“Gela Jones,” I say, injecting surprise into my voice. “We've got to stop meeting like this.”
She looks up, and every second slows as her face lights up with the most genuine delight. She’s happy to see me, and I want to take that little nugget of information and drill it into memory.
“Valentin!” Her smile lights up her entire face. “Is it strange I’m not surprised?”
“Maybe we should sync our calendars,” I joke, walking up to her table. “Mind if I join you?”
“Be my guest.” She closes her laptop slightly. “Though I warn you, I'm not great company today. Deadline hell.”
I sit down, taking a moment to take her in up close. She’s wearing a fresh face today, with some lip gloss, and that’s all. But even then, she’s prettier than any woman in here.
“Did you ever try that Italian place I recommended, by the way?” she asks, sipping her coffee. “The one on Hanover Street?”
She’s told me to try it when I banged into her at the park last Friday. I never got around to it, but I’d memorized the name and researched it thoroughly in case she asked.
“Vesuvio's?” I nod. “That Carbonara was to die for. You were right about the tiramisu, too.”
She squeals with delight. “I knew you'd love it! Their chef is from Naples—the real deal, you know?”
“Your recommendations haven't steered me wrong yet,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “What else should I try in this city?”
It's a calculated question. Give her the chance to suggest another place, which gives me the opening to suggest we go together.
What the hell am I thinking, pretending like Gela and I could be any other couple on the street? Her world doesn’t even know mine exists. I’m as alien as can get.
But still, my heart hopes.
“Well, there's this amazing Thai place near my office,” she says, taking the bait perfectly. “Best pad thai I've ever had.”
“We should go sometime,” I suggest, keeping my tone casual. “I've been craving good Thai food.”
A flush creeps up her neck, and she tucks her hair behind her ear nervously.
“I'd like that,” she says softly.
For a moment, we just look at each other, and I imagine a different world. One where I'm just a man, and she's just a woman. One where I don't have to lie about who I am or what I want. One where I haven't been stalking her for weeks.
“Though I should warn you,” she adds with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “I judge people heavily on their spice tolerance.”
God, she makes me laugh.
“Trust me, I can handle heat.” I give her a wink. I don’t mean to, but my gaze falls momentarily to her lips. If she notices, she doesn’t say or stop her chattering.
“We'll see,” she teases. “Here! We might as well exchange numbers.”
Unbelievable. She’s handing me her number. I watch her smile curve into that adorable little dimple as I give her mine.
The minute we’ve got each other’s contacts saved on our phones, she glances at her watch and sighs. “I should probably head to the office. Sunday or not, these reports won't write themselves, and there are some files I need from my desk.”
“Seriously? You’re heading into your office on a Sunday?” I ask, impressed. She’s dedicated, that’s for sure.
“Unfortunately,” she sighs and stands, gathering her things. “Got to keep the lights on, you know?”
“Let me walk you,” I offer as I stand too. “Which way are you headed?”
“Oh, my office? It's only a few blocks.”
“I'm headed that direction anyway,” I lie smoothly. “If you don't mind the company.”
