“Leif,” I whispered.
“What? The coffee tastes beautiful.”
“You with the lines.”
“I have no idea what I’m doing Brooke. I didn’t mean to meet you.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “Same here. Where are you taking me next?”
“Just wait and see.”
A week later.
“Okay, Angelina’s hot chocolate really was worth it. I think I’m going to die of sugar overload, but it was totally worth it.”
“I’m glad we saved up for it,” Leif said with a laugh. “Ready for our dinner cruise on the Seine?”
“We’re going full tourist and romance, aren’t we?”
“Damn straight. My exams are over and all I need to do is finish this painting.” Left unsaid was then our time would be complete. This summer fling would end, and we would go our separate ways.
And I didn’t want that. How could I?
“Now what’s your favorite kind of cheese?” Leif asked.
“I don’t know, cheddar?”
Leif paused and turned to me slowly. “Excuse me? You don’t know your favorite type of cheese?”
I blinked up at him. “Is this one of those personality tests that I’m failing? Is cheese that important?”
Leif put a hand over his chest and took two staggering steps back. “Brooke, baby. Of course it is. Cheese is life.”
“I thought you were from Colorado, not Wisconsin.”
“The Montgomery motto is all about cheese. And loving each other and being good family members and caring for one another, but it’s mostly about the cheese.”
“Your family scares me.”
“Maybe the sheer multitude of them, but they won’t hate you if you don’t like cheese.”
“I never said I didn’t like cheese. It’s that I’ve never really thought about what kind of cheese I like. I just like it. If I order a burger, I get cheese on it.”
“There’s at least that. One of my uncles married a woman that is lactose intolerant. Family events are hard for her.”
“I can only imagine. Don’t worry, I could eat all the dairy. And now I need to know what your kind of favorite cheese is.”
“Honestly, I’m a triple cream brie, or a goat cheese fan. Any soft cheeses. But when my family and I took a trip to Spain, I fell in love with the hard cheeses there.”
“Is there a list or a spreadsheet I should look into for your family members and what cheeses they like?”
“I know you’re joking, but my uncle Wes actually made one.” His lips twitched, and I nearly tripped, laughing so hard as we walked down the garden path.
“When did you know you wanted to be a tattoo artist?”
“Probably around the time that I met my dad.”
“You were ten, right? When you found out who your dad was?” I couldn’t imagine not having known who my parents truly were until that age.
