“Also a classic. But there’s something about a powerful blonde working hard to achieve what she wants, and realizing it’s more than just chasing after a man.”
He nods, the muscles in his jaw relaxing. The tension he had moments ago seemingly gone now that we’ve had some actual conversations other than ‘hi, we have to date now.’
“So, Jordan Boucher, what do you want to know about me?”
25
jordan
What do I want to know about her? The limit does not exist. Each beat of my heart aches to uncover every. Single. Detail. Her innermost thoughts. Her goals in life. Does she sing in the shower? Does she replace the toilet paper over or under? Even mundane details like what brand of toothpaste she uses. Apparently, all I want to know are things located in the bathroom…God, why does she make me so nervous!I take a deep breath to calm myself. Don’t scare the gorgeous woman away with weird questions.Just keep it simple, Jordan.
“How about we start with something basic—what’s your coffee order? In The Proposal, he got her coffee every day. I mean, that was his job, but still. This is very important boyfriend information.”
Also, I will get you a coffee every day for the rest of your life if you let me.
The corners of her lips tip up enough to form the slightest of smiles. My heart soars.I’ll take it.“I’m a serious coffee addict. I get a vanilla, almond milk latte every morning. And I always get it hot, even if it’s one-hundred degrees outside. I know everyone is into iced coffee right now, but if I want a cold drink, I don’t want it to be coffee, if that makes sense.”
I nod, affirming her answer while trying to calm the panic in my chest. I’ve made a grave error getting her a cinnamon dolce latte every flight. I just figured if I got her the drink that sounded the sweetest, maybe she would feel some sort of sweetness toward me.That was stupid.Not to mention, she doesn’t even know they were from me.Shit…what was I thinking with all this secret admirer stuff?Also…double shit. My stomach twists as I realize I’ve been getting her 2%, not almond milk. Oh my God! Have I been poisoning her?Stay calm, Jordan. Ask a follow-up.
“Almond milk, huh?”
“Oh yeah, I can’t drink real milk.”
Triple shit.“You’re lactose intolerant?”
“Sort of. It’s really weird. I can eat any other dairy. Cheese, ice cream, yogurt, I’m fine. But if I drink a glass of milk? Nope. My stomach won’t digest it.”
Quadruple shit on a hockey stick.“What do you mean it won’tdigestit?”
She winces, and I think I’ve overstepped.Quintp- oh, who am I kidding? I fucked up.I open my mouth to apologize, but she continues, “I probably shouldn’t elaborate on that sitting in a fancy restaurant.”
I snort. “Do you know the kinds of things hockey players talk about in the locker room? On the bench? At dinner? I promise you can’t gross me out.”
“I guess I didn’t think about that; I figured it would be maybe un-ladylike to talk about throwing up an entire glass of milk in a fancy place like this.” Her lips twist into a half-smile.
“Oh shit.” I bite the side of my tongue. “That sucks.”
“It’s something to do with the pasteurization process, I guess. At least I can still have ice cream! I needsomethingto drown my sorrows in outside of gin once in a while. So, what about you? What’s your coffee order? Can you drink milk?”
“Yes to milk, and my coffee order is easy—a double double.”
She leans further across the table as if getting closer to me will make this make sense. “I consider myself pretty fluent in coffee, yet somehow, I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a coffee with two creams, two sugars. It’s a Canadian thing.”
“Oh damn. I just remembered you’re Canadian.” She glances around the room, her voice a whisper. “Are we committing international fraud?”
“You know, this is more like The Proposal than I thought. Except I’m not being deported…that I know of.”Would she marry me if I were?Blood starts rushing through my veins at the world of possibilities opening up at the very thought.
“Thank God we only have to date and not get married.”
I suck in a sharp breath as if she picked up the steak knife on the table and stabbed me in the heart. Taking that as a quick no to the ‘would she marry me’ question. I slowly nod, not even knowing how to respond. I remind myself of what Hannah said, what my dad said. Just keep showing her the real me. This is only a first date. I run my hands through my hair. Plenty of time to work on the fake…or real marriage proposal if needed.
When our food finally arrives, it’s a nice break to focus on eating instead of how my heart keeps flipping between full-blown racing and the ache of feeling like it’s been crushed. Thank God for frites. Carbs always make everything better.
Once we’ve finished nearly everything, both of us nosh on the crisp little potatoes covered in the world’s most delicious truffle oil. Despite the mix of emotions I’m facing, I can’t help but smile. Seeing her enjoying all the food I ordered—especially the frites—steadies my shaking hands.
At least I got one thing right.
