his large hand in mine. If this were a romcom, the music would be starting right about now. “It’s nice meeting you.”
Walker doesn’t let go of my hand, keeping it firmly in his. “Sorry I was late. My dog refused to come inside, and I spent ten minutes bribing her to come in.” Oh, I love dogs. “Should we get a table?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
He helps me down from my stool and signals to the bartender. “Can you have her wine added to our dinner tab?”
“Sure thing,” the bartender says.
Walker knocks on the bar two times and then leads me to the hostess stand. “Hi, table for two, please.”
I don’t miss the way the hostess practically faints when she looks up at him. I kind of want to tell her I get it. He laces his fingers with mine as she leads us to a table by the fireplace. It’s definitely romantic.
Out of the corner of my eye, I check him out. His dress slacks are grey and hug what appears to be a very fine ass. His blue dress shirt is fitted and the sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. The cologne he’s wearing is spicy and woodsy—it wraps around me like a warm embrace.
We reach our table and he slides my chair out for me. I take my seat and he sits across from me.
“I’m sorry, but you’re really fucking beautiful.” My face immediately heats up. “The pictures your mom showed me did not do you justice.”
“Th-Thank you. Mom spoke very highly of you.”
Our waiter comes and tells us the specials and takes our drink order. When the waiter disappears, Walker smiles at me. I swear when he does my heart stutters in my chest. “What kind of dog do you have?”
He pulls out his phone, swipes across the screen and then hands me his phone. “Swipe left—that’s my girl, Chloe.”
“Chloe?” The boxer is adorable. She’s brown with a black face and a little bit of white on her nose.
“My niece insisted she looked like a Chloe.” Walker smiles.
I can’t help but smile at him before continuing to look at his photos. There are photos from her as a puppy to more recent ones. I turn to the last picture and want to drool. Walker isn’t wearing a shirt. God he’s a perfect male specimen. His tan, lean muscled chest is on display showcasing that definitely takes care of his body; he’s got an array of black and grey tattoos that go from his shoulder to his elbow in intricate patterns, and maybe someday I’ll get to look at them a little more closely.
He’s covered in sweat and appears to be laughing as Chloe licks his face. I hand his phone back to him. “She’s adorable.”
“Thanks, she’s my spoiled brat. So, your mom says you’re a photographer. What kind of pictures do you take?”
Our waiter interrupts us, delivering our drinks, and then taking our orders. We both order steak and potatoes. We continue to talk after the waiter takes his leave.
“Tell me about your photography.”
I take a sip of my wine. “I take any kind of photo, really. I do newborn babies, families, engagement, weddings, and senior portrait photography. I’ve been doing it for five years and love it. I try to keep up with the latest trends. I have a little studio downtown right across from Bentley’s Bakery.”
“That’s great. I’d love to see your work. I’ll tell my brother and sister-in-law if they need photographer to look you up.”
I smile. “Thank you, that’d be great. My studio is called Captured Moments and I have a Facebook page if you want to check it out or have your sister-in-law check.”
He smiles and picks up his phone. Walker types away on it and then holds it out to me. “Is this yours?”
I lean in and nod. “Yeah, that’s mine.”
“Well, now you have another follower.” He sets his phone down.
“Thank you. How do you like being a physical therapist?” I shake my head. “Gosh, that was a stupid question. Of course you like it, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to school for it.”
Walker grabs my hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. Every time he touches me, I swear I tingle all over. “It wasn’t dumb. I do love it and honestly, I changed my major sophomore year from education to physical therapy. I played baseball until my sophomore year but tore my ACL. The therapist I had after my surgery was awesome and, I don’t know,