One Funeral (No Weddings Book 2) (3 page)

Cade tilted his head as he held the front door open for me. “What’s that for?”

I shrugged as we stepped outside. Then I turned, closed the door, and locked it. “Something I’ve done ever since I was a little girl. I love to hold rose petals and make snapdragons sing.”

He laughed. “I can’t wait to hear and see that.”

As we walked down my short front path to the driveway, my gaze landed on a badass black, four-door Jeep Wrangler Unlimited. The beefy tires looked like they could shred pavement, and its menacing front bumper and winch made me think anyone glancing in their rearview mirror would want to get the hell out of the way.

“Wow. You’ve been holding out on me, Cade. And here I thought all you had was a bike.”

His expression turned stricken as we walked to the Jeep. “That
bike
is a custom-built chopper, which I happen to love.” He leaned down, his voice dropping lower. “But not nearly as much as I love having you wrapped around me on it.”

His warm breath feathering up the column of my neck made me shiver. I swallowed hard as I turned and glanced up at him. “And this?”

“Mase and I co-own the Jeep. He drives it most of the time, but I use it whenever I need to.” He opened the passenger door and held out a hand.

I clasped his offered hand, put the ball of my stiletto on the metal side rail, and slid into the seat.

As the engine roared to life and he pulled out of the drive onto my street, butterflies rioted in my stomach. So much time had gone by since I’d been on a first date that I couldn’t decide if my nervousness stemmed from being out of practice, or if it had to do with my past and my fears.

But then I glanced at the man in the driver’s seat and smiled. This was Cade.

I blew out a deep breath and stared at his profile.

He glanced at me with raised brows. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“You. Me. Us out on a date, finally.”

“And?”

A rush of memories flew by of all we’d been through to get to this point. His text-message teasing. Dinners with his roommate, Mase, and his best friend, Ben. Parties thrown with Invitation Only, the event-planning business that Cade and his sisters owned and I baked cakes for. Quiet stolen moments during said parties where he and I had bonded. Amazing kisses…

“And I think you look great driving your Jeep.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “Not gonna tell me what you were thinking about?”

“Nope.”

“It’s okay.” He smirked as he turned into the parking lot of Giuseppe’s. The soft glow from the metal gas lamps flooded into the Jeep, lighting his face. “I can tell it’s good.”

“Oh? So you’re a mind reader now?”

He shook his head. Then he parked, unbuckled his seat belt, and glanced at me. “No.” Leaning over the gearshift, he gazed at me, a spark lighting in his eyes. “When that gorgeous blush pinks up your cheeks, I know you’re thinking about me. And I know it’s something good. Or maybe bad…”

I unbuckled my seatbelt, a small smirk curving my lips as I pulled away. “Maybe.”

He gave me a penetrating look. “No. I’m revising—definitely.” Then he got out of the car, raced to my side, and opened it, holding a hand out to assist me down. “But I’m escorting you into the restaurant now to show you I can be a gentleman. Even in the face of definite temptation.”

By the time we entered the restaurant, waited at the podium, and were seated at a table in the center of the dining room with menus, my earlier nervousness had faded somewhat. The sommelier brought us wine glasses, poured a small amount into Cade’s glass, and offered the sample to him. He held the stem, swirled the liquid with a gentle motion, put his nose into the opening, inhaling for a moment, then took a sip. He gave a curt nod, and the man poured us two glasses of the rich burgundy Malbec before leaving the table without another word.

Cade leaned forward. “I only do that to make them happy. And because I know how.” He winked.

I smiled. But the corners of my mouth fell, nervousness edging in on my relaxed happiness. Thank God for tablecloths; my knee bounced like it belonged to the Energizer Bunny. I grasped the stem of my glass, looking to Cade for our toast. I was in no condition to spout off anything remotely sane. And I wished he would get on with it already. I needed to swallow down vast amounts of numbing liquid therapy.

But he read me like an open book—a tragic comedy, if I had to guess the genre—and pulled my glass from my hand, sliding it beyond my reach. I met his gaze and took a deep breath.

“Should I have brought a bottle full of Valium?”

“No.” I shook my head, sighing. “Damn. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You need to relax, Hannah. This is a date. Not an IRS audit.”

