It turns out serious Travis is just as sexy as snarky Travis. Possibly sexier, which shouldn’t be allowed. No one should be able to pivot from “I did the math on water usage” to talking about grief and legacy and still look like that in candlelight. Iforget to breathe for a second. Just completely forget, like my lungs have decided oxygen is less important than memorizing the way shadows play across his cheekbones.
“That’s actually romantic, in a morbid, infrastructure way,” I finally manage to say.
“I prefer to think of it as practical immortality,” he says, and I laugh.
God, this guy. I think I could talk to him forever and never get bored with the way his brain sees the world.
His gaze seems to focus on my lips, and my whole body responds like someone just turned up the thermostat. Heat pools low in my stomach.
I swirl my spoon around in the leftover chocolate sauce, mostly to give my hands something to do that isn’t grabbing him by the collar and finding out if he kisses as precisely as he does everything else.
“What was your biggest childhood fear?” I ask.
“I was afraid of escalators until I was twelve.”
“What changed?”
“I studied their mechanics obsessively until I understood them.” He pauses. “That’s kind of been my approach to everything. If I can understand how it works, it can’t hurt me.”
God, that’s painfully relatable. Except my version is convincing myself that if I just believe hard enough in a good outcome, the universe will cooperate. Spoiler: the universe does not take requests.
“Does that work with people too?” I ask.
“Not even slightly.” He laughs. “People don’t come with blueprints. Believe me, I’ve looked.”
There’s something achingly familiar about the way he says it. Like I’ve heard this exact brand of self-aware cynicism before, wrapped in dry humor to make it easier to swallow. I can’t place why, but it makes me want to know him even more.
“What would your blueprint say?”
“Warning: overthinks everything.Requires detailed instructions.Do not expose to spontaneity.”
“Mine would say,Caution: makes impulsive decisions.Gets emotionally attached to fictional characters.Will arrange things by color.”
He smiles wryly, but there’s a vulnerability in his expression. “Do you think that means we’ll be a disaster together?”
My heart thumps. “I actually think it means we’ll be perfect. Sometimes disasters are just adventures in disguise.”
His expression definitely turns happier. “That’s terrifyingly optimistic.”
His knee brushes mine under the table, and neither of us moves away. It’s barely any contact, but I feel it everywhere. My whole body goes on alert, focused on that single point of connection.
“For some reason, I’m feeling remarkably optimistic right now,” I say.
He holds my gaze, and his voice drops slightly. “I am too.”
Is it possible to spontaneously combust from unresolved sexual tension?
The bill arrives, and Travis reaches for it immediately, giving me a chance to compose myself. “I’ll get this. I’m the one whose brother strong-armed you into going on a date with me,” he says.
“Fine, but I’m paying next time.”
The words leave my lips without thought because there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that there will be a next time with this man.
He pauses with his credit card halfway to the bill folder, and his genuine, unguarded smile makes my chest tighten.
As we navigate through the restaurant, Travis’s hand ghosts near the small of my back, not quite touching but close enough that I can still sense it. Every nerve ending in that three-inchradius is screaming for him to close the gap. I’m going to lose my mind if he doesn’t actually touch me soon.
When we reach the pavement, he rocks back on his heels, looking adorably bashful. “So, uh…I normally don’t invite guys back to my place on a first date, but this…this is different, right?”
