Page 22 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

“I’m Griffin,” he introduces himself and I mentally applaud his parents for giving him a name that matches his too-good-to-be-true looks. He slides into the seat across from me, exuding an ease as though we’re old friends rather than two strangers in a restaurant where the chandeliers cost more than my rent.

My voice hitches, caught somewhere between surprise and skepticism. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

He chuckles a deep sound that seems to vibrate through the table. “Not yet, but I’m hoping to change that.” He lifts his drink in a casual toast. “Consider this an icebreaker,” he says with a voice smooth as the jazz playing softly in the background. He sets a drink identical to mine on his side of the table as he leans back, getting comfortable in the seat across from me.

I hesitate, unsure whether to be flattered or wary. “This is...unexpected.” My fingers play with the edge of the menu, still open in front of me. “But I’m actually working tonight. And waiting for someone.”

“Is that someone a date?”

“Um…well, no?—”

“And whomever it is is clearly late,” he replies with a confidence that suggests he knows more than he should. “Shame on them.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “MaybeI’mearly,” I say, trying to mask the unease with a playful curiosity that doesn’t quite reach my hazel eyes.

The man—Griffin—shrugs nonchalantly. “Maybe. But I doubt it. You’ve been here for nearly fifteen minutes. And it’s the trendiest new spot in town. I don’t thinkthey’d seat you fifteen minutes before your reservation.” His grin is undimmed by my reaction.

His presence is overwhelming, like a sudden plot twist I hadn’t seen coming—an interruption to the storyline I’d carefully planned for the evening. But despite the initial shock, there’s something about him that seems so disarmingly genuine and charming, I find myself not turning him away immediately like I normally would do.

“Fine,” I acquiesce with a mock sigh, closing the menu and leaning back in my chair to appraise this unexpected guest. “You’ve got my attention, Griffin. Let’s see if you can keep it.”

“A test,” he says. “I’ve always done well in school. As I said, I’m Griffin.” He extends a hand with the sort of charm that could’ve been bottled and sold. “And you must be...?”

“Allie,” I squeak out, my voice betraying me by pitching up three octaves into chipmunk territory.

His handshake is firm yet gentle, the kind of handshake you’d expect from someone who volunteers at soup kitchens in his spare time or bakes bread for elderly neighbors.

“You said you’re here working, what is it you do?”

I glance around me, making sure my server isn’t anywhere in the vicinity and whisper, “I’m a restaurant reviewer.” Then I put my index finger to my lips. “But shhh. I’m supposed to be undercover.”

His eyes shine brighter with that statement. “An undercover food mission. Allie, your secrets are safe with me.”

“So,” I say, looking down into my mystery cocktail. “What are we drinking?”

“It’s a French 75 with a twist of orange,” he says.

“Right, of course,” I say. Being a food reviewer, I certainly know enough about cocktails to get by, but theyaren’t my specialty. However, a French 75 is almost always my drink of choice…though I’ve never had it with an orange twist. I take a tentative sip, the bubbles tickling my nose. It’s fresh, crisp, and delicious.

It’s so good, I take another larger sip immediately after as Griffin leans forward, placing his elbows on the table.

“Your eyes are like two full moons in a starless sky,” Griffin says, the words rolling off his tongue with a practiced ease.

While most girls would probably swoon at such a statement, it catches me completely off guard and…I start to laugh. But with a mouthful of bubbly champagne, it goes right up my nose and I nearly snarf the entire large sip I just took.

I lunge for the napkin wrapped around my silverware and unroll it just in time to catch the spray coming out my nose and cover my subsequent coughing fit.

“Are you okay?” There’s a shift in his voice. What was once warm honey is now more genuine. Not quite as deep or smooth, but more…real.

I nod and lower the napkin from my mouth as my coughing subsides. “Sorry.” I fold the napkin, placing it back down beside my table setting. “I think your comment…er…caught me off guard. Not many people call my regular, old hazel eyesmoon-like. Actually,no onecalls them that,” I say with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Regular old hazel? No, Allie, there’s an entire universe in your gaze.” His tousled hair falls into those strikingly bright eyes in a way that’s unfairly attractive. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought it was rehearsed and planned…if only a hair flop could be.

“Wow, you really lay it on thick, don’t you?” I pick up the napkin once more and refold it,trying to find a diversion from his intense look. Is this guy for real? Flirting seems like a second language to him—one I am decidedly not fluent in. Once more, I glance toward the door, willing my sister’s arrival.

“If I was laying it on thick, I would say I see my future in your gaze,” he retorts with a wink that sends my pulse scampering like a startled rabbit. Then, standing, he slides the chair around so that we’re sitting even closer to each other.

“Right,” I mutter. “So, uh, what brings you here tonight? Other than handing out compliments and drinks to solitary diners?”

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