“Thank you,” Jules answers sweetly, giving him a soft smile and looking back at me. It’s only a quick glance before a blush rises to her cheeks and she takes my hand.

She has a shy elegance about her, but there’s more to her than that. I want to dig a little deeper, if for nothing more than curiosity’s sake.

I gesture toward the table, pulling out her chair for her like a gentleman. It’s not in my nature, but I have enough manners to impress a woman at least.

“I’m surprised you wanted to see me again,” Jules says as I take my own seat. The confession sits between the two of us for a moment as I consider a response.

Before I can say anything, she adds, “Thank you, by the way.” Her eyes flicker from mine to the candle. I don’t miss how she takes a few glances around us as if she’s searching for someone.

I nod my head easily, setting my napkin in my lap and giving her a moment to get comfortable. The waiter quickly pours her a glass of water from the pitcher he’s holding.

“Good evening. May I start you off with something to drink?” The young man squares his shoulders and waits, holding the pitcher at attention. He’s dressed in a crisp white button-down and dark gray slacks that match his thin tie.

“A bourbon for me, please,” I say and wait for Jules. Her slender neck and shoulders are on display. The way the thin straps of her dress lay across the very edge of her shoulders taunt me to pull them down. A simple thin silver necklace sits right in the dip of her collarbone with the word happy etched in the middle. It’s the only piece of jewelry she’s wearing. No ring on her finger. I didn’t notice one last night either.

“A glass of chardonnay, please.”

“Right away,” the waiter says and nods, leaving us alone. Once again, Jules squirms uncomfortably. I love her nervousness and how she has a habit of tucking her hair behind her ear. It only adds to her innocence.

“No tequila?” I say, playing around with her to break the ice.

She huffs a small laugh and rolls her eyes. “No,” she says as she unfolds her napkin and moves it to her lap, smoothing it out. “No tequila tonight.”

I shrug, waiting for those soft baby blue eyes to look back up at me. “I didn’t mind the tequila.” I murmur the confession across the table. There’s not a damn thing dirty that I’ve said but she still blushes. There’s an attraction between us that’s undeniable. It’s easy and carefree. But the air is tense as she looks to her left again and then back to me.

She hesitates to say something, then changes her mind and clears her throat as she picks up the menu. She talks without looking at me. “I’ve never done anything like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like, seeing someone.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” I ask her. “Seeing each other?”

Jules puts her menu down and looks at me with a serious expression. “I have no idea.” The sincere answer and complete honesty in her voice force a rough laugh from my chest. I was only teasing her, but she’s too sweet and sincere to get a rise out of her.

“You can laugh all you want, but I have no clue what’s going on.” She picks her menu back up and says, “I’m just along for the ride, Mr. Thatcher.”

“Is that so?” I ask her playfully and reach for my glass of water when the waiter returns, setting down my drink first and then hers.

“It is,” she says, smiling into her glass and taking a sip of the white wine. She closes her eyes and lets out the softest moan of satisfaction that’s barely audible. My cock hardens as I remember last night, the same sweet sound slipping from her lips as I thrust into her over and over again.

She’s completely oblivious. Even with a shiver of desire running down my spine, she doesn’t seem to notice what she does to me.

“So, what changed in your plans?” I ask as she eyes the menu again. I don’t bother looking at mine. I know exactly what I’ll have.

A short, feminine laugh makes her shoulders shake as she pulls her long dark hair over her shoulder and then brushes it back again. “I thought this would be better than what I had planned.”

Bullshit. I can tell she’s lying from a mile away.

“And what did you have planned before?” I say and smirk, pushing for more and wanting to see her admit to this little game she played this morning.

She takes a sip of wine and then answers, “Writing.”

“Writing?”

“I like to go to Central Park to write,” she says easily, slipping her hands into her lap and leaning forward.

“Are you a journalist?”

“No,” she says and shakes her head, “I’m an author.” She takes a sip of wine again and I watch as she fiddles with the stem and continues. “I’m not well known or anything. Just poetry.” She tries to wave off her insecurity then adds, “It doesn’t really make much money, but it’s the career I chose.”

She’s already justifying herself and I don’t like it. She should be proud.

“I think that’s wonderful. It takes a lot of work and diligence to write a novel of poetry.”

Her eyes light up and she visibly relaxes as she says in a delicate voice, “Thank you.”

“Who’s your favorite poet?” I ask her.

“Robert Frost,” she answers quickly. “Hands down.”

“I’ve read a bit of Frost.” It’s true, albeit years and years ago in grade school and I’m pretty sure I hated every minute I was forced to read it. It doesn’t matter, though; my remark makes her calm and that sweet smile comes back.

I clear my throat, smoothing the napkin on my lap and trying to remember what Mrs. Harper said. “‘Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought,’” I say as I look into her eyes and try to say the second part correctly, “‘and the thought has found words.’ I believe it was Frost who said that.” Her entire demeanor changes to one of surprise and ease. I’m shocked that I remembered it myself.

A surprised grin looks back at me. It’s amazing how something so small can make her genuinely happy. She nods and says, “Yes, I do believe you’re right.”

The moment between us is filled with comfortable silence as we each take a sip of our drinks.

“So you’re in construction, I believe?”

“I’m a developer,” I say, hoping she won’t ask too many questions. I don’t think she has any idea of the connections. I don’t intend to lie to her, but I don’t need to give her anything that would help her put the pieces together.

“In the city, right?”

“Brooklyn mostly, although we’re currently under contract with the city to renovate and rebuild some properties in Manhattan.”

“What’s that like?”

“Being a developer?” I’ve never had anyone ask me before and I take a moment to consider my reply. “It’s challenging at times and it pisses me off most days. A lot goes wrong and hardly anything goes the way it’s planned.” I smirk at her as she laughs into her glass at my answer. “Isn’t that what all jobs are like, though?”

She nods her head, setting the glass down but then her expression changes. “I’m not sure I should be doing this,” she tells me with her forehead scrunched.