Page 9 of Flirty Thirty

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You a cat person?” he jokes.

“Yes, among other things.”

“Cynic?”

“Maybe.”

He leans forward, sending a rush of warmth through my abdomen. “Does it scare you? The thought of family, something steady?”

I take a sip from my juice to stall. Yes, the whole thing scares me. I’ve seen firsthand what that life looks like, how frazzled my siblings are with their little ones, how every day is scheduled around everyone else instead of yourself. I think of how I used to picture what Cooper described mere minutes ago—a Hallmark movie, and I wanted it. But as time ticked on and I had no prospects, I planted my feet firmly in reality. My career is my family. It sounds pathetic said out loud, but it’s where I found my happy ending.

I set my glass back down. “No,” I lie, then let out a breath. “You’re not much for small talk, are you?”

He shakes his head at the table cloth. “Told you, I’m a real amateur at beginnings.”

“You going to propose by the end of this meal?” I tease. “Tell me you love me?”

He grins, settling back in his seat and stretching his arms behind his head. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Yes.”

“That’s okay. I know I’m unconventional.”

“Are we going to actually discuss business now?” I push a smile back, oblivious to the natural way it forms even during this “unconventional” conversation.

He lets his arms drop. “I’m looking at the property up on Rose Summit, like Parks said earlier,” he says, surprising me by diving in without argument. A wave of disappointment rushes over me, but I shake it off and straighten in my seat.

“I can set up a walkthrough,” I tell him, bringing my phone to the table.

“I’m not married to it, though,” he says as I drag my fingers around my keypad. “I wouldn’t mind another property near that area if it becomes available.”

I bite my lip in thought, pausing in my text message to the seller. That house is beautiful, and I don’t mind showing it, but there are several plots farther east that would give him privacy. Something quiet and spacious.

“How firm are you on not building?”

“Oh, I’m not budging on that.”

“Why?” I go bold, since he’s already started us off on that foot. His mouth turns upward into a slow, amused smile, and I figure he likes my approach.

“I’m not patient enough for that.”

I let out a small laugh, going back to drafting my text. “With your bottomless pockets, it may befasterto build than to buy.”

“I’m not creative enough either,” he adds. “I didn’t major in interior design, exactly. I know next to nothing about architecture, and I’m not great at making decisions based on concepts alone.” His grin slips from casual to playful. “When I see something I like, then I go for it.”

I gulp away a rush of arousal that went straight between my legs. What in the world?

“You… you can hire people to do all that for you,” I tell him, clicking send on the message and setting my phone back on the table. When my gaze lifts to meet his, he’s donning an amused and… enchanted expression. It’s one I’m unsure if I should be flattered by or intimidated by. I’m leaning toward the former.

He shrugs, breaking eye contact. “Want to know how I reached financial stability?”

“I’m always in the mood for budgeting tips.”

He smiles at my response, then waves me in as if he’s spouting off monetary gold and I’m the only one privy to the info. “I only invest in things I know I want.”

Our eyes connect, and I watch those dark blue irises twinkle in a way I’ve only witnessed from a few men from my past. The familiar caffeine bubbles of attraction rise up under my skin, drying my throat and wetting my appetite. I allow myself a moment to entertain naked ideas, most of which take place right here on this table.

I blink, shaking my head and pulling away. “And you don’t want an interior designer? A gardener?” An off-sounding laugh escapes me. “I assumed you already had staff in spades.”

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