“Like I said…sweet. Anyway, I saw a plant I wanted as well, but it was too heavy for me to carry, so…” He took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to drive me over sometime so I could get it.”
He was asking for help, and I knew how much that had cost the proud, stubborn man. So as much as I wanted to cheer and applaud him for giving in, I treated it as if he’d asked me to grab the mail. “Sure.”
He gave me a grateful smile and finally removed his hand from my thigh. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. Both, probably.
When we reached the restaurant and had found a parking spot, he waited for me to open the door for him and offer my arm again. With a little assistance from me, he got out, and then we walked to the entrance together, with him leaning on me.
His diagnosis had been a hard blow, and I felt nothing but empathy for him, but at the same time, I couldn’t deny that I could totally get used to this. Forest leaning on me, both mentally and physically, was…addictive. It pushed buttons inside me, dangerous ones that made me want more of this. More of him.
Our table was a quiet one in the back, half-hidden behind a privacy screen. An old-fashioned lace-trimmed tablecloth covered the small square table, which was formally set with china, wine glasses, and everything. Two white candles were already burning, waiting for us. It was quite romantic, actually, and judging by the slight widening of his eyes, Forest noticed it too.
Not. A. Date.
“Would you like some bread with olive oil to start you off?” the server asked. I quickly checked his nameplate. Giorgio. Well, that was either fake or he was incredibly well-matched to the restaurant. Or maybe his family owned it?
“Does anyone ever say no to that?” Forest asked. “Other than people with allergies or sensitivities, maybe?”
Giorgio grinned. “Some low-carb fanatics.”
Forest rolled his eyes. “If you don’t wanna eat carbs, don’t eat Italian.”
“Exactly. And for drinks? Some red wine, perhaps?”
“Not for me, thank you,” I told him. If I was driving, I wasn’t drinking. Not even a glass of wine. “But I’ll take some sparkling water, please.”
“Absolutely.” Giorgio turned to Forest, beaming at him. “And for you?”
Forest let out a sharp sigh. “As much as I would love some wine, I’ll take that sparkling water as well.”
“Coming right up.”
With another big smile, Giorgio left, only to return moments later with a basket of various breads and a plate with a bottle of olive oil, another one with balsamic vinegar, and two tiny bowls with something I didn’t recognize. “I’ve brought you some focaccia and ciabatta, plus two of our dipping mixes. The first is a Tuscan mix with a little bit of heat from red pepper flakes. The second is our famous garlic dip, and you can guess the main ingredient. Just mix with a bit of oil and see which is your favorite.” He leaned in, his brown eyes sparkling as he made eye contact with Forest. “Normally, the dipping mixes are extra, but we’re always happy to waive that for our fellow bread-lovers.”
Forest chuckled as Giorgio sauntered off, flashing Forest a wink but staying on the right side of that line between harmless flirting and being overtly interested in someone who was clearlyout on a date. Well, Giorgio would think so anyway, even if it technically wasn’t a date. “He likes you,” I said.
Forest blinked, as if he’d missed it. “He does?”
“Mmm, for sure. Didn’t you see that wink he threw your way?”
Forest waved his hand. “He’s not my type.”
What was his type? I desperately wanted to ask, but something held me back. Instead, I focused on the menu. It had changed little since the last time I’d been here, which had been with some guys from work.
“The lasagna is amazing here, and so is their seafood linguine.” I looked up to find Forest studying me. “What?”
“You’re not gonna ask?”
I knew what he was referring to. “Did you want me to?”
“Considering you proposed to me, wouldn’t you be interested in knowing whether you’re my type or not?”
I tried to play it cool. “I didn’t think it appropriate to ask.”
He snorted. “Appropriate? Since when do you care about that?”
Since I’d started to care about what Forest thought of me, which had been…the moment we’d met. God, seeing him that first time had been like being shocked by a taser. My whole system had fried, circuits overloaded, and it had taken a good while for my brain to unscramble itself. I couldn’t quite remember what I had said to him back then, but my money was on me rambling stupidly.
Not that I was gonna tell him that. “I didn’t want to put any pressure on you.”