“But it’s our first date.
My
first. I haven’t dated since…” I winced. There was no greater breach of dating protocol than mentioning your ex.

Cade slid his large hand over mine, and I closed my eyes, absorbing his soothing warmth. “You’re in your head again, Maestro. Go to a happy place. Pretend like you’re in a meadow of cupcakes.”

Keeping my eyes shut, I smiled. “Are you there?”

“Would you like me to be?” His voice was soft, gentle. Like his only mission at that moment was to calm my racing heart, and he didn’t want to intrude on my happy place unless invited. And he was definitely invited.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m glad I’m there with you. Now do something fun and silly there.”

I imagined myself taking a flying leap as I knocked him down into a pile of fluffy cupcakes. Icing covered him everywhere. I snorted at the image and took a deep breath.

“Attagirl.”

In a dining room filled with beautiful oil paintings and wealthy patrons clinking sterling silverware onto fine bone china, the world fell away into a muted hum. All I registered was Cade’s soothing voice.

“Now open your eyes.”

I did as he commanded, taking in the handsome man in front of me. His rugged attractiveness seemed to contradict the conservative black collared shirt he wore. In blatant defiance of the restaurant’s perceived dress code, he’d worn it tie-less with the top two buttons undone. Which resulted in pursed lips of the maître d', followed immediately by Cade’s arched brow and our rapid seating.

He pushed my wine glass in between my fingers that remained spread facedown on the tablecloth. “Now I think you need to give the toast.”

I gave a firm nod. Moments ago, I hadn’t been able to string a coherent sentence together, let alone a toast. Now I was ready.

“To the naked man rolling around in a meadow of my cupcakes.” I raised my glass high.

He blinked and lowered his glass halfway to the table. “Holy shit, Hannah,” he whispered. “
That’s
what you imagined?”

I grinned wickedly. “It’s what I’m thinking now.”

“Damn, woman. I
love
when you visualize.”

With my glass still raised, I looked pointedly at his dropped hand. “Well, are you drinking to that, or what?”

In a rushed motion, nearly splashing the contents of his wine over the rim, he raised his glass to mine, and we clinked them together. The chime echoed until I brought my lips to the rim.

He took a sip, his gaze smoldering. “So I’m rolling in a meadow of your cupcakes, huh?”

I let out a slow exhalation as I stared at him in an I’m-
so
-not-going-to-elaborate kind of way.

Yet he leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face, like he’d won something of value.

When our meals arrived, we ate in companionable silence. Cade moaned with every bite of his filet, while I tried not to laugh around bites of rainbow trout. “You know this sauce is garlic and olive oil.”

He arched a brow. “Are you warding me off from kissing you later?”

I laughed. “Would that even work?”

“No.” He cut a piece of his meat, then glanced up at me. “I like garlic.”

“Only garlic?”

He put his knife and fork down and looked at me thoughtfully. “I like chocolate. And caramel. And honey…” His tone held unmistakable erotic undertones, and his eyes darkened, glittering with heat.

I shuddered as a bolt of lightning shot between my legs. With a deep breath, I thought about his sudden naughty condiment fetish. “Am I going to have to clean out my pantry?”

“Do it. See how long your shelves remain empty.” His eyes narrowed.

A never-emptying shelf—I’d toss them, he’d replace them. Erotic toppings and sauces would be there, whether I wanted them there or not. And they would tempt me.

“You are ruining condiments for me.”

Cade laughed, a rich booming sound that warmed me deep inside my belly. “You’ve got it backward, Maestro. I intend to ruin you for all other foods. And any other lovers.”

My mood sank at his mention of other lovers. Even though he’d meant that he intended to be the only one ever, intentions didn’t guarantee a future. Then my trolling mind took over and anxiety began to build, no matter how hard I tried to stifle it.

When my knee started bouncing again, I forced my thoughts to a naked, cupcake-covered Cade. But it didn’t work this time. I wondered if it was because he wasn’t aware of my distress, wasn’t helping to guide me through it.

Before I could decide on whether or not to voice my concern, the waiter brought dessert. I stared down at a plate of assorted berries drizzled with dark chocolate.

