Page 30 of 28 Dates
His vision is to take over the building to the right of Dirty Martini’s where the current space and existing bar share a wall. “Well, you have the brick wall staying, but what if you keep the support pillars, which would have to be somewhere along this wall, and knock the whole thing down? Then you can make the wall separating the actual spaces plexiglass, or something else that you can see through but still helps protects the noise. It’d make everything seem larger. And this stage here—” I point to his original drawing and cross it out. He has it on the long-sided wall, which looks cool, but it takes up too much seating. I’ve spent time in that consignment store and it’s pretty narrow.
“If you move the stage to this front corner, you can still set tables on it when you’re not having music nights, but it would be further from the walkway between the spaces so the noise would be muted for folks in Dirty’s.”
His arm moves, brushes over my shoulder as he leans close, and points to the back area. “What’s this?”
My mind is muddled. His hand is at my back, sitting there, and I’m certain it’s unintentional, or casual, but everything inside of me sizzles. It takes me a moment to see he’s pointing at the back hallway. In his drawing it has extra storage, which he’ll need some of. “Bathrooms. Convert the dressing room area currently there, and you can double the amount of restrooms, which will keep lines down since the hallways are so narrow.”
We keep scribbling. He listens to my idea, we discuss whether or not the costs and possibilities in the drawings are even feasible for his budget, but the whole time, I’m not only growing more excited about this, I’m impressed with his knowledge. This isn’t just a dream for him, he’s planning for it, and he knows the expenses he can handle down to the dollar.
I sketch out a row of pendant lights with clear glass balls that would look fantastic over the new wood bar and set my pens down. “There. It looks awesome.”
He’s silent for a moment, sipping his wine. I finish my glass, and before I can pour a fresh one, he has the bottle in his hand, filling my glass. He hasn’t even looked at me and yet he knows what I need. It’s uncanny how close we can be, and somehow on completely different pages.
And it’s this moment. With Jonas so close to me, his cologne invading my senses and his hand on my body in the most platonic way possible, emotion lodges in my throat.
I’ve never wanted a man, and yet have I been fooling myself into thinking I’m not falling in love with Jonas Reeves? Was the largest mistake I’ve ever possibly made in my entire life sending him away?
And God, none of this can be true. He’s broken up with Ashley, and he hasn’t given me a single hint of still being attracted to me.
This. This is why love sucks. Everyone who falls ends up disappointed. Or worse. My own family is testament to that.
He turns his head, and I try to quickly blank my expression. “What do you think?”
“It’s a risk. A big one.”
He’s talking about the restaurant. I’m thinking aboutus.Or me being willing to finally risk handing my heart to someone. “It could be worth it.”
“Yeah?”
His eyes are heavy-lidded. And he’s so damn close it wouldn’t take much to lean in and press my lips to his. To slide my fingers through his hair, press my hand to his neck or shoulder.
I blink and stare at the paper. I’m such a coward. We’re talking about his career, not my realizations that have come six months too late. Tracing my finger along the outline of the space he wants to lease, I reply. “I don’t know, Jonas, sometimes I think with risks, you just have to jump in and hope they end up being worth it, even if you’re scared as hell of them.”
“Yeah.” He leans back and stretches out both of his arms, taking his hand off me, and his head falls back. He scrubs his hand over his face and through his hair. “Who knows what I’ll do.”
His eyes are closed, and even through his uncertainty, he looks serene. Beautiful with his straight nose and slight scruff lining his strong jaw. I’ve stared at his profile an infinite amount of times and he’s always the most attractive man I’ve ever met. But I still miss his hair. “Why’d you cut your hair?”
Yes. That’s me. I blurt it out without thinking.Smooth, nincompoop.
His lips curve and his eyes open, sliding toward me. “Staring at me?”
Obviously. “No.”
I flip over a piece of paper. It’s not my business anyway, so I doodle on the blank side of the paper. Stupid. So stupid. Yet he’s teasing me.
Ugh. This whole day has been a mindfuck.
“I miss it,” he says, his voice low and all trace of teasing gone. “I’m thinking of growing it back.”
For some reason, that makes my heart flutter. I nod, continue doodling, and yet as I realize what I’m drawing, it’s other variations of the stage and the bar and the new layout. God, I won’t stop thinking of this until he actually does it now.
“I liked it.” I can’t look at him. If I do, I’m too afraid of what he’ll say. My face is hot and my skin is itchy. He came over to talk about my day, and all we’ve talked about are his dreams for the bar. Which is just as well because I don’t want to give any more thought to Isaac or Michael or the stupid app I wish I had never agreed to do in the first place.
“Yeah?” He asks the question and I can’t help it. I turn my head to him, meet his eyes, and that flutter in my heart turns to a jackhammer against my rib cage. And if I’m not mistaken, his gaze lowers to my mouth before slowly lifting.
I turn away, jumping so quickly at the emotions swarming and threatening to take over I bump the table.
We both reach out, grab the wineglasses and bottle before it tips, but papers scatter and my pens roll over the edge.
