Marisol laughs. “For the record, we do ask about allergies.”
“I’m not allergic,” I say. “And I’m curious now.”
Derek glances at me. “You sure?”
“I trust you,” I say.
That earns me a look I can’t quite name.
“And the Barolo,” he adds, then pauses. “Unless you’d rather something lighter.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “I’m not driving.”
“Good,” he says, like he planned that.
Marisol nods. “Excellent choice.” She hesitates, then adds quietly, “I’ll bring a taste first.”
When she leaves, I smile. “You’re very confident.”
“I like to minimize variables,” he replies. “Dinner shouldn’t be one of them.”
The wine arrives. He tastes it, nods once, then pours for me before himself.
Around us, the room settles into its rhythm. Someone laughs too loudly near the bar and is gently shushed by Sam’s presence alone. A woman at a nearby table glances over, curious, then looks away when Derek’s attention never leaves me.
“You’ve seen my house,” he says. “That gave you a head start.”
“I didn’t mean to analyze it,” I say.
“I know,” he replies. “Which is why I want to know you on purpose.”
He leans back slightly. “Tell me something about yourself that has nothing to do with work.”
I hesitate. “That’s broad.”
“Good,” he says. “Take your time.”
I think for a moment, mostly because he’s watching me like the answer matters.
“I eat sugary cereal,” I say finally.
A corner of his mouth lifts. “That’s not a confession. That’s an invitation.”
“The embarrassing kind,” I add. “Straight from the box.”
“Which one.”
“Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”
He nods slowly, like he’s filing it away. “That makes sense.”
I smile. “And you?”
“Granola, as you know. The Cheerios I keep a secret, especially from Alex..”
I wait.
“The honey nut kind… with bananas,” he says. “I’m not a monster.”