I tried to think of something to say, but nothing formed in my mind. Cade remained quiet as well, only this stretch of silence didn’t feel comfortable. It wasn’t anywhere near companionable. The mood between us had become stark and tense.

I glanced up when he stilled completely. He stared at me with knowing eyes.

“Cade, I’m…” What? Screwed up beyond repair? Unable to function normally on a date?

“It’s okay, Hannah. This one date isn’t an omen. It’s dinner. Look at it as your rite of passage.”

I rolled my eyes. “How romantic.”

He laughed. “It doesn’t have to be romantic. First dates seldom are. I brought you to a nice place because you’re important to me, and I wanted to show that to you. Besides, you have the discerning palate of a trained chef. It’s not like I could’ve brought you to The Belching Burger.”

I huffed out a dry laugh. “There’s actually a place called that?”

“No. But there should be. It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?” Amusement glittered in his eyes.

As we ate our desserts, his expression grew pensive. The conversation had stalled yet again, the tension thickening between us.

I put my fork down on a sigh. “I’ve ruined our first date.”

“You didn’t ruin it.”

“Yes, I did.” I crossed my arms. “Last night, we had this amazing kiss.
Amazing
.”

One corner of his mouth curved up. “Not disagreeing.”

“But tonight, I’m stuck in my head.”

“So get out of it.”

I blinked at him. If only it was that easy.

He sat back, assessing me. Then he leaned forward, sliding his hands toward the center of the table. “Look, we had a lot of buildup to that kiss.”

I blew out a breath through pursed lips, remembering our endless teasing. “Yeah, we did.”

“And it’s only been five days since we torched the shit from our past in that bonfire. Maybe you need more time.”

I shrugged, my gaze falling toward the tablecloth. “I suppose. How much time does it take to prevent a disastrous date?”

“Hannah, look at me.”

I met his penetrating stare.

“This date is
not
a disaster.”

“It is if I’m not able to forget everything else and enjoy being with you.”
Disaster.

“You’re not enjoying being with me? I’m so damn grateful to be here with you, even if the time spent is with us working through our shit.”

I gave him a hard look. “Yes. I’m enjoying being here with you. It’s the ‘forget everything else’ part I wish would suddenly happen.”

He smiled. “So not a
total
disaster.”

“Okay, I concede. Only a semi-disaster. But I was hoping for fireworks.”

“We have enough pent-up energy to power a Fourth of July display. After last night, I have no doubt there will be plenty of fireworks.” He tilted his head. “Maybe we need more than time. That bonfire was a kind of therapy, but have you ever considered
actual
therapy?”

Confused, I furrowed my brow. “Actual therapy?”

“Professional therapy.” He forked another giant bite of his New York cheesecake, then stuck it into his mouth and chewed it enough to continue. “You know, a qualified individual who gives you a game plan to get out of your head and into the moment. So you can enjoy life as it happens, instead of missing it entirely.” He leaned forward, whispering, “I’ve heard they have pills for knee bouncing.”

I laughed and sat back, my cheeks heating. I refolded the black napkin on my lap into a long triangle and thought about his question. “I haven’t. Have you?”

He shook his head. “No. But I wonder if seeing a professional might help you. They might get you to realize you aren’t as screwed up as you think and help you deal with some of your demons.”

The idea sounded intriguing. And terrifying. “You think
I
need therapy, but
you
don’t?”

Shoulders shaking with silent laughter, he leaned forward. “If I walked in there, they’d probably kidnap my sexy ass and make me a poster child for relationship therapy worldwide.”

When I laughed, he leaned back and looked toward the ceiling behind me. Then he stretched out his arm and arced his widespread hand from left to right through the air. “Can’t you see it, Hannah? My mug up in lights in Times Square. ‘Playboy Cade Michaelson and his rotating list of women to survive the one who destroyed his heart.’”

My laughter fell away. Not because he broke the date code by mentioning the list he’d kept on a yellow sticky note of women who’d jumped in and out of his bed before pursuing me, but because of what he’d said between the lines. “Are you sure
your
heart is mended enough to be here? Are we both kidding ourselves?”

He swallowed, a serious expression hardening his features. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Hannah. You breached every one of my defenses by being naturally you. Am I still fucked up? Only as fucked up as you are.”