“Now,thisI could get used to. I will gladly finish any food you don’t want.”
I sit back in our booth and lift my wine glass to take a sip. “Then how do you stay so skinny?”
He shrugs, mouth full of another bite of burger. “Good metabolism, I guess. I don’t always eat like this. Cooking for one consists of mainly smaller meals and sometimes even just a PB and J if I don’t feel like cooking.”
My mind goes wild as I sit here, watching him eat, with nothing left to talk about that I don’t already know about him. I’ve been trying to avoid familiar topics because I don’t want to mess up and mention parts of his world that I’m not supposed to know. I’ve already slipped up one too many times. Sitting here feels so awkward, and since he’s the one eating, it feels like I should be the one to initiate conversation, even though I have no clue what to say.
“What about you? Do you cook?” he asks, breaking our silence.
“Sometimes. But, yeah, it’s harder when it’s just for one. I probably have a bowl of granola for dinner more often than I should.”
“Well, you just met my ex, and you know now that I’m single. I’m assuming you are too?”
I tilt my head to the side. “And why would you just assume that?”
“Because I’ve been with you all day and you’ve only texted with your girlfriends on that group chat. No boyfriend has called to check up on you. If you were my girlfriend who was going on a work trip with another guy, you bet I’d be calling just to make sure he knew you were taken.”
“Taken?” I fake insult.
He blows me off. “You know what I mean.”
“Well, no. I’m nottaken, as you say. Dating is hard in the city.”
“Yeah, I get that. I actually thought I had something going recently, but …” He pauses, and my heart breaks. “You know, life happens.”
The way he saidlife happensrips me in two. I don’t want him to think he was ghosted. I don’t want him to worry or question why I’m not responding or giving us more time, but what else am I supposed to do?
Our waitress comes over to our table, and I’ve never been so thankful. “Would you like another glass of wine?”
“Yes, please,” I answer without a second thought.
“And you, sir?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m the driver, so I should stick to one.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be right back with that. Can I get you anything else? Would you like to see our dessert menu?”
He gives me a childish, playful expression, so I laugh and answer for us, “Why not? We’ll take a look.”
“Great. I’ll be right back,” she says, leaving us again.
“So, you’re a dessert guy?” I tease.
“Only on special occasions,” he responds.
That makes me question, “What makes this a special occasion?”
He holds the last bite of his burger up in the air. “We’ve spent the entire day together and not killed each other yet. I’d say that calls for a celebration.” He pops the burger in his mouth, grinning from ear to ear.
I hate the way he makes me laugh, but I don’t try to stop it this time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
David
We finish dinner and make our way to the car.
“How far away is our hotel?” Zoe asks.
