Guess someone’s not a fan of making new friends.“Too many smiles for your taste?”
“Something like that,” he admitted, the hand she’d earlier touched now fisted on the table.
“Lesson number one on being a cinnamon roll boyfriend,” she whispered. “No scowls, snarls, or sulking.”
“I never sulk.”
“Lesson two, you need to readFunny Storyby Emily Henry. It will help you understand the role you’re playing.”
“You want me to read a romance?”
“You do read…right?”
“Of course, I read. I listen to audio thrillers on stakeouts.”
“Have you ever read a romance?”
“Absolutely not!”
She sighed. You’d think she’d asked him if he’d ever committed a cold-blooded murder. “Then you are in for a realtreat. Every guy should read romances. They are a road map to what women want from a lover, both in and out of the bedroom.”
He raised a brow. “And your idea of spice in the bedroom is a cinnamon hero?”
“Newsflash,” she said, flattening her hands on the tabletop. “Just because a woman wants a cinnamon roll hero outside of the bedroom doesn’t mean that’s what she’s looking for once the lights are turned off.”
“She’s not?” he said, leaning in, his eyes narrowing with interest, drawing her attention to a tiny scar next to his left one.
“Not in the least.” She resisted the urge to jump to the topic of the scar. It was no doubt the result of a daring rescue of a damsel in distress. One who could have saved herself, but he had to barge in all alpha-hero-like.
“Then what is she looking for?” he asked.
“I could tell you but trust me when I say you’ll have much more fun reading and discovering the hard way.” She gave him a cheeky grin. “Pun intended.”
He blinked. Scowled. Chuckled. “Can we get out of here? All the happy vibes are giving me a headache.”
“We haven’t even ordered yet,” she said, her eyes momentarily settling on a couple nestled in a quiet corner, their heads together over a shared book. A soft sigh escaped her lips, a silent yearning for something genuine that might exist beyond the pages.
“We could grab a coffee somewhere else,” he countered.
She folded her hands and laid them on the table. “Fine. There’s a delightfully quirky bookstore not far from here that serves the best Storybook Espresso. Are you game for that?”
“Anything but this.” He stood and came around behind her chair and pulled it out.
Walking out, Sophie glanced back at the café before turning and tucking her hands into the crook of his elbow.
Thunder rumbled.
He glanced down at her hands, then looked into her eyes, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. She shrugged. “This is us practicing pretending to be a couple.”
“We need practice?” he asked.
More thunder.
He glanced up at the sky and scowled as if the thunder were a personal affront.
“Practice makes perfect.” She smiled up at him, feeling quite content with how things were progressing.
He gave a noncommittal grunt but didn’t pull away. “Has anyone ever told you, you smile a lot?”
