I nodded a thank-you to the waitress as she set down our drinks. The salt glistened off the rim of the glass, and I relished a tangy sip, the tequila warming my chest on the way down.
Silas’s eyes narrowed when I lifted my gaze.
“Sorry for the long explanation.”
“It wasn’t a long explanation. You just looked like you were bracing yourself for what I would say.”
“Because I’ve heard it all,” I said with a long sigh. “From both friends and family.”
He reared back, a deep crease in his brow.
“About what?”
“About writing romance.”
“What have you heard?”
I examined his face, his features genuinely curious and not ready to make some dopey joke I’d heard more times than I wanted to recall whenever I told anyone what I wrote.
“That it’sjustromance. Serious readers read sci-fi or thrillers, and I just write kissing books.” I shrugged.
“They dismiss the books you write because you write romance?” He leaned his elbows on the table. Something about the way he gave me his full attention made me feel exposed, like he was seeing right through me and I couldn’t hide anything. It was exhilarating and unsettling at the same time.
“Yes, mostly.” I shrugged again. “I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t be.” Silas’s eyes thinned to slits. “That’s bullshit.”
I stilled as I was about to take another sip.
“It’s fine?—”
“I think of myself as a serious reader, and I read romance.”
I almost dropped my glass on the table.
“You do?” I squinted at him, and he eyed me over his glass as he took a long sip.
“That’s good,” he said as he set it down. “And yes, I do sometimes. One of the guys I used to work with liked this one college hockey series and got us all hooked. It followed four guys, and now there’s a second generation with their kids at the same college.”
“Wow,” I said, my eyes wide as I gaped at Silas. “I think I know the series you’re talking about, and I’m impressed.”
“What’s there to be impressed about? Good books are good books, right?”
“Right,” I said, biting back a smile.
“I couldn’t read the second-gen books.” He lifted a shoulder. “After following the guys while they played in college, something about their kids’ stories made me feel old. I get enough of that at work.”
A laugh escaped me at the cringe twisting Silas’s face.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, searching my gaze.
“Are you for real?” I leaned closer, squinting across the table.
“For real? What do you mean?”
“First, I randomly punch you in the stomach, and not only aren’t you mad about it, you ask me to have dinner with you. And you’re now telling me you read romance. You’re…unexpected, Silas.”
“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a soft chuckle. “If you love what you do, fuck what other people say. If you don’t have a passion about what you do for a living…” he started, his gaze drifting out the window. “Then what is the point of life, right?”
