“But just in case, I’m not going to hold your hand or touch you or anything,” Aiden says as he parks the car.
I hate this. But I understand it. We’re playing the long game here. I know my dad. If he got wind of this, he would say we shouldn’t start it. If we go to him committed and established, he’s going to have to accept it.
At least I hope he will.
“Are you okay with this?” Aiden asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I turn and look at him. The streetlight illuminates his beautiful face, and I see the concern etched on it.
“Yes. If it somehow shows up on social media, we’re friends. Which isn’t a lie.”
“No, it’s not,” Aiden says, his eyes holding steady on mine. Then he smiles at me. “Now let me come around and open your door for you, passenger princess.”
My heart melts. I love how much of a gentleman he is.
Aiden walks around to the passenger side and opens the door for me, helping me exit the vehicle. Then he moves around me so he’s walking next to the curb and I’m not, but he keeps enough distance between us so we don’t look like a couple. The weather is in the low seventies, which is good. I’m still wearing my sweater from the game, and this way, I shouldn’t get too hot in it.
He pulls the door open for me, and I step inside. The place is very bohemian—lots of modern art installations everywhere, and eclectic music coming in over the speakers. There are groupings of mismatched chairs and sofas, with dark wood paneling on the walls, and art displays at the back of the space.
“How did I not know about this place?” I ask, looking around. “This is so cool!”
“It is, isn’t it?”
We walk up to the counter, and so far, nobody has even batted an eye at Aiden. I look at the chalk menu board behind the counter, and one is dedicated to holiday matchas. I eagerly scan over the options, and I’m amazed at what they have. Cranberry matcha. Sugar cookie. Gingerbread.
And then I see it. White chocolate peppermint matcha.
“I know which one you’re getting,” Aiden says, smiling down at me.
“Yes?”
“The chocolate peppermint matcha tracks with you.”
He knows me so well. Even in such a short time, he not only knows little things about me, but remembers them.
“Yes. Iced, please. What are you getting?”
Aiden reads the chalkboards. “Not sure, but it will definitely be iced.” He studies them for a minute longer, crinkling the bridge of his nose as he concentrates.
“I’m going with cranberry matcha,” he finally says.
“Have you ever had a matcha before?”
“No. But as you can see, I’ve decided to live dangerously tonight.” That dimple appears in his cheek.
If this is what living dangerously is with Aiden, then I’m ready to sign a long-term contract for it.
“Matcha can be an acquired taste,” I warn him.
“So can I, but you seem to be liking me so far.”
“I’m sorry, in what way are you acquired?” I ask, perplexed. We move up in line, but I keep my eyes firmly on Aiden.
“Women typically go for guys like Wyatt and Beckham. A little wild. Fun. Inked,” he adds with a smirk. “I’m more serious. Quiet.” Then he lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “Some might not see me as fun, you know.”
“May I help you?” the girl behind the counter asks, breaking us from our conversation.
Aiden places the order for two large iced matchas and pulls out his card to tap on the card reader.
