Page 21 of Best In Class (Savannah's Best #7)

Dom

I put a ridiculous amount of thought into it—where to take Luna on our first real date, as grown-ups this time.

We used to go on picnics. It was the only way I could take her out . If I was lucky, I took her to the movies, counting pennies, making sure we had enough for popcorn, candy, and pop. I never let her pay.

Hell no! The man always pays. Well, the boy definitely felt that way. The man I am now wouldn’t care two shits who picked up the tab. Wisdom comes with age! I focused on the wrong things then . Now, I focus on her .

For the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Georgia, Luna never asked for anything—didn’t seem to care at all. She wasn’t into makeup and jewelry, all that girly shit. Apparently, she still isn’t.

“I just want to be with you,” she says softly, cuddling into me as we watch the cranes skip around the lake.

I love being with my girl. I love her so fucking much. I want to shower her with presents like I see the other guys do with their girlfriends, but I don’t have those resources.

I struggle and save for her birthdays, asking her what she wants. And she always says the same thing, “I just want to be with you.”

Fuck! I’d been a lucky son of a bitch to have Luna. She never made me feel less…not until….

I shake my head as if that act will loosen those thoughts from the hold they have on me.

“Really, Dom, you think I’m going to be with someone like you?”

“I think one should date one’s peers, don’t you agree?”

Even then, I knew she was only hurting me because I hurt her. Still, it had a significant impact because she said what I believed—that I wasn’t good enough for her, I wasn’t her equal.

Still not, Dom.

True!

She comes from money. Real money .

Wealth that allows her to fly in private jets if she wants. Buy whatever she desires without thought.

But Luna doesn’t show off her status or her dollars. Neither does Lev.

I don’t know how it happened because Nathaniel is the worst kind of snob, and Jenn…well, she’s always been missing in action.

According to Lev, the credit goes to Mama. “Miss Abigail raised us…all of us. Of course, we turned out to be half decent. ”

I look at myself in the mirror again .

What the hell am I doing?

I’m wearing cargo shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers. I’ve got a backpack slung over one shoulder—blanket, sunscreen (because Luna always forgets), mosquito repellent, a Bluetooth speaker, and two oversized water bottles already half frozen to stay cold.

I’m picking up the picnic basket from Mama. She’s promised me the works.

I can’t take Luna to the Steele Estate, not while Nathaniel lives there, so I found a new place—one I hope we can make ours.

Noah clued me in, and helped me rent a boat as well.

Mama opens the door of Luna’s house when I knock. She looks me up and down before letting me lean down and kiss her cheek.

“I thought you’d be taking her to some fancy place with fancy food.” She walks to the kitchen, and I follow.

“I am taking her to a fancy place, and we’ll be eating fancy food. Yours .”

Mama chuckles. “You always were smooth, son.”

There are two baskets. “How much do you think we’re going to eat?”

She rolls her eyes. “One basket for food and another for wine and drinks.”

I open the drinks basket and find a bottle of Ruinart in a closed chiller, and a bottle of white Burgundy that Luna likes.

“Mama, you’re a miracle. ”

Mama has her hands on her hips. Not threatening at all. “You be good to my girl, yeah?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“The girls have been here getting her ready,” Mama says, trying—and failing—not to grin. “Nova, Stella, and Aurora…they’ve been here all afternoon. Just left.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Yeah, that’s what you’re going to say when you see her.” It’s not a question. It’s a knowing, maternal warning dressed up like a joke.

She’s right.

Because when Luna steps into the kitchen doorway, everything inside me stills.

And all I can manage is, “ Huh .”

She’s wearing a soft yellow sundress, the kind that drifts around her legs like it was made for sunlight and stolen afternoons. Her hair is in soft curls. She’s wearing sandals! And her toenails—God help me—are painted bubblegum pink.

She’s summer. She’s softness. She’s something she doesn’t usually let herself be.

She did this for me.

Just that thought makes my dick tingle. But for the fact that my mother is here, I’d be as hard as a steel pike.

Luna shifts, her fingers twitching at the hem of her dress. She looks like she might bolt—like this skin doesn’t quite fit yet.

“Okay,” she mutters, tilting her chin just slightly. “ Say something.”

I take a step closer, smiling like an idiot. “You look like the sun remembered you were its favorite.”

Her eyes narrow, but she’s smiling, too. “That’s not a real sentence.”

“Moonbeam, when you look like this, it’s hard for me to string words together.”

We gaze at each other. I can’t look away, and she seems just as mesmerized…with me?

Mama clears her throat. “It’s time for me to go watch Criminal Minds now, so you both go along and have fun.”

I open the trunk of my car and put the two picnic baskets in, right next to my backpack. She glances at them and then up at me. “How much food has Miss Abigail packed for us?”

“One basket is for food and one for wine. That’s what Mama said.”

She tips open the wine basket and frowns, eyeing the bottles inside. “That is either incredibly thoughtful or incredibly dangerous.”

“Why not both?” I close the trunk, and open the passenger door for her. “You drink and I’ll drive.”

She gives me a look and gets into the car. “If you think this gets you out of me interrogating your life choices, you’re mistaken.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Moonbeam. I just want you a little tipsy so I can have my way with you.” I hear her laugh as I shut the car door.

Well, this has started well, Dom, so don’t fuck it up.

It’s still sunshine and daisies as the sun sets late in the summer when we arrive in Thunderbolt, a quiet little town that hugs the edges of Savannah and whispers old stories to the marshes.

Waiting for us is a small boat—an old-fashioned flat-bottom skiff with a quiet electric motor.

This isn’t the Steele Estate. We’re not kids. But I’m hoping to remind her of who we used to be—of how much I loved her, still love her.

We get into the boat with our picnic baskets and my backpack. She has a small cross-body purse. It’s not her style.

“Aurora insisted that it matches the dress,” she explains when she sees me eyeing it.

I bite my lip to not smile. I know she’s feeling strange to be dressed this way. I doubt she does this for any man.

Luna is practical. She dresses like she’s preparing for a mission—efficient, sharp, and with a kind of quiet authority that doesn’t beg for attention. Minimalist. Strategic. Her closet’s probably organized by color, texture, and event.

Even at fancy Savannah society events that she occasionally gets dragged into, she follows the dress code the same way she follows building codes—technically correct, but with just enough rebellion to remind everyone she’s not here to play nice.

I’ve seen her wear a five-thousand-dollar Givenchy gown with scuffed black boots to a gala dinner—boots that probably walked across a construction site that same morning.

She makes it work like no one else can.

But this pink-toed Luna is telling me, in her own way, that she’s trying because she wants our first date to be special.

My heart soars with hope.