“What? Just trying to manage expectations here. You two can sit around here waiting for approvals, or you can goahead and have dinner down the street. Your choice.” She checks her watch. “We should be done in about two hours. Three, if Reed is feeling a little cantankerous today.”
As if summoned, Mayor Reed bustles past us, muttering under his breath and shutting himself in the back room without greeting any of us.
Margie rolls her eyes. “Make that four.” And as Ryder turns for the door, Margie shoots me a wink.
Goddamn small towns.
“See you soon, Margie,” I say, waving over my shoulder as I follow Ryder out.
“We don’t have to go to dinner,” I tell him as the oversized doors close behind us and we step down to the sidewalk.
“Why wouldn’t we go to dinner?” he asks, gesturing for me to follow him as he heads toward the center of town.
I shrug. “I don’t know. We can just wait. I’m sure Margie will kick us out if we wait inside, but we can probably head home for a bit and come back in a couple hours.”
“Head home,as in you’re going to walk half an hour back to your farm just to sit for an hour and get nothing done before turning right around and coming back?” He shakes his head. “Nah, you’re not doing that. How about The Pub? I could go for some good Irish food and some old whiskey.”
“Ryder, come on,” I say. “You have me on board with the plan—you don’t have to keep buttering me up.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not looking forjust‘on board.’ I’m looking for a head-over-heels, squealing and jumping for joy sort of ‘on board.’”
“Do I look like the squealing and jumping for joy sort of girl?”
He shrugs, then holds up the brown paper bag between us. “If you come to dinner with me, you get a present.”
I stop in my tracks. “A present? That’s for me?”
He turns toward me, nodding. “It sure is. But you have to come waste time with me at the bar or a restaurant of your choice if you want it.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is it more chocolate? Because if I keep stuffing my face with your snacks, I’m going to have to buy a whole new wardrobe.”
“It’s not chocolate.” A grin spreads across his face as he starts stomping toward town again, waving the bag out at his side like I might chase after it. “Come on, Sunflower.”
I roll my eyes and begrudgingly fall into step next to him.
I bitemy lip as the server rests our food down between us.
We ended up at The Pub, as Ryder originally suggested, a whiskey neat in front of him and a glass of white wine in front of me. But despite my insistence that I upheld my portion of the deal so he’s required to hand over the paper bag, he stubbornly keeps it out of reach until our food arrives.
I wonder briefly if it’s because he’s worried I’m a flight risk.
If so, I have him right where I want him.
“Thank you,” he says to the server as he licks his lips. “Oh yeah,” he murmurs, pulling his napkin into his lap and digging right into his bangers and mash.
I blink at him, thanking the server for my shepherd’s pie as I patiently wait for the present to be handed over.
Not that I particularly care about presents. I mean, I like them, just like anyone does, but the fact that I have no ideawhat’s inside that paper bag is a mystery that I can’t let go of.
Was he stalking my Instagram again? Did he see my newest picture where I have a sunflower covering my face but you can tell from the way my head is turned toward the sky that I’m grinning like a maniac because I found—one of many, albeit—the perfect sunflower? How far back did he scroll? Does he check it frequently?
Can I even trust this man enough to justify getting all worked up over a goddamnpresent?
“So?” I ask, as he lets out a little groan of pleasure that sends all sorts of weird signals shooting through my body.
He raises his eyebrows, swallowing down his food as he nods. “Right, right. How could I forget?” He slides the bag across the table toward me.
I narrow my eyes as I dive into it, my fingers running over butter-soft fabric as I latch onto it and pull it out.
