“Come on,” I coax, softer than I mean to. “One meal. I’ll even let you pick the place.”
She stares at me, biting her lower lip, and I know—I know—I’ve said something right.
Her resolve falters just enough that the corner of her mouth twitches upward.
There it is.
That hint of a smile that could melt ice caps.
That moment where every single cell in my body screams mine even though I have no damn right to think it.
For the first time all night, I want to high-five myself.
And maybe my brother. But only if this actually works.
Because somehow, the woman I came here to push out of my life might just be the one thing I never knew I needed—and I’ll be damned if I’m walking away before I find out for sure.
Chapter 7
Marigold
Food? With him?
I’ve had worse dinner dates—technically, this isn’t even a date.
It’s a polite post-naked-shifting-in-a-commercial-kitchen-after-I-pre-dumped you peace offering.
Totally safe.
Totally casual.
Totally not me agreeing to spend an evening alone with a man who looks like he was forged in sin, questionable playlists, and late-night takeout choices.
“Fine,” I say finally, arms crossed. “But I want sushi. And ramen. And if you slurp, I walk.”
He tilts his head, a slow grin spreading across that too-handsome face.
“I never slurp, Honey,” he murmurs, voice a dark purr. “Unless it’s warranted.”
My thighs clench.
My mouth opens.
My brain promptly disconnects from my body.
Did he just—heck yes, he did.
A dirty joke.
Delivered in that deep, confident, growly tone that makes my stomach flip and my pulse trip over itself.
“Okay,” I manage, trying to sound cool and failing spectacularly. “Let me just run upstairs and put on something less, um, flour-covered.”
“Perfect,” he says smoothly. “I’ll find a place and make a reservation.”
I bolt for the stairs, muttering to myself about how I’m definitely not attracted to him.
Nope. Not even a little.
