Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
4
HANA
“You know, a first date at an apartment is usually a red flag,” I say in gentle jest, still trying to make sense of this whole thing. One minute, we’re making jokes in my coffee shop. The next, I find myself a few feet away from Vance’s front door.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m beyond stoked, and he makes me feel safer than I’ve felt in years, but this is all out of the norm for me. My evenings aren’t spent with handsome men in lavish apartments. They’re spent coiled up in bed with a good book or a TV show.
The few times I have gone out in recent years have been with men who were either seeing someone—more often than not, someone who comes to the Hanging Gardens—or duds who think they know what a woman wants. I guess that’s why my jealousy spiked when I saw Vance speaking to another woman. Crazy as it sounds, I wanted a chance. Hell, even just to talk would have sufficed. A moment to bask in his shadow, feel what so many others must feel.
Warm, safe, and happy.
But now that I’ve got it, what do I do? Make stupid jokes about red flags?
Stupid, Hana! I reprimand myself.
“There’s a lot of red,” he says, “but none of it is on a flag.”
His cryptic sentence isn’t helping me figure out how to handle myself. A lot of red? What’s that even supposed to mean?
We stop at his front door, and he slots the key into it. He pauses a moment, draws in a deep, nervous breath, and opens it up.
And it seems I don’t have to wait long to get my answer. Red rose petals line the edges of a red carpet Vance laid out, leading through the entryway and into the living room. At the end of the carpet sits a round table, two chairs on either side, with lit candles in various places across the room to give a low, ambient light.
“Holy shit.” I nearly fall over at the effort Vance put into this. I expected our night would involve a meal, maybe some playful banter, with it ending in his bedroom. Why else would we do it in his apartment, right?
But seeing how Vance pulled out all the stops leaves me speechless, excited, and eager for what the night has in store.
“I hope it isn’t too much.” Vance slides one hand over the small of my back while the other guides me inside. A cold, hand-sized print remains against my skin when he pulls it away. My body’s attempt to tell me it wants more, no doubt.
And the more it will get, I’m sure.
“Not at all.” My voice sounds distant, no doubt a direct result of me still trying to pick my jaw up from the floor. “It’s perfect.”
“Good, because there’s a main event, but that one you’ll have to wait for.” He follows me inside and locks the door behind him. “Please, have a seat. I’ll grab the wine and dinner. I’d say I cooked it all myself, but that would be doing a great disservice to the fine folks at the restaurant I bought it from.”
He snickers, so do I.
“And what did these fine folks make for us?” I stroll through the romantic dreamscape he sprawled out for me. Drinking it all in and letting myself slip into the belief that this time has to be different.
“A meal of your choosing.” Vance follows until the end of the wall on our right opens into the kitchen. “Chicken, beef, pork, and lamb, with fries, roast veg, and some rice thing on the side. I didn’t know what you liked, so I grabbed a bit of everything.”
“Is now a good or bad time to tell you I’m a vegetarian?” I spin around and stare at him over the island separating the living room from the kitchen.
Vance stops dead in his tracks and stares at me like I just kicked him in the shins. “I didn’t think about that. Damn it. I can call them and get something prepared. It’s supposed to be your perfe—”
“Vance, honey, I’m kidding.” I crinkle my nose at him alongside my best playful wink.
He sighs in relief, continuing on his way to grab wine glasses and a bottle of red. He brings them to the table and pours a healthy serving into each glass. We clink glasses and take a sip before he darts back into the kitchen to grab our dinner.
Vance brings two trays full of food out at first and goes back for another before he finally sits down.
“Don’t want to make you feel rushed,” he says once seated, “but I thought we could start with a meal. Get it out of the way.”
“Out of the way, huh?” I raise my glass to my lips.
“Okay, that came out wrong.” He does the same, drowning his embarrassment in the red liquid. “What I meant to say was, we can have dinner first so it doesn’t interrupt the rest of our activities.”