Page 78 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

“What do you mean?”

He picks up the menu, tipping it my way. “That dish, the butternut squash paccheri?”

I nod.

“That’s what I want.” He grimaces. “But when our server comes back, order-itis will kick in, and I will either mangle the name, or I’ll flat-out order another item that I don’t even want.”

“Why?”

“Anxiety, I guess? Who knows. I just get…flustered.” He shrugs. “I’ve done it for as long as I can remember.”

I bite my lip. “I hate to say it, because it can’t be fun to deal with but…that’s kinda cute?”

He arches an eyebrow as he leans in closer, skepticism etched in his features. A fiery lock of hair slips out from behind his ear and brushes his temple. “You’ll be revising that statement when I order butter-squash nut-packs.”

A laugh jumps out of me. I lean in and brush back that lock of hair, tucking it behind his ear, softly tracing the sharp plane of his cheekbone, before I even realize what I’ve done.

I start to pull my hand away, but Will catches it and clasps it gently. His eyes hold mine. Slowly I turn my hand inside his, then slide my fingers down until they’re tangled with his, our hands resting on the table between us.

“You ordered a blueberry muffin and cold brew just fine,” I counter softly, “that first day, at Boulangerie.”

He nods, like he anticipated this. “I wanted a chocolate chip scone.”

I bite my lip. “Oh.”

“You can laugh,” he says. “It’s pretty ridiculous.”

“Nope.” I tangle our fingers tighter. “At Fee’s, too? Did you not want the Reuben?”

“Oh I wanted the hell out of that Reuben. But Fee’s like family. She’s easy to talk to, so it was easier to keep my thoughts straight and tell her what I wanted.”

With my free hand, I draw a menu between us, for us both to look at. “Well, I could always order for both of us?”

He sighs. “I thought about asking you to do that, honestly. But…I’d like to try, to see if I can break a thirty-four-year streak. Well, maybe thirty-one. That’s the first time I remember doing it. At the farmer’s market. I was three. I wanted a chocolate ice cream cone in the worst way.”

I set a hand over my mouth. “I can’t take it. Don’t tell me how badly disappointed tiny Will was.”

“I asked for a Firecracker Popsicle instead.”

I groan. “Nooo.”

“Or, as I said it back then, a fie-cwacka.”

“Stop.” I clutch my heart, in agonies. “I can’t take it.”

He laughs softly. “Like I said, maybe tonight will be different. I’m…willing to try, to take a chance on something I haven’t for a long time.”

I search his eyes, my heart racing. I know he’s talking about ordering, but for a moment, I can’t help but give in to a delusional hope that he’s talking about something else, too. Something more.

Something that just might be us?

Don’t hope, Juliet. Don’t you dare do it.

I force myself to look away, to gently draw my hand back on the pretense of needing it to hold my menu.

“So, important question,” I say to him, “even if you are ordering for yourself—are we sharing meals?”

Will looks offended that I even asked. “Obviously.”

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