I fidget with the chopsticks, trying to act casual. “So what do you think is happening?”
“I’m not sure, but I think you’re about to tell me.”
I glance away. “No, I don’t know.”
“Really?”
Hesoknows I’m lying. “Really.”
“All right.” Looking past me, he stands, then walks to the kitchen counter where I abandoned my book earlier today. “Here. Part one of my extensive apology for my disappearance.”
“My own book?” I bring it to my chest and bat my lashes. “Why, thank you.”
“Dinner reading.” He mock-zips his lips. “Pretend I’m not even here.”
“What’s part two of your extensive apology?”
He hums, as if trying to speak even though his lips are glued together. With a shrug, he resumes eating again.
“You’re such an idiot,” I whisper under my breath. I turn around and hand him the remote, and once he accepts it, I open up the book.
I’m completely lost in a sequence of enemies-to-lovers banter when Rafael breaks through my concentration. I look up, wondering if it’sthe first time he’s tried to call my name, and he lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“Gee, Freckles. I thought you’d gone into some sort of coma.”
I grin. “Sorry. I dissociate from reality the way only a reader can.”
He watches me, amused. “So, did they? Have sex?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said, ‘They’re going to have sex.’?”
I look down at my book, then back up at him. Did I say that out loud? “Oh. Michael and Franklin got a room, but there’s been a booking issue, and—”
“They have to sleep in the same bed.”
I nod. “But Michael has a big presentation tomorrow, so—”
“Franklin said he’ll take the floor?” He studies the cover. “I bet Michael answered that they’re adults—they can share a bed without making it weird. Turns out they couldn’t.”
“Did you read this?”
With a chuckle, he shakes his head. “You seem invested. Are my eyes betraying me, or is Scarlett Moore enjoying a romance book?”
“I wouldn’t alert the authorities just yet.” It’s certainly better than my first attempt but a far cry from entertaining. “I was exhausted from trying to rewrite the episode forLove on the Second Floor, so I’m giving this romance thing one last shot.”
I drop the book onto the table.
“I actually might have something to help with that.” He stands and walks to where he left his jacket. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I missed you. And since I had no way of contacting you, I did the next best thing.” Noticing my confused expression, he insists, “I read the book.”
“The Love Alibi?” I ask, thinking of the romance he bought at the store. “Did you like it?”
“I did,” he says. “Parts of it reminded me of you.”
Oh my God, this is giving me a bookish boner. He lets me read while we eat together, he wants to talk about books, and now this?
“Really? Like what?”
