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My lips curved as I shook my head. “Now you’re just lying.”
“I’m too good of an actress for you to know for sure.” Serena laughed. “Fine. I won’t even make the tiniest suggestion about where Julian should take you, but I’m sending him the number when we hang up. Try not to panic.”
“Too late,” I whispered.
“Good. That means you’re tempted to go out with him.” She hung up before I could reconsider.
I stood there wondering if I’d just made a mistake. I’d only been officially single for a month even though my marriage had ended half a year earlier. Or more if we took the entire length of Harrison’s affair into consideration.
I thought it would take me much longer to even consider dating someone, but I’d just given my number to a guy who could too easily change my mind about that.
“Just because he has it doesn’t mean he’s going to call anytime soon,” I mumbled to myself as I finished lining the shelf-stable ingredients and produce I needed on my counter.
I had just finished browning the short ribs when my phone rang.
Since I didn’t recognize the number, I almost let it go to voicemail. Then I dried my hands and answered. “Hello?”
“Celia. It’s Julian Hayes. Serena gave me your number. I hope that’s all right.”
His deep timbre had the same impact on me over the phone as it did in person. Leaning against the counter, I murmured, “She asked me first.”
“I know, but it occurred to me that I might’ve put you in an awkward position since she’s a client of yours.”
I looked down at the pan and laughed softly. “She’s one of yours too, but that didn’t stop you from going to her for my number.”
“Being bold and asking for what I want is essential in my line of work.”
From what Hudson said about his last movie deal, it was clear Julian was amazing at his job. “I’m sure it is.”
“Feel free to tell me if this is too brash”—he paused long enough to make sure I wasn’t going to interrupt—“I’d like to take you on a date. Dinner. Anywhere you’d like to go.”
I laughed again. “Just the right amount of cheekiness.”
“Is that a yes?”
It was refreshing how he wasn’t playing games. He hadn’t waited to call me after getting my number, or delayed in asking me out. He got straight to the point, and I decided I should do the same. “Yes. When?”
“Tomorrow, if you’re free. If you’re not, give me a night you’re available.”
I closed my eyes and breathed through my nerves. “Tomorrow works.”
“I’m glad.”
“And you’re really okay with me picking the restaurant?”
His deep chuckle rolled over me. “I defer to your expertise.”
“There’s a great Parisian-style bistro not too far from where I live.”
“Sounds perfect.”
I rattled off the address. “Seven?”
“I’ll be there.”
He hung up, and I stared at my phone screen for a moment, wondering what I’d gotten myself into. Then before I sautéed aromatics for the short ribs, I sent a quick text to my best friend.
Me
