Paul requested for the menu, and text once again started filling up the chalkboard. Both of us ordered for steak and fries, and both of us requested for the steak to be medium-rare. For a moment, we stared at each other in surprise—-
And then Paul said dryly, “If you’re going to say you also like your steak with coffee—-”
My jaw dropped. That was what I was going to order, and I didn’t care a bit that convention dictated wine being the better pairing for steak.
“Seriously?” Paul asked with a chuckle.
“Coffee is my go-to beverage for everything,” I confessed sheepishly.
“That’s too adorable.” It was Pan who spoke, with his voice booming out from the chalkboard, and its tongue-in-cheek tone had me turning red and wanting to shrink in my seat. “All of your orders are a perfect match and you didn’t even plan it? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two were a match made in Mt. Olympus.”
“Mr. P.!”
But Paul only laughed, asking in a good-natured tone, “Who knows?”
As Paul and the satyr discussed our options for dessert, I struggled to keep myself still while my mind went overboard.Who knows? What did he mean ‘who knows’? He was just...flirting, right?
“Blair?” I looked up to see Paul gazing questioningly at me as Mr. P disappeared from view, and the chalkboard turned back into a window display. “You look worried. Anything wrong?”
“Nothing much – except for Mr. P’s lack of subtlety.” It was excruciating to say the words, but it seemed stupid to pretend ignorance at this point.
“The old man means well,” he said gently.
Which meant exactly...what? I gazed at him with a touch of frustration, thinking that he turned being mysterious into an art form. He was just so good at it. He never seemed to be lying to me, but he never seemed to tell me anything he didn’t want me to know either.
“Have I made you mad?”
Paul’s softly spoken question startled me out of my thoughts, and I stammered, “E-excuse me?”
“You’ve been frowning at me for the past thirty seconds,” he informed me.
My face flamed. “I’m so sorry—-”
“Have I done something wrong?”
I shook my head emphatically. “No, of course not.”
“Then what were you thinking of?”
“Nothing really.”
“It was something about me, wasn’t it?”
I couldn’t help but fidget in my seat. How did he know these things?
“Blair?”
The low, persuasive note in his voice was undoing, and I said reluctantly, “I was just thinking about how mysterious you still seem to me.”
“Ah.” Paul leaned back against his seat. “Is that all?”
“Yes.” I felt like fidgeting even more now, with the way a half smile started to play on his lips.
“Ask me what you wish then,” he invited.
I gave him a wary glance. “I can ask you anything, really?”
“Anything.”
