Chapter 7

Coleson

I’ve never closed early, but then, I’ve never been about to ask someone to be my wife.

I made sure the upstairs was cleaned, though I doubt we’ll make it up there. I know McDavid might think I want sex, and I do, but I will prove to her this isn’t about that. This is about both our goals. I glance around the coffeehouse. It’s pristine, though the smell of coffee overpowers the smell of cleaner. I turn to look at the small booth and make sure everything is in place. I set it up like a classy restaurant would, our plates, silverware, and wineglasses are already laid out, a black napkin in the center of each plate. In the middle of the table, I lit a candle, and on top of her napkin is a single red rose.

I’m pulling out all the stops, and it may be overkill, but I’m asking her to be my wife. McDavid deserves the best, and I’m going to show her all that. Once I asked her to come over for dinner, I committed to seeing this through. As much as I want to believe she’ll agree, I have a nagging feeling she won’t. She seems like the type that wants the full-out chase. She’d probably wait a few years to get married, making sure the guy isn’t a dud. I don’t have a few years; I have months. I need her to do this for me, and I had no issue Googling how to get a chick to marry you. I’ve never had to work to get a woman before, nor have I wanted to, but here I am.

And fuck, I hope it works.

I lick my lips as I rake my fingers through my hair. I can’t believe I’m doing this—and that I chose McDavid for it. I have spent a lot of time since El told me I needed a wife looking at past lovers and hookups, but none of them appealed to me. I even thought of trying to get one of the girls who works for me to do it, but I didn’t want to cross that line. I haven’t slept with any of them, so I figured asking one of them to marry me would be bursting through that line. I exhale as I check the time, noting she’ll be here at any moment.

As if on cue, I hear the alley door open, and I turn to see a dark figure coming down the hall. I know it’s her by her height, even if she has added a few extra inches tonight. As McDavid comes into the light, I find myself fighting back the urge to close the distance and devour her. She’s ravishing, for sure. She wears a tight little burgundy number that hugs her breasts and hips in all the right ways. Her breasts swell at the top, almost like the dress is too tight, but I know that’s the look she’s going for. Her legs are toned, looking long in the high-heeled black boots that come up to her thighs. Those are fuck-me-stupid boots, and I volunteer. Her hair is pulled up in a high, sleek bun with tendrils falling along the sides of her face. Her eyes are dark, her lashes long and sinful. She’s painted her lips a dark red, and fuck me sideways, I want to take her bottom lip in mine and just suck it. Hard.

I have never seen her look so damned mouthwatering in my life.

You cannot sleep with your potential wife. You cannot sleep with your potential wife.

You cannot sleep with your potential wife. You cannot sleep with your potential wife.

But goddammit, she’s sex on short little legs!

I hold back my desire, barely, and meet her gaze, my lips curving up. “Right on time, McDavid.”

One side of her lips quirks as she comes to a stop a few feet before me. I tuck my hands into my pockets to keep from grabbing her to suck that bottom lip. “It looks so different in here.”

If I could, I’d look around too, but my eyes are glued to her. Shit, she looks like a wicked angel. A naughty temptress. Yup, I could definitely be married to her. I clear my throat as I present our table to her. “Right this way.”

I hold out my arm to her, and she takes it, giving me a sideways glance. I note the hesitant way she takes my arm, but she does, and that fuels my confidence. My heart is in my throat as I walk her toward the table. When I hear a soft intake of breath, I glance down to see her lip curving more. Good. She likes it.

I pick up the rose, handing it to her. “For you.”

She beams up at me as she takes it. “This is incredible.”

“Only the best for you.”

She looks surprised by what I’ve said, and before I try to explain my thoughts, I take her hand in mine. I unwrap our arms and hold her hand as she lowers herself into the seat. When she’s settled, I reluctantly let go of her hand and walk around to sit across from her. I grab the bottle of wine I’ve had breathing for the last thirty minutes and pour us each a glass.

“The food is settling. I made a chicken potpie with a cinnamon-roll cake for dessert.”

She takes the glass from me. “You plan on putting me in a food coma, so I can’t leave?”

“I hadn’t thought of that, but that’s a damn good plan,” I say, meeting her gaze, and heat shines in those hazel depths. “Especially with how damn gorgeous you are.”

Redness spreads along her neck and up her jaw. Her cheeks fill with a gorgeous pink flush that has my cock jerking to life in my pants. “Thank you.”

I lift my glass between us, and she taps hers to mine. “To meeting our goals,” I say, and her brows furrow.

“To fresh starts,” she adds, and I nod in agreement.

’Cause this is sure as hell going to be a fresh start for both of us.

Our eyes lock, and my skin tingles as we both take a sip of my favorite red wine. While it tastes real fucking good, I’d rather be tasting what McDavid has to offer. Before I can say that out loud, my watch pings with the timer I set. “Ah, it’s ready. Give me a moment.”

“Do you want help?”

“Nah, enjoy your wine. I’ll serve us out here.” I head to the kitchen to get our dinner. I grab the potpie off the counter with an oven mitt before snagging a serving tray and rack with my other hand. I’m almost back to the table when I realize I didn’t bring a knife. “Damn it, I forgot the knife.”

She’s up before I can even stop her. “Where is it? I’ll grab it.”

“It’s on the counter, by the door.”

McDavid heads off as I set up the rack, then the tray before placing the potpie on top. She’s back just as quickly as she left, and I take the knife from her outstretched hand. “Thanks.”

“It looks so good,” she comments as she slides back into her seat. “Did you go to culinary school?”

I nod. “I did because I thought I wanted to be a chef, but that all went to shit when my dad passed away.”

Her shoulders fall as I take her plate. “I’m sorry.”

I send her a wide grin before plating her meal. “Thanks, but when he passed, I knew I wanted to carry on his legacy here. So, I shifted gears and focused on the coffeehouse.”

She takes her plate with a thanks, and then I dish up mine. “That’s why you don’t want to train me, huh? Competition for your dad’s coffeehouse.”

I meet her gaze, and I can’t help but smile at her. “The exact reason.”

She nods slowly and then pulls her gaze from mine to grab her fork. I watch as she cuts a large bite of the potpie before bringing it to her lips. She blows on the food, the steam rising from the flaky goodness on her fork, and I have the urge to knock it away so that she’s blowing on my lips. I’m frozen in place as she opens her mouth, and the fork disappears between her lips. Then I’m met with the most intoxicating moan as she nods at me. “Oh my God, this is magnificent.”

Pride flushes through me, but the need for her burns deep inside as I grin at her. “I’m glad.” I take my own bite, but I can’t enjoy it when I’m watching her eat. Each bite she takes ends with a smile or a moan, and I’m wound so damn tight, I can’t breathe. I’m not going to make it. I need a distraction. “So, where did you grow up?”

I don’t care, honestly. She could have grown up on the planet Mars, and I wouldn’t even bat an eye. Because I’m fully focused on how she is eating my pie and wishing like hell I hadn’t said this wasn’t about sex. My need to get her to make those noises while I eat her pie is terrifying, for sure.

But I want to.