I nod, heading that way, still marveling over how beautiful this restaurant is. The click of a switch from one of the dim table lights catches my attention as he leans over to turn it off.
“Does it ever just knock you on your ass that you’re really doing this?” I let my voice carry so he can hear me. “I mean, you’ve really made it, Chase. You have two highly rated restaurants before the age of thirty-five, in arguably two of the biggest cities ... It’s impressive.”
He laughs, placing his palm down on the table, leaning onto it as I click the switch, leaving us in the dark—well, as much as the streetlights outside allow.
Yet it’s still the dark. And the reality that I am not scared doesn’t get past me. Because if I’m honest, I’d admit I haven’t been afraid since he showed up.
“I don’t know if it’s set in yet,” he answers, kind of beautifully bathed in the moonlight. “But what’s with the compliment? You don’t like me enough to say all these nice things. What are you, working undercover forFood & Winemagazine?”
I shrug, feeling unburdened by my niceness.
“If I was doing that, I’d have already run my exposé. You say dumb shit on a daily basis.”
“I do not,” he scoffs.
We’re walking toward each other, closing the distance as we banter back and forth.
“You do too.”
“Name one time tonight where I said something stupid ...” When I don’t speak fast enough, he says, “See, you can’t.”
“Bullshit, I can name like ten. How about we start with all that Lisa Bonet nonsense? I felt set up.”
He stops in front of me, and I can see his grin more clearly.
“Okay, I admit that.”
“Ha.” I clap my hands together once. “I knew it. Why do you always say stuff like that when you know it won’t get you anywhere with me?”
He takes an inch of a step closer to me.
“I’m not making shit up, Evie. You always think I’m so full of it—”
I cut in. “You are.”
He chuckles. “Fair. But maybe if you let me finish a sentence, I’d surprise you ... like I did tonight.”
The silence wraps around as he stares down at me, and the way he looks at me ... I don’t know how to describe it. He always looks at me the same way—gentle and intimate.
I start to take a step backward because I’m suddenly feeling warm, like we’re standing too close, but he nabs the fabric of my sweatshirt right above my belly button to stop me.
His voice is low and gravelly as he whispers, “Is it so bad that I think you’re pretty?”
Goose bumps explode under my sweatshirt as I half blink, unable to tear my eyes from his.
Is it so bad?I blink before the answer populates in my head and tumbles out of my mouth.
“I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”
His lips tilt up like they’re going to form a smile before they stay neutral.
“How does me saying you’re pretty give me the wrong idea—”
Jesus. I can hear my heart beating. Or maybe that’s my pulse whooshing in my ears. Either way, the blood is flowing through my body quickly, especially when he finishes his thought.
“The real question is, does it make you reconsider me? Especially since you’ve been wrong for a year and a half.”
My lips part as if there’s an answer prepared, but there isn’t. Because the truth is, Chase is not my ideal boyfriend-partner-soulmate. His personality ruins that for him.
