I leaned forward so that my breasts were crushed up against the edge of the table and my cleavage taunted him from the dropped neckline of my red dress. I whispered, my voice seductive and low, and said the one thing I knew would give him a hard-on in one of the classiest restaurants in the city. “I’m still not wearing any panties.”
Ethan’s eyes widened. He coughed a little, thumped his chest, wiped his lips with his napkin, and looked worriedly around at the people sitting around us as he strategically placed that napkin over his lap. “You are a cruel woman.”
“You love it.”
“Apparently, I don’t know what’s good for me.”
“Does any man know what’s good for him?”
“Touché.”
Our meals arrived on gold-trimmed plates. My salmon fillet smelled heavenly. The aroma of maple and cedar filled my nose as I breathed in the steam wafting up from my plate. Ethan’s meal, a medium-rare steak with a side of garlic mashed potatoes, also looked delicious. We dug in. Each bite was better than the last and we found ourselves sampling each other’s food.
I’d always stuck up my nose at couples who ate off each other’s plates in restaurants.
Now here I sat, contently sharing my meal with my boyfriend.
What a strange thought. I have a boyfriend.
Ethan insisted I indulge in one more glass of wine before we left because I’d so enjoyed the first. When I asked what he was up to—because I suspected this was his way of buttering me up before we moved into whatever he had planned next for the evening—he gave me a wry smile and promised I would like it. I just had to go with the flow.
I finished the wine and he paid the bill. We walked arm in arm back to his car in the parking lot and drove out of Stanley Park and back into the city, where we made a pit stop at my apartment so I could get changed. Ethan insisted I wear jeans, a comfortable and warm jacket, gloves, and a hat. I put up a stink about it, so he rummaged through my closet and drawers and picked out the appropriate attire for the second portion of our date.
Half an hour later, I found myself standing at the base of the seventy-six-foot-tall Christmas tree in Robson Square. Down below in an igloo-shaped dome was the outdoor skating rink of the square. It was eight o’clock and not all that busy. Families had likely gone home for the night and most of the people I could see looked like couples.
Like us.
Ethan took my hand and we wandered down the concrete stairs to the counter where we rented a pair of skates each. Ethan crouched down in front of me and laced up my skates for me. He patted my calf when he was done before sitting down and putting on his own skates. We hobbled across the foam mats covering the concrete on our blades. I had to use the walls of the rink for support, and when we finally stepped onto the ice, I let out a terrified yelp, wobbled like a suction-cupped bobblehead people liked to mount on their dashboards, and promptly fell on my ass.
Ethan roared with laughter.
I scowled up at him and dusted rink powder off my gloves. “At least I have a lot of cushion to soften the landing.”
He offered me his hands and pulled me back up to my feet. “Have you never gone skating before?”
“Not since I was a little kid and I had to go with my class for a field trip.”
He began skating backward while holding my hands. He kept me steady, and after our first lap around the rink, I began to feel a bit more confident. He guided me up beside him and we skated side by side, nice and easy.
The tree sparkled high overhead. All the office towers around the square shone with Christmas lights. A crane far in the distance flickered with a dancing Santa Claus on the side. This city had always known how to show up for the holidays.
Somewhere up there, a group of carolers were singing O Holy Night.
“This is my favorite Christmas song,” I breathed.
“You have a favorite Christmas song? I thought you were the—”
“If you say Grinch, I’m going to knock you on your ass, Ethan Collinder.”
He grinned. “I’m glad to hear you’ve come around to my favorite holiday.”