Page 90 of Maybe We Can Fake It

“Pretty sure that’s by choice.”

“True, but if it’s with you... I wouldn’t mind.”

He shifts his gaze slightly away from me after that admission.

My heart is now beating out a bouncy, happy song. “You want to go on a date with me?”

His eyes fly back to mine. He looks unsure, and for a second, I think he’s going to grunt something at me to play it off. But then he says, “Yeah. I do.”

Oh my god.

I want to climb over the counter and kiss him. But I hold myself back, because I know I can’t do that. I can’t stop grinning though. “Then it sounds like we’ve got a date Friday night.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

TRAVIS

AfterleavingBenjiincharge of the diner Friday evening, I picked up Brenden, drove us the twenty-five minutes to Stoneridge, and now here we are in the parking lot of Lozano’s Steakhouse. It’s fancier than anywhere I’d normally go. I can tell just by the building’s architecture and the looping cursive of the sign. But at least it’s steak.

From the way Brenden describes the Richardsons’ tastes, I kind of expected something like a French restaurant, where I wouldn’t even be able to read the menu and would wind up eating snails.

“I’ve heard this place is really good,” he says, turning to face me after unbuckling his seatbelt.

“For the prices I’m going to assume they charge, it’d better be,” I gripe.

He laughs. “But we’re not paying, remember?”

Yeah, I remember. The idea of Grant treating us makes me a little uncomfortable though. But I’m the one who told Brenden we should go on the date, so. “Let’s get inside. Seems like thekind of place that would cancel your reservation if you’re one minute late.”

Again, he laughs at me. But he accompanies the gentle laughter with a squeeze of my thigh and says, “Come on, Grumptopus,” in a way that makes me feel appreciated. If that even makes sense. Like he actually enjoys my company, despite the sour attitude that I’m unable to rein in sometimes.

He’s the only person I reallytryto rein it in around. He’s also the only person who can transform my mood just by smiling at me.

And this is a date, right? Even if we were basically coerced into it, I need to get my act together and make it a good one. Brenden deserves to be treated right.

So I tell him, “Hold on, stay there a sec.” Then I hop out of the truck and quickly come around to his side to open the door for him.

His eyes light up as he smiles at me, taking the hand I offer to help him get out. “Oh, are you being a gentleman now?” he teases.

Placing a hand on his lower back, I guide him toward the restaurant, silently marveling at how natural the gesture feels. “I haven’t been on a date in a very long time,” I admit when I grab the heavy front door and usher him inside in front of me. “But I do remember how they work. I’m not a total jerk.”

That was essentially a joke, but he stops right before we reach the host station and turns to face me, placing his hand on my chest. “I’veneverthought you were a jerk. You’re the best guy I know.”

My mouth goes suddenly dry, and I have no idea how to respond to his sincerity. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to expect a response, because he simply graces me with one more magical smile, then turns to the hostess to give her our names.

She studies her tablet a moment before looking back up at us with an even wider customer service smile. “Yes, Mr. Sanderson and Mr. Reed. We’re so glad you’ve chosen to join us tonight. If you’ll follow me, we’ve reserved one of our most requested tables for you. It has a wonderful view overlooking the river.”

I glance around the restaurant as we weave our way through. There’s a soft lighting that gives the place a nice ambiance, rather than making it look dim. The booths are very high-backed, offering people privacy. And there are a couple of tiny tealights shining on each tabletop. It all creates a romantic atmosphere.

We’re seated in the back beside a large window that does provide a nice view. There’s a deck outside, extending over the water, with string lights woven around the railings. I’m betting they hold small functions out there.

Brenden is smiling at me when I turn back to him. “Not your kind of place, right?” he says, running his finger along the stem of an empty wine glass.

“Maybe not. But I can see the appeal. And I can handle trying new things.”

“It’s not really my kind of place either,” he offers. “But it’s pretty. I imagine it would be nice coming here if...”

“If what?” I ask when he trails off.

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