The alcohol is now flooding my system, and Pane’s face is swimming. I squint to keep it steady. “That’s why you’ve got that gray.”
He pats his hair and frowns. “I don’t have gray.”
“No, you don’t. But I made you think that you do.”
He smirks. “And you haven’t dated anyone the whole time that you’ve been home? Six years?”
I exhale, annoyed. “So many questions about dating. Yes, I dated. I brought a man, Luke, home with me from college, but we only lasted about a year before he dumped me for Sally Ray, my neighbor who owns the unicorns. Now they’re married and are living happily ever after.”
“Luke,” he murmurs darkly.
“Don’t worry. You shouldn’t have to meet him. He works at the bank. Besides him,I havedated a few guys, but nothing serious. Probably because they lack my love of piggycorns.”
“How evil of them.”
“See? You get it.” I lightly poke his shoulder for emphasis. “Now it’s my turn to pepper you with questions about your love life.”
“Shoot. I’m an open book.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Absolutely not.”
I frown. “You say that so emphatically.”
“What kind of man would be dancing with one woman while dating another?”
“Good point. But I saw a picture on the internet of you with a blond woman.”
“Ah, you’re an internet sleuth.”
“Not me. Cristina.”
“Well, that was an old picture.” He folds his hands. “I’ve dated women on and off, none of them seriously.”
“Why not?”
He cringes. “The women who run in my circles are socialites. Their concerns are different. Don’t get me wrong—they’re smart, educated. Even if they weren’t educated, they’d still be smart. But they’re just not my type.”
A knot jams up my throat. Itshouldbe jammed up, because he’s talking about how sophisticated the women he dates are. Sophisticated enough to know the difference in knives. But the way he’s looking at me makes it very clear:Thosewomen might not have been his type, butmaybe... Nope. Nope.
Not going there.
Love leads to heartbreak. Love leads to relying on other people—people who do things like die or dump you.
I clear my throat. “Well, the woman in the photo was certainly beautiful.”
“There are other, more beautiful women in the world,” he says with hooded eyelids.
No, no, no! There will be no flirting.I jump out of my chair. “Are you hungry?”
He pats his flat stomach. “Starving.”
I cock my head toward the door. “Great. Want to grab something to eat?”
