heard that noise before," he teases.

"Well, aren't you funny." I rip off another piece while he brings his slice to his lips, I patiently wait for his reaction, and I cock an eyebrow. "I've seen that face before."

Not once has it crossed my mind to argue or throw a jab that is out of line, even for flirtation.

When our wine-and-loafs night wraps up, we head back to his car, but he doesn't start his engine. Instead, a promising quiet surrounds us, and the streetlights trace our faces. Our fingers interlace in the middle between our seats. This is a softer side between us, maybe a shock to my body, too. For the last few months, I would never have imagined this.

"I had a good time." His voice is tender, and it causes my body to grow sensitive in all the right places.

"Me too," I reply. Biting my bottom lip, I decide a simple two-word answer isn't enough. "Actually, I forgot what it's like to go on a date."

At record speed he jumps in. "I hear ya."

Our hands float around one another. I scoff a laugh. "Turns out that I might be kind of happy that my dry spell is broken with you."

Keats leans his head to the side, and our eyes meet with a glow around us. "Ditto," he agrees.

"That's good, because the whole next-door-neighbor aspect kind of complicates things, and as much as it's been fun to plan each other's murders, it would be a hell of a lot more uncomfortable if tomorrow we had to see one another after a horrible date." I point out the potential predicament of our situation

"Good thing this wasn't horrible then."

I smile because he is right.

He dives in to kiss me, his hand finding the spot behind my head to pull me closer to him. Our tongues flick, and our kiss grows deeper. This is completely different. Lust hasn't taken over us, instead it's a desire to explore more of this thing between us.

I murmur from the back of my throat as he steals another breath from me with a damaging kiss that is a confirmation more than domination. And when we barely part, he gingerly sucks and drags along my bottom lip. Our noses nuzzle; what the hell? I'm nuzzling my nose with Keats? This is my life right now?

I approve.

"Esme, I haven't told you something yet."

Is this where everything goes pop?

"You are so unforgivingly beautiful that it makes me crazy. You were exquisite as my mistress and stunning when you are a mess on the floor. I'm not sure why I've waited to tell you."

Smiling against his mouth for one last soft kiss, we retreat our heads back and our eyes linger. "What are the chances you can risk a speeding ticket? You must know a judge or something to get out of it, right?"

"Say no more." But before he even gets to turn the engine on, his cell begins to vibrate. "Sorry, I need to take this in case it's Summer. Bo has chickenpox."

"Of course." And let me drool because that is so endearing.

Keats, however, sighs. His face tightens, and he answers. "What is it, Oliver?" Oh. "Are you kidding me? Now? He's ready to sign now at 11pm instead of earlier when this should have gone down at 4pm?" I can only vaguely hear the other end of the call. "Oliver, I swear I'm about to strangle… Yeah, I know… Okay. Yep."

The moment Keats hangs up and looks at me with a pained face, my mood drops.

"I wish so much that this isn't happening, but a player from another team that we've been trying to nab has finally agreed to sign before he has to renew with his team tomorrow. They need the contract since there is a sharp deadline."

I frown. "Right."

He leans in to steal another kiss. "I'm sorry. This isn't how this was supposed to go… at all."

Taking a deep breath, I can hear the remorse in his voice. I force myself to smile, and in truth, I do understand, though I'm still disappointed. "I get it. It's… fine."

"It's not. But yeah, I need to take you home, and it seems my night will be long in a way I don't particularly want."

"Really, don't worry." I wave him off.

Keats shakes his head. "You're not going to attack me again for not fucking your brains out after an evening together?"

I ease and even snicker a laugh. "I wasn't going to attack you… per se. Anyhow, no. You have my word that I will not repeat my past transgressions."

He gives me another quick kiss. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are. It just means you will have to make an even better impression on our second date."

Keats growls. "A second date, eh? Sounds promising."

"So it seems."

And something inside me flickers from the thought.