“And therein, my dear sir, lies the problem.” Emma lifted her hand in a flourish.
Tyler grinned. “Are you secretly obsessed with Arthurian literature?”
“Only if there’s spice.”
He blinked. “I don’t think I want to know.” Emma had to look away to keep from fixating on the smile lines crinkling next to his hazel eyes.
They drove in silence until Tyler pulled up to the curb down the block from a farm-to-table restaurant. There was an instant shift in his demeanour. His shoulders were stiff, his mouth drawn into a line as he glanced through the window and parked.
"This probably won’t be fun," Tyler admitted, his expression unreadable.
“I gathered as much. Seems fair sincethatwasn’t exactly fun either.” Emma motioned at his face. “As long as I can eat roasted chicken and nobody challenges me to a duel, I’ll be fine.”
She’d looked at the menu ahead of time, and though there were plenty of tantalizing options, the half-chicken with fennel and rosemary was calling her name. Emma opened the door and dropped onto the walkway.She hoped she’d be fine.How long had it been since she’d met a guy’s parents?
Tyler slipped his hand into hers as they strode up the block.Right.Not just dinner, she had to pretend to be with him. She breathed a sigh of relief, remembering she’d already set the boundary where her lips were concerned. The way her skin was lighting up under the feel of his palm and the brush of his fingers between hers confirmed that had been a wise and necessary decision.
They entered the restaurant, and the clink of glasses and folk music greeted them. The lighting was dim with exposed bulbs hanging in geometric light fixtures over each rustic, oiled tabletop.
The hostess pointed toward the back of the restaurant, and Emma spotted Tyler’s dad immediately. He was shorter than Tyler, with greying hair, but the resemblance between the two men was uncanny.
“Ty, you walk into a beehive again?” his father laughed, pulling him into a hug and clapping him on the back.
Tyler mumbled something about hockey, and then Emma was pulled into the man’s arms.
“I’m Troy, and you must be Emma?” Troy pulled back to look at her, his hands clamped onto her shoulders. His charismatic smile and warm hazel eyes mirrored Tyler’s. She nodded. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you," Troy extended his hand with genuine warmth. "Tyler's told me so much about you.”
Emma shot a glance at Tyler, but he didn’t look at her.Finally?Tyler had asked her to this dinner yesterday. Troy was so smooth, he made elevator jazz seem garish.
"I'm flattered. I've heard quite a bit about you as well.”
"Ah, well, I hope my son hasn't been filling your head with too many tall tales," he chuckled, leaning back in his seat and throwing his arm over the slender blond sitting next to him. She was stunning. Smooth skin with a perfect blush on her cheeks, arched eyebrows, and teeth so white, they almost looked pale blue.
She offered a hand to Emma. “I’m Melanie.”
Emma took it. Her fingers felt like ice.She needed to eat more carbs.“Lovely to meet you.”
“I was telling Mel how you met.” Troy shook his head. “Seems like I should’ve started dropping my driver’s licence in parking lots years ago, eh?”
Emma blinked. “You told him that?”
The corner of Tyler’s mouth curled. “Of course.”
“You know you can drop those off in the mailbox, and the postal workers will take care of it,” Melanie offered, taking a sip of her wine.
Emma opened her mouth, but Tyler lifted his arm, sliding his hand over her collar and threading his fingers in her hair. “It’s a good thing she didn’t. The address on my licence wasn’t correct.”
She shivered and drew in a breath, trying to keep her cheeks from flaming like solar flares. “Social media for the win.”
“Said no one in history.” Troy winked. “No, I’m kidding, I love some aspects of social media. Especially when it brings in bookings.”
Emma didn’t want to move. Tyler’s fingers traced across her scalp, sending tingles tiptoeing under her skin. At least Troy had brought up a safe subject. Men like him loved talking about themselves, and since her throat was responding as if she’d been the one to disrupt a swarm of bees, she needed him to monologue. “I’d love to hear how these property renovations started.”
“Ah, that’s a long story.”
She hoped her smile didn’t look forced. “Start from the beginning.”
Her lemon water and salad arrived as Troy regaled them with tales of his various business ventures and the far-flung corners of the country they took him to. Her chicken arrived well before he ended with this renovation project in Calgary.
