“I didn’t like who I was becoming.”
He nods slowly, like that makes perfect sense. He doesn’t push, which makes me want to keep talking.
“I liked the ice,” I say quietly.“I didn’t like everything around it.”
“That’s fair.”
Halfway through dinner, he makes me laugh so hard I nearly spill my wine.
“It was not a raccoon,” I insist.
“You said it hissed at you.”
“It did.”
“That’s raccoon behavior.”
“It was a cat,” I say as I cross my arms.
“That is not cat behavior.”
“It was a very rude cat.”
“I would’ve defended you,” he grins.
“You would’ve laughed.”
“I would’ve laughed first,” he admits.
“At least you’re honest.”
“Always with you.”
That lands.
Soft.
Serious.
Real.
I take a sip of wine to recover.
“Cocktails?” he asks when dinner ends.
“Yes,” I say before I can overthink it.
“Excellent.”
He offers his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I hesitate for half a second. Then take it.
The cocktail bar is quieter than the restaurant. Velvet booths. Low amber lighting. Music soft enough that conversation feels private.
Blake slides into the seat across from me instead of beside me. Which I notice immediately. Which I appreciate more than I expected.
“Gentleman point number three,” I say.
“What did I do?”
