“Let’s get lunch.”
Gabriel leadsme to a restaurant on the property that overlooks the water, and we’re seated near the edge of the cliffside. I glance around, then back at him.
“Did you make reservations at restaurants for this entire weekend, too?” I ask. “Because I’m pretty sure this is the best seat here.”
He watches me for a moment, studying my expression.
“Eat first,” he finally says. “Interrogate me later.”
I lean back in my chair, watching him over the rim of the menu. “Oh, I will.”
When the waiter arrives, we order and the quiet settles in again. My fingers trace the stem of my glass while I look out at the water, and when I sneak a glance at him, I find his eyes already trained on me, a subtle smile on his lips.
“You’re staring.”
He doesn’t look away. “I know.”
Heat crawls up my neck before I can stop it, but thankfully our starter arrives, saving me from responding. I reach for my fork, pretending composure, and take a bite, hyperaware of everything now.
He brushes his foot against mine under the table, and I meet his eyes again.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, taking a slow sip of wine.
Honestly, I’m thinking about how badly I want to go back to our room and spend the rest of the night worshiping each other's bodies. But there’s no way in hell I’m admitting that to him.
“Reid,” I reply, and he chokes on his sip.
I try my hardest to hide my smirk as he wipes at his mouth with a napkin, eyes burning into mine, but it slips out.
“Why exactly are you thinking about my assistant?”
“I just can’t stop trying to figure out why you have him looking into fertility clinics.” I pick up my glass, holding his gaze over the rim as I take a sip.
He sighs, placing his fork down and resting his forearms on the table edge. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
I shake my head. “Probably not.”
“Okay, how about we make a deal then,” he says, leaning forward with a sparkle in his eye.
“What kind of deal?” I ask suspiciously.
He shrugs. “A mutually beneficial one.”
I take another sip of my wine, narrowing my eyes at him. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“If I answer your question, then I want you to answer mine.” He sits back in his seat, waiting for my answer.
I pause. If I agree, there’s a high chance he’ll ask me the same question he asked me yesterday. The same one that ruined our date. But if he’s willing to answer my question, doesn’t he deserve to have his answered too?
“Fine.” I place my glass on the table and take another bite of food before sitting back against the chair, staring at him expectantly.
He sighs, clenching and unclenching his fist on the table. “I…” he pauses, and I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been researching all there is to know about PCOS.”
“What?” I ask quietly, thinking I must be hearing him wrong.
He clears his throat and looks out at the ocean with a frown. “I don’t like seeing you so upset about anything,” he says. “It makes me feel physically sick to know you feel so hopeless and that there’s nothing I can do to make it better.”
“Gabriel…”
