Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
I raise a brow. “Paint my face?”
He chuckles. “You know what I mean. Dress up. I’m taking you out.”
I cross my arms, suspicious. “Out where?”
“Not telling.” He pushes off the door and sets a big white box on the table in front of me. “But I got you covered.”
I stare at the box like it’s going to explode. “Tommy, what did you do?”
He just smirks. “Open it.”
I lift the lid, and my breath catches. Inside is a dress. Not just any dress. A deep ruby red slip of satin that looks like it belongs on someone who knows what she’s doing. Someone who doesn’t spend her days scrubbing paint off windows and sweeping sawdust into piles. Someone who could walk into a fancy restaurant and not immediately wonder if she’s about to be asked to leave.
Placed neatly beside it is a pair of black heels—strappy, elegant, definitely not steel-toed boots. There’s even a little clutch bag and a box with jewelry: delicate silver hoops and a necklace so simple it’s perfect.
“Tommy…” My throat tightens. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” He steps behind me, rests his chin on my shoulder, his hands sliding over my hips. “I take care of you every day, Jami. Bills, cars, groceries. That’s easy. But sometimes I want to remind you I see you as more than the girl with bleach on her hands and dust in her hair. You deserve to be spoiled too.”
I swallow hard, blinking back the sting in my eyes. “I don’t even know how to wear half this stuff without looking like an idiot.”
“You’ll look like heaven,” he states simply. “Now, quit arguing and get ready. Reservation’s in an hour.”
By the time I’m dressed, I hardly recognize myself in the mirror.
The satin clings in all the right places. The heels make my legs look a mile long. My hair—usually thrown into a messy knot—is curled and loose around my shoulders. For once, I don’t look like “the girl cleaning the job site.” I look like a woman who belongs anywhere she wants to be.
Tommy whistles low when I walk into the living room. He’s in dark jeans and a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking. He cleaned up, but still looks like him—danger and comfort all in one.
“Damn,” he mutters, eyes running over me like a slow caress. “If I wasn’t taking you out, I’d be dragging you back to bed right now.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he retorts, grinning as he takes my hand. “Ridiculous over you all day, every day, Tiny.”
The restaurant is nothing like I expect. It’s not some stuffy five-star joint with linen napkins folded into swans. It’s a rooftop place on the beach, with string lights crisscrossing above and live music playing soft in the corner. The tables are mismatched wood, the air smells like garlic and seared steak, and the view of the water steals my breath.
“This is perfect,” I whisper as we’re led to our table.
“Told you.” Tommy pulls my chair out for me, like some old-fashioned gentleman, then settles across from me with that same proud smile.
Dinner is easy. We eat too much bread, laugh at the couple dancing awkwardly near the band, and talk about nothing specific and yet everything—his crews, my latest battle with a particularly stubborn paint spill, the ridiculous show Red got hooked on that none of us admit we watch too.
Halfway through dessert—a slice of chocolate cake big enough for four people—I set my fork down and look at him. Really look at him. The lights glow on his face, shadows catching the lines near his eyes from too much sun and too many miles. The way his freckles kiss his face perfectly.
“How do you do it?” I ask softly.
He raises a brow. “Do what?”
“Take care of everything. Me. The house. The bills. Dinner. My car. You never complain. You never… stop.” My throat tightens. “Aren’t you tired?”
He leans forward, eyes steady. “Jami. Taking care of you isn’t work. It’s the only thing that has ever made sense. You think I’m carrying you, but Tiny, you’re what keeps me steady. You’re the reason I wake up wanting to try again. That’s not heavy—that’s a damn gift.”
Tears prick my eyes, but this time I don’t fight them. I let them fall, right there in front of God and the waitress and the whole restaurant.
Tommy reaches across the table, takes my hand, squeezes. “Life’s hard, yeah. Brutal even. But it’s beautiful too. And you’re the damn proof of that I’ve ever seen.”
I laugh through the tears, shaking my head. “You and your speeches.”
He grins. “What can I say? You inspire me.”
Later, when we’re back home, heels kicked off and dress puddled on the floor, I curl against him naked in bed, still tasting chocolate and body satiated from the orgasms, still hearing the music from the rooftop play in my head.