“So you...what?” he asked. “Analyze what people eat and tell them to cut back on the butter?”
“No. We—I—it’s called a lab because we want our clients to know that what we’re offering is based in science. It’s not some fad business where we tell you to eat more kale and it will clear up all your ailments from back pain to insomnia.”
“Do you have a business partner?”
“Hmm?” Oliver glanced up from his wine.
“You keep saying we.”
For the first time, Oliver’s confident expression faltered, and the shift made Nick sit up straight. Whatever had made him hesitate, though, Oliver collected himself almost immediately. The smile returned, tighter around the edges, but his posture was relaxed. “No, it’s just me. The meal plans are designed by a nutritionist, but she works on contract. She’s got five basic plans, and then I can modify them based on what the client needs and how fast they want to see results.”
“So it’s a weight loss thing?” Nick was still pretty fit, but he’d been riding his metabolism for a long time. As he rounded the corner on forty, he’d need reinforcements soon enough.
“It’s a lifestyle thing. If a client comes to me with weight loss goals, I can help with that to a certain extent. But it’s more about thinking about the ingredients you’re putting in your body and whether you’ve got the right balance.” Oliver eyed him, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t look like those are the kind of goals you’d come to me with, though.”
Nick arched an eyebrow, but he tried not to preen. “I’m holding my own.”
“I think you definitely are.”
Nick was too hot under his shirt. He watched Oliver from behind another drink of wine. The movie star was in there. Behind the beard, the hair, and the confident grin was the face of a man who was used to getting what he wanted.
Did Nick want to be wanted?
He definitely wanted Oliver. Had from the first time he’d seen him—up until the car thing got in the way. But since it looked like they were going to get past that, he let his mind wander back to those first moments in the parking lot, where he’d been so taken with Oliver’s hair and the way his body stretched his T-shirt. Nick had seen that body in those sunny beach photos on social media, and now he knew the acres of taut skin and muscle he’d seen belonged to the guy in front of him, he really wanted to see it again.
“What were you doing at the market?” Nick asked.
Oliver’s jaw tightened, and he took a long drink of wine. “That’s an experiment.”
The server arrived with their food. Nick’s cannelloni was warm and inviting on its plate, with little ripples of steam rising lazily to drag his senses downward.
Oliver’s branzino was . . .
A fish.Huh.Nick hadn’t wanted to ask when Oliver had ordered. He’d seen it on the menu for years and had never bothered to order it, because he didn’t know what a branzino was and didn’t want to look stupid. Now he was glad he hadn’t, because it really was a whole frigging fish, with the head still on and everything. Its shrunken white eye stared at him from Oliver’s plate, like it blamed Nick for its situation.
Actually, they could both blame Brian, and he and Nick were going to have a talk at work about boundaries very soon.
Oliver must have known what he was getting, though, because he turned his plate and calmly opened the fish up with his knife. Steam rose, and he inhaled, looking pleased with his choice.
“My mom makes amazing branzino,” he said.
“Are you Italian?” The blond hair and blue eyes made it seem unlikely.
Oliver smiled around a mouthful of fish, and Nick had to marvel at whatever genetics allowed a man to still be attractive like that. “We’re the most Anglo of the Anglo-Saxons. I think my father can trace his heritage all the way back to before the Norman conquest.”
Nick didn’t know what half of that meant, other than it didn’t sound like they were Italian.
“How’s your dinner?” Oliver asked, making Nick blink. He glanced down at his untouched cannelloni, then back up at Oliver, who watched him with a knowing grin.
Nick growled softly and picked up his fork. “So tell me about your experiment and why it was so important to get my car out of the way.”
Considering the evening started with Nick trying to storm out or possibly punch his date, he was having a nice time. They finished the bottle of wine, and Oliver ordered a second one. Their conversation was mostly small talk. Oliver told him more about his business, and Nick shared a couple stories from his late nights at the station.
Oliver talked briefly about working as a lawyer and mentioned a few more things in passing about his family. With the casual way he talked about the food his mother would cook, or about a fancy party he’d been to for work, Oliver—whether he meant to or not—made it obvious he came from a very different world and was used to having money available.
Nick did not come from that world. He hadn’t meant to talk about his injury right at the start, but Oliver had asked, and Nick needed to make it clear that his career direction had been beyond his control. Most days, his leg hardly bothered him anymore, but his femur never could take the weight of all his gear again, no matter how much physio and weight training he’d done. And yet, despite everything, Nick wanted Oliver to be impressed with him, and telling old war stories was as good as anything else he had to offer.
By the time they were finishing their desserts, he had relaxed significantly.
