“Oh, there’s dinner.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “There’s more?”
“There’s always more.”
“Who are you?” I ask, half joking, half not.
“Douglas.”
I chuckle. “I walked into that one.”
“You did.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling again. Of course I am.
Everything about this man, who I took for the strong, silent type is a contradiction. A contradiction I’m finding it impossible to ignore.
“Come here,” he says, nodding toward a small setup I hadn’t noticed before.
A table. Set off to the side. And on top of it…
“Oh my God,” I say again.
Prosecco, on ice. Strawberries. And?—
“Is that caviar?”
He beams. “It is.”
“Are you trying to impress me?”
“Yes. Is it working?”
I laugh, stepping closer, taking it all in.
“This is… a lot.”
“Too much?”
I glance up at him. My heart hitches. Not because of the view or all the stops he’s pulled out, but because of the way he’s looking at me.
“No,” I say softly. “Not too much.”
Something shifts between us.
I reach for one of the strawberries, mostly so I have something to do with my hands.
“So,” I say, turning back toward him, “are you going to tell me what you actuallydo, or are we sticking with vague mystery man all night?”
He pours champagne like he didn’t hear that.
“Douglas.”
“I told you. It’s complicated.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I’m giving.”
