Page 4 of Off the Wall

“It’s just that … I’m not really into dieting.”

“I wasn’t either.” He puffs out a breath. “Until I signed up for MatchYou.”

I stifle a snort. MatchYou is the same dating app Hayden used to meet Jasper. I can’t wait to tell her how much she and Mrs. Chamberlin’s grandnephew have in common.

“I’ve also got profiles on Chem Finder and SoleMate,” Warren says.

“SoleMate?” I wrinkle my nose. Sounds like some kind of foot fetish site.

“Yeah, it’s new. I’m on three different apps.” He bounces his eyebrows. “Don’t want to put all my eggs in one basket,ifyou know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, I know exactly what he means, but I don’t want to think about Warren Snuze’s figurative eggs.

Mercifully, I’m saved by the server, who appears with our appetizers. Warren dives right in to his octopus and escargot. As a shiny circle of oil spreads around his mouth, the queasiness in my stomach kicks up a notch. I’m watching him eat with a mixture of curiosity and horror, when he plucks anescargot from its shell with a tiny fork and extends it across the table.

“Go ahead.” He nods at the greasy, buttery offering. “Eat one.”

“No, thank you.”

“What’s the problem? My aunt says you’re a good sport, Nori. Are you calling Auntie Pearl a liar?”

“Of course not.” I square my shoulders, but maybe Warren’s right. What if his V-neck undershirt and chest hair sent me into bad attitude land before he had a chance to show me what a lovely man he is? Warren Snuze could be a perfectly wonderful person who just happens to enjoy eating milk-fed calves and octopus. “Iama good sport,” I insist.

“Good girl.” He flicks his fork until the escargot falls with a wet plop onto my empty bread plate. Then he snatches one of my mozzarella sticks and drags the hot cheesy goodness through the ramekin of marinara sauce.

I shift my gaze to the buttery snail, and my insides officially roil.

Good sport or not, I might actually throw up if I try to ingest that. But Warren’s not letting the issue go. “Don’t waste it,” he says, cheese dangling from his lips.

“Fine.”

I’m a good sport. I’m a good sport.

I slowly slip the escargot into my mouth, and—nope. There it is. My one-way ticket to the vomit express. I’m about to hurl, when a ringtone sounds in the pocket of Warren’s coat. While he turns around to dig for his phone, I spit the escargot into my napkin and drop the whole greasy mess onto the floor under my chair.

“It’s Auntie Pearl,” Warren announces after a quick glimpse of his screen. Then he rejects the call and pushes the phone back into his coat pocket.

“But …” I pull down my brow. Warren’s aunt isn’t exactly a spring chicken. She’s definitely a … winter chicken. And I’m worried she could be having some kind of emergency. Apparently, I’m more worried about her than her actual nephew is. “Shouldn’t you see what she needs? It could be important.”

“I know why she’s calling.” He pushes the rest of the mozzarella stick into his mouth, then talks while he chews. “I told her to give me a ring twenty minutes into our date.” A strand of cheese trails down his chin. “You know. In case the two of us weren’t hitting it off.”

Soheused the oldest trick in the book.

Warren Snuze is a cliché.

“She said there was zero chance I wouldn’t like you—butIsaid if I was going to take you to dinner, I needed an escape plan in case I knew at first sight I wouldn’t be interested. But you’re attractive enough.”

I’m attractiveenough?

Warren Snuze, with remnants of marinara and mozzarella all over his face, might be the least attractive person on the planet. If I didn’t care about Mrs. Chamberlin, I’d get up and walk out of thisristoranteright now.

“And, oh yeah.” He swipes at his chin, then forks up a piece of octopus. “She also told me you live at The Serendipity.”

Great. Thanks a lot, Auntie Pearl.

“That’s what made me say yes to this date,” he admits. “I was curious to see if the rumors were true. You know. If there’d be something … extra special about you.”

“Nope,” I say with a shrug. “Just me.”

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