I gesture for him to go ahead. He clears his throat, his eyes flicking briefly to my lips before he says, “You look lovely.”
I can feel my cheeks heat instantly. It’s an involuntary reaction that’s equal partsembarrassedandthrilled.Compliments from Arthur aren’t exactly handed out like party favours, so when one arrives unexpectedly, it means something.
“Thank you,” I manage.
The compliment feels like validation for the entire internal crisis I had getting ready for this dinner. My wardrobe—if you can call three pairs of sweatpants and a rotating set of scrubs a wardrobe—is not well equipped for dating. My only “fancy” option is a little black dress, a relic from my earlier life. After a panicked video call with Jess, where she assured me I looked great and the dress was perfect, I decided it would have to do.
Once upon a time, it had hung a bit looser. Now, it’s clinging in places it never used to, but the fabric has just enough stretch to let me breathe. It’s simple, sleeveless, and hopelessly classic. The kind of dress that might make me look like I belong here. If the lighting is right and you squint.
I glance across the table at him. “You look lovely too.”
Arthur’s lips twitch.
“What?”
He shakes his head slowly, amusement lighting his eyes. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life. Most of them I’m not able to repeat in polite company. But I don’t think anyone has ever called me lovely.”
“Nonsense,” I say, leaning forward on my elbows, warming to the game. “I’m sure plenty of people have called you that. Just…not to your face. Because?—”
“Because I’m terrifying?” he finishes, his tone dry but his mouth curving slightly.
I laugh, unable to help it. “I was going to sayintimidating,but sure, let’s go with terrifying.”
He huffs out a low, rough laugh. I’ve grown far too fond of that sound.
“I think you’re more liked than you think you are,” I say.
“I doubt that very much.” He picks up his water glass, his gaze flicking to me over the rim as he raises it to his mouth. “People might respect me. They might fear me. But they don’tlikeme.”
“I like you,” I say before I can stop myself.
His glass pauses midair. One brow arches. “You are the exception.”
“Sam likes you,” I counter.
His eyes widen by a fraction. “Did he say that?”
I grin. “He didn’t have to. I can tell. And my son is not someone whose favour is earned easily. Remind you of anyone?”
He actuallysmilesat this, and it’s like witnessing a solar eclipse. Rare, dazzling, and probably something you shouldn’t look directly at. I stare anyway.
Arthur looks unfairly handsome tonight. Freshly shaved, the sharp planes of his jaw catch the candlelight. His dark hair is neatly combed back but with one rebellious lock threatening to fall forward. The charcoal suit fits him too well, molding perfectly to his broad shoulders and lean waist. The crisp white shirt beneath brings out the warmth in his skin,and his tie is perfectly knotted. I wonder what he’d do if I reached across the table and loosened it, just a notch.
I’m supposed to be looking at the menu, but I’m transfixed. When he glances up and catches me looking, something inside me short-circuits.
“Stunning,” I breathe.
His brow lifts. “Excuse me?”
Crap. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Starving,” I blurt out, my voice a little too high. “I said I’m starving.”
Nice save, Baker. Very smooth.
He tilts his head, clearly amused, but mercifully lets it slide. “I haven’t eaten here before,” he says, picking up his menu.
“Well, it’ll have to be good if it’s going to top the last meal we shared,” I tease.
He blinks at me, confused.
