“About what?” I’m unable to help my smile as I settle into place.
“I brought you my favourite beer from Cambodia, and now I’m not sure if you like beer at all.”
“I love beer, but when Sandy’s bartending I order liquor because she tends to accidentally pour me a double.”
He laughs. “Is there any Topo Chico in that at all?”
I take a tentative sip and blow out fire. “Justenough. But don’t light any matches around me.”
“Good to know,” he says, taking a sip of his Dos Equis. Setting down the beer, he drums his fingers on the tabletop. “So, how’s your business going?”
“Business is booming, mostly due to the unusually high number of orders with Caribbean and UK addresses.” I can’t help my smile—his support has made all the difference in the world.
Tolly’s blush tops his tanned cheeks. “Oh, really? I suppose my fellow beach bums and countrymen love a high-quality leather shoe.”
“They must, because they’re paying exorbitant shipping rates for a pair of flip-flops or boots, depending.”
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe don’t concern yourself with the plight of millionaires who order your shoes, right?”
“Fair enough. Thank you, though. Your faith in my brand means a lot.”
“I’m not being nice, you understand. If I were being nice, all of your orders would come from one place in the Caribbean. Your shoes are genuinely so beautiful and so durable that I get asked about them all the time. It’s no struggle for me to give people your information.”
“It’s still appreciated.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Running his hand along the table, he veers off just shy of my fingertips to start drumming a familiar song. Sandy was right. He’s fidgeting and it’s adorable.
As she so helpfully reminded me, he might need more of a push.
“Tolly?”
The drumming stops as his wide blue eyes meet mine. “Yes?”
Deciding to go with the direct route, I ask, “Is this a date?”
He gulps, and his Adam’s apple yo-yos dramatically. His fingers tremble as they trace the wood grain on the table.
“Tolly?” I repeat.
He takes a deep breath, flicks his eyes to mine, then looks back at the table.
“I would like it to be, yes,” he says, barely audible. He clears his throat. “If that’s okay with you.”
His fingers resume their fussy drumming pattern, so I bridge the divide, slipping my hand in his.
“I wouldlovefor this to be a date. Though… I’m curious,” I say, leaning forward. “Why are you so nervous?”
3
TOLLY
Why am I so nervous?
My brain unhelpfully provides the answer:Because when you’re on the first date with the guy you plan to marry, it’s bound to set off a few nerves.
I certainly won’t saythataloud, so I go with a slightly less bold truth.
