“Fucking,” I deadpan because he’s smart, he knows where I’m trying to land my question here.
“Loyalty,” he returns immediately. “I don’t need much else.”
I nod. “What about small things?”
“Like?”
“Well, your thing is flowers. Secret, intimate weddings and a room full of white roses with a beautiful breakfast and trips to Prague. All to make me feel special and seen. How are you seen, Bronte?”
“As an asshole,” he mutters over the rim of his mug before taking a small sip. “But, to answer your question, I really don’t have things like you would. If I’m being completely honest, coming home to you in lingerie that you picked out specifically for me would be a love language I’d be fluent in by the end of the week.”
Rolling my eyes, it’s noted, but then I have to remember he’s a man. What am I going to do? Buy him ties with a message that says,to tie me up with later?
Actually, not bad.
Noted.
“You don’t like sweets,” I hedge. “Do you like home-cooked meals?”
“I do like any other red-blooded man, but they’re not required.”
“You have a secret fetish with pens?”
A ghost of a smirk plays along his lips as he stares at our breakfast. “Not quite.”
“You like rom-coms?”
“Don’t think I’ve ever watched one.”
“Oh, c’mon,” I drone because, honestly, unbelievable and sad. “Give me something.”
“I thought I did last night.”
A furious blush captures my face, but I’m not deterred from trying to get to know him.
In fact, it’s my goal for the day.
Crossing my legs, I lean back and sit in silence, waiting out the moment where Bronte is going to search for something—anything—that gives him some color.
Yes, the man can fuck me into oblivion, but I want to know his quirks. I know some of his dislikes—not huge on sweets and doesn’t like being called Bobby—but a lot is still unknown.
“I like quiet nights,” he claims a few moments later. “I don’t like the New York Yankees, but the Boston Red Sox. I like baseball games over football. I like historical documentaries on leaders who changed the world. I don’t like tea. I hate sushi. And I don’t like social obligations with people I don’t like just to be friendly.” My lips part to tell him I don’t like sushi either when he adds, “And Idon’tlike the Hardings.”
Fair.
The last comment sparks so much more curiosity than what I was searching for.
I’m sitting next to a man who was cast out by his only family, only to obtain a completely new life.
“I’m going to try never to talk to them again,” I mutter. “There’s too much.”
“Understatement of the year. And I’d prefer it.”
Right.
Running my tongue down my lower lip, I chance Bronte shutting me out when I ask, “Why did they abandon you? Is that too painfulto talk about?”
“No,” he replies immediately. “It’s not. In fact, it was the best thing they could’ve done for me in the long run.”
