"How often what?" My voice comes out hoarse.
"How often do we see each other? In our fictional relationship."
"Oh." I take the last gulp of wine emptying the glass. "Two or three times a week, I guess. More if our schedules allow."
He nods, thoughtful. "What about personal details? Favorite foods, allergies, that sort of thing?"
"Smart." I open my notebook again. "I'm allergic to shellfish. Not deathly, but enough to make me miserable."
"Noted. No shellfish. I'm allergic to cats, which is tragic because I love them."
I jot this down. "Favorite movie?"
"The Shawshank Redemption." He doesn't hesitate.
"Mine's Pride and Prejudice."
"The Keira Knightley version or the BBC miniseries?"
I look up, surprised. "The BBC one. How did you—"
"I have a sister." He shrugs. "Sarah made me watch both with her."
We spend the next forty-five minutes trading details. Childhood pets, embarrassing stories and things on our bucket list. I learn that he has a scar on the back of his calf from falling out of a tree at age nine, that he can't stand the tasteof licorice, and that he once accidentally set his college roommate's eyebrows on fire during a drunken cooking experiment.
By the time we're mostly through our entrees, I've had a second glass of wine and I'm actually enjoying myself. Sebastian is easy to talk to when he's not being infuriating, and he listens like every word matters.
"What about pet names?" he asks, stealing a bite of my chicken.
I stab his fork with mine, blocking his retreat. "Excuse me. Are you stealing my food?"
"Sampling," he corrects, eyes dancing with amusement. "For research purposes."
"Research purposes?"
"As your devoted boyfriend of four months, I should know your favorite foods." His smile is all innocence. "Just being thorough."
I narrow my eyes. "Let me make something very clear. Food theft is grounds for immediate relationship termination in my world. Fake or otherwise."
"That serious, huh?"
"Dead serious." I take another bite of my meal, guarding it possessively. "My sister once needed three stitches after trying to snag the last spring roll from my plate."
Sebastian's eyebrows shoot up. "You stabbed your sister over Chinese food?"
"She fell off her chair trying to escape my fork." I shrug unapologetically. "My family knows the rules. I don't share food. I always label my leftovers. I once put laxatives in a yogurt I knew my roommate in college kept stealing, even though she swore she didn't."
"Remind me never to open your fridge without permission."
"My mom calls it my 'food territorial complex.' She says it's the only thing I inherited from my grandfather besides his stubbornness."
Sebastian lifts his hands in surrender. "My sincerest apologies. I clearly crossed a sacred boundary."
"You did."
"It won't happen again." His voice is solemn, but his eyes still glint with mischief.
"It better not."
