When the doors open, I’m frozen in place for a moment. Instead of a hallway, we’re in a large atrium, sunlit from above with wide skylights. Sofas are scattered through the room and there is a bar in one corner with a silent observant bartender.
There are only four doors out of this room, two on each side. Jax takes us to the right and opens the second door.
If I thought the hotel back in St. Louis was fancy, I don’t even knowwhat to call this.
A fireplace so large you could walk into it dominates one wall. Above it is a towering painting of a girl playing a piano. There’s a private bar in here too, minus the bartender, fully stocked with bottles. And a grand piano in the corner.
Like the atrium, one wall is floor-to-ceiling glass. Nashville spreads out below, colorful and bright in the late afternoon.
“It’s beautiful,” I say. I walk over to the piano to trail my fingers along the keys. “Do you play?”
“Rarely,” he says. He walks over to the bar and pulls a bottle of champagne from a silver ice bucket. While he opens it, I notice an archway and head that direction. It leads into a dining area with the same window view. A round table is set with covered dishes and two candles, already lit. A bottle of wine is open and waiting to be poured.
“You’re feeding me this time,” I call out over my shoulder. “I must have gone up a notch on your scale.”
I hold on to the back of the cushioned chair. Everything in this room is a soft blue. The wallpaper. The chairs. The tablecloth. Even the dishes are white with blue trim. It’s like living in a dream.
Jax comes up behind me. “Yes, a few notches,” he says. He wraps his arms around me, each hand holding a sparkling flute of champagne.
I take one from him and he turns me around. It doesn’t feel like afternoon now, but much later in the day. We each take a sip. It’s delicious, bubbly and light, like drinking air.
Jax looks down at me, and I shiver a little. Even though we did do all those things last night, I’m still a little lost about the places we might go.
“I probably still have hay in my hair,” I blurt.
Jax gives me one of those rare smiles, and I swear it’s like being lit up from within. “You always say the most unexpected things,” he says.
“I know. It’s a curse.” God, I’m so embarrassed. Why is someone like him interested in this small-town country girl?
“It’s endearing.” He takes my glass and sets them both on the table.He pulls out a chair. “Let’s eat something,” he says. “Then we can take care of the errant hay.”
My face burns hot, but I just plunk down in the chair he offers.
I peek under the silver dome. The aroma of grilled steak and creamy pasta makes me want to swoon.
Jax removes his lid and peers at the meal with suspicion.
“You don’t have a poison-sensing gadget?” I ask. “I can eat first if you’re worried.”
Jax picks up a fork. “It’s my curse,” he says. “Mistrusting food.”
If I’d been poisoned twice at hotels, I’d probably be the same way. “Offer still stands. I can go first.”
He shakes his head. He cuts a piece of the steak, carefully watching the juice, then lifts it to his mouth.
For a moment I’m mesmerized by each of his movements. The swift precise movement of the knife. The perfect angle of the fork in his hand.
I’m such a goner.
“It’s delicious,” he says. “You should try it.”
I startle at his words. I’ve been staring. “Yes!” I say. “Of course.”
The first bite tastes like pure heaven. I think I’ve been too busy or freaked out to eat anything since I met him, even during those couple of days apart. I find myself wanting to scarf it all quickly and force myself to slow down.
“Aunt Bea never cooked anything like this,” I say.
He watches me with bemusement. It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen him since that first night at the hotel in St. Louis, when he watched me with those hawk eyes.
