Page 76 of Sweet Madness
As we finish our meal, I continue to chat enthusiastically about my social media, online classes, and family. My voice carries tenderness, punctuated by occasional laughter and animated gestures that make Shaw smile.
I exaggerate many of the things I say just to see him smile. I could watch that smile for the rest of my life and never grow tired of it.
Mid-sentence, I stifle a yawn, something Shaw immediately notices. With a subtle nod and a discreet wave, he catches the attention of the waitress, silently signaling for the check.
The waitress, noticing his gesture, swiftly approaches our booth. “The bill?” she asks, looking at the two of us.
“Yes, please,” I replied.
The waitress leaves and quickly returns with the bill.
As Shaw reaches for it with every intention of paying, he glances at me with a frown when I gently pry the bill from his strong hand. “Absolutely not. You’re not paying for your birthday dinner.” Nope. I refuse to let him pay for his own birthday dinner.
“I’ve got it,” he says, his brows furrowing in a way I can’t help but find adorable. I doubt he means for it to come across that way.
“You wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings by not allowing me to give you this simple gift, would you?” I pout, a tactic I use when I want to get my way. I don’t do it often, but in this case, I do.
There’s no way he’s paying for his birthday date.
No way.
He is quiet for a long moment before reluctantly agreeing with a sour face. I do my best not to laugh but fail miserably.
While laughing, I fish for money inside my purse when the waitress surprises us both by dropping a shimmering silver paper crown onto the table.
A sense of déjà vu makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. As I leave the cash and tip for the waiter on top of the table, I notice Shaw leaning forward in his seat. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he picks up the crown and places it on top of my head.
My reaction is immediate and heartwarming. Speechless for a moment, I look up at him with wide eyes, my cheeks flush with surprise and delight. The diner seems to fall silent around us as I sit there, wearing the crown while he looks at nothing and no one else but me.
It feels like being transported back in time to when I was a little girl gazing up at a handsome guy with a brilliant smile who placed a pink paper crown on my head. But I’m no longer that little girl. Now, I’m a woman who looks at this man as if he has the power to create galaxies just for me.
Time slows down, and the people around us cease to exist as he stares at me. My heart beats wildly and untamed in my chest.
In this strange yet lovely place where waiters dress as space cowboys and cowgirls, we have found our own small corner of magic, where a simple paper crown can say more than Shaw’s words ever could.
“Let’s go home, princess.” Suddenly, my heart stops in my chest, and I am unable to find my next breath as I watch my very own charming grump rising from the booth and offering me his large hand to take.
Home. Home. Home.
Then, a flood of memories from all the places I have visited throughout my twenty-two years in this galaxy flash through my mind like a sweet home movie. As I get lost in these memories, I realize that despite having traveled to every corner of the world, I still feel, in my heart, that I don’t belong anywhere.
That’s why I never felt like I truly belonged—whether in Washington, Paris, or anywhere else. It is only in this man’s arms that I feel like I am truly home. Home isn’t a structure…home is Shaw.
With love pouring from my very being and stars shining in my eyes, I take my bodyguard’s hand and let him guide me out of the super galactic diner with a plastic crown on my head like the very first time we met.
I grip Shaw’s strong, steady hand and think to myself how I never want to let go. If the day ever comes when I have to, it will be a sad day. A day that will break my heart into tiny pieces never to be put back together again.
As we quietly and slowly make our way toward the exit of the diner, a large, drunken man with a sneer on his face and a brown cowboy hat on his head barges in with careless force, knocking into me and nearly causing me to stumble. Shaw, noticing the sudden jolt and my struggle to maintain balance, reacts swiftly. His expression turns fierce with anger.
“What a pretty little thing,” the drunken man says with a smirk, and as he staggers by, he extends his repulsive behavior by slapping my ass.
A very pissed-off Shaw moves quickly again to steady me, his strong arm wrapping around my waist to prevent me from falling to the floor.
Anger simmers in his eyes as he glares at the rude man, a silent and deadly warning clear in his stance. His bearded jaw clenches tightly, muscles tensed with the visible urge to go after the drunken jerk.
I have never seen him this angry. So thirsty to spill a stranger’s blood.
Sensing the angry tension radiating from him, I reach out my hand to gently touch his arm, silently urging him to let it go. I can feel the heat of his wrath, his protective instincts flaring in response to what the man just did to me.