No, really. I was down with loving myself but Mr. Nine and I were leagues apart. He was here with his tie smoothing and lips worth biting and I needed a mop to clean up my word vomit.
"I like a sandwich here," he said, running his fingers along his stubbled jaw.
That subtle rasp was like an ASMR video. It was all I could do to hold back a sigh. "The smoked turkey."
Rob turned back toward me, his brows drawn together. That was where those lines came from. That expression. The inkling of a smile pulled at his lips and he was watching me like he couldn't look away. Or I had food stuck between my teeth. I noticed those things after I dragged my gaze away from his engraved belt buckle.RRR. Either it was his initials or the sound women made when they got his belt off. Both seemed equally likely.
"Yeah," he said. "Did I tell you that or are you a sandwich whisperer?"
"Sandwich whisperer," I replied, bobbing my head. "For sure. That's so much better than remembering that you mentioned the smoked turkey sandwich when you insisted on this place."
He tapped his pointer finger on the table twice as he nodded. "That's right," he said. "That was when you were insisting on a lunch date even though I wanted a dinner date with wait service, cloth napkins, and plenty of liquor."
"Something like that, yeah."
He cast a glance around the bakery. "And why was that, Magnolia? Do you have something against dinner or is the issue dinner with me?"
My phone continued buzzing—either Andy or any number of tiny crises in need of my attention—but I tossed it into my bag. "I have a busy schedule. I have to be scrupulous with my time. Sorry."
Rob folded his arms on the table and leaned toward me. The tips of his fingers brushed against my wrist. "You're a little rude."
"It can't be much of a problem because you are still here," I mused. I didn't own that confident air but it was easier to fake it knowing there was no future here.
"Only because I don't know what you'd like for lunch," he replied. "Tell me now or I'll order one of everything."
Helpless to stifle a laugh, I eyed him. There was a touch of silver at his temples and the shadow of a long-abandoned nose piercing on his right side. Who was this guy and what did he want with me? Was it just about sex for him? I couldn't be the only available vagina.
"The mortadella," I said.
"You got it, lady," Rob said as he pushed to his feet. "I'm getting one of every cookie too. There's gotta be at least nineteen of them. I don't share cookies. You should know that about me. Do you want some? Never mind, I'll get a few extras for you."
He didn't wait for a response, instead stalking to the counter and giving me a killer view of his backside.Good god.As if his list of wonderful wasn't extensive enough, his ass was art. Watching him reach into his back pocket for his wallet was almost as swoony as the tie smoothing. I needed that move in GIF form.
When he shifted away from the counter, part of me resented the shopgirl's efficiency. I wouldn't have complained about a couple more minutes to study the lean lines of his body and undeniable confidence from a distance.
"Sandwiches are on the way." Rob set a bakery box and two drinks on the table before settling into his seat. He gestured to the clear plastic cups, saying, "Raspberry seltzer. You prefer black cherry but you like the house-made raspberry here. Do I have that right or did I turn it around?"
I've dated a bunch of guys over the past twenty-ish years. Some for several years, some more seriously than others. I've said "I love you" to more than one man. But never once in that time had a man ever recalled my seltzer ranking system. Hell, most of them couldn't remember my birthday without Facebook's help.
"Yes, that's correct," I said, my words stiff. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He laced his fingers around his drink. "I keep wanting to call you MizMaggie," he said, referring to my handle on the dating app. "I'm still getting used to thinking of you as Magnolia." He held out his hand. "It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Rob Russo."
"Magnolia Santillian." I accepted his hand but had to work at keeping my expression neutral when our palms met. There was nothing outwardly amazing about his touch but it warmed me straight down to my toes. I glanced at my reflection in the window to see if my cheeks were as flushed as they felt.
He nodded as if this information unlocked the world's great mysteries. "Do you prefer Magnolia or Maggie?"
"I answer to a lot of names," I said, jerking a shoulder up.
"Like what? Tell me," he ordered, his chin tipping up as he spoke.
Shit. Just…shit.This man was forceful. It wasn't scary forceful or aggressive forceful but pleasantly assertive while still decent forceful, and it occurred to me that I liked his version of forceful. More specifically, I liked it on Rob.
And…I liked Rob.
"There's Magnolia, of course," I started, ticking off the name on my finger, "and my family calls me Magnolia or Mag or Maggie. Then there's Roof Garden Girl and Gigi, which is an obscure derivative of Roof Garden Girl. RGG, drop the R. I hated Gigi at first but I dig it now. Everyone calls me Gigi when I'm at work. Most of my friends use it."
"You're right. That is a lot of names," he replied. "I asked you which one you prefer. You haven't answered me yet."
