Page 13 of Love Bites

“It’s good to see you,” I said and meant every word. He was dressed similarly to me minus the cashmere sweater. His curls had not been moussed into some sort of submission. Good. I quite liked when they were free. He’d shaved as well. I did miss the scruff that he wore but nothing could take away from those eyes and those lips. Neither needed a thing done to make them more appealing. “I reserved us a table in the sun. I’m finding the mornings a little chilly for my tastes, and this will give us some sun to enjoy.”

“I thought being from Germany you’d be used to the cold,” he said as I motioned him to the furthest table. It was also the one that had the most distance from other diners, for a more intimate feel. I pulled out a seat for him. He eyed me warily but sat, nonetheless. I took my seat next to him. Two seats as requested. This inn listened to the requests of their guests well.

“True, Berlin does get quite chilly at times. I have never been fond of the monochromatic colors of winter either, so I tend todress in thicker clothes to keep warm. Early summer seems to bounce up and down temperature-wise. Ah, thank you, Lydia.” The older brunette server arrived with a silver urn of coffee, two mugs, sweetener in a holder, and a small glass pitcher of cream. “We’ll need a few moments to decide.” She moved off to seat others that were filing out to eat. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of ordering you coffee. I took note of the well-used pot in your office, plus the mugs lined up on the windowsill. Many with a tiger on them?”

“Tigger. Yeah, I guess I tend to be kind of bouncy,” he confessed as he pulled the mug toward him to sweeten it. “Or used to be. I’m not feeling too rubbery right now.” His blue gaze flew to me as I sipped my black coffee. “Do you always scope out people’s coffee mugs?”

“A coffee mug can tell a lot about a person. They tend to be personalized. You can learn a favorite team, or vacation destination, or cartoon character.”

He stirred sugar into his coffee, not the artificial stuff, then a dollop of cream. His fingers were long, the nails short, and the cuticles in dire need of some over-the-counter nail-biting deterrent. I took the ragged state of his nails as a sign of anxiety. Given the financial state of his candy shop I could see why he was stressed. I could only imagine how those blue eyes would sparkle when he was free from worry. Perhaps lying over me, spent and sated. Damn it. I shifted in my seat.

“So, shall we place our order? I have a fun little diversion scheduled for one if you’d like to go.”

His slim brows knitted. Distrust crept into his weary features. “If you’re planning on hitting me over the head with a rock in the woods to get the shop the joke’s on you as Mamie inherits if I die at the hand of unscrupulous chocolate rivals.”

I chuckled into my coffee. “Such a flair for the dramatic. I assumed you ran to the theatrical given your manner of dress and that thin but well-executed liner on your lids.”

He stiffened some, not much, and then the starch left his shoulders. “Okay, fine, I like to wear bright things. Is that a crime Mr. I Dislike Monochromatic Colors?”

“So defensive,” I said then sighed before lowering my mug to the table. “I enjoy you in color. That pink and yellow poncho over the dark green leggings is striking. As is the way you rouged your lips.” His fair cheeks grew even pinker. Yes, I had noticed his attire, and his makeup, and the way those delectable curls shifted softly in the wind off the lake. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? I noticed. Oh, how I noticed. I gave him a smile that seemed to make him squirm in his seat. “I hope you do not have such a clause in your will. What happens if, say, a rabid moose with a grudge against men in ponchos tramples you in the wood?”

“Why would the moose have a thing against men in ponchos?” The corners of those tasty lips twitched. He had a nice sense of humor and whimsy hidden under his suspicions about my family name.

I leaned forward, just a bit, to make sure his gaze was locked with mine. A curl danced over his brow. I slid my hand under my ass to keep from brushing the lock back from his brow.

“He may have been chased through the forest by a famous spaghetti western actor with a hankering for moose meat?” I tossed out with a shrug. He laughed. “Or, perhaps he had been double-crossed by a pair of Pottsylvanian spies seeking the whereabouts of his squirrel friend?”

That one made him laugh out loud. It was a beautiful sound. His eyes sparkled like sapphires when he was amused. I wanted to see him this way all the time.

“Oh my God, did you actually toss out where those old-timey cartoon spies were from? Who the hell knows that?!”

“As a child I spent a great deal of time in front of the television set watching American cartoons.Rocky and Bullwinklewere favorites, as wasUnderdog. There is something highly entertaining about the old cartoons. Something that the newer animations lack.”

“So how oldare youexactly? I mean those were shows Mamie probably grew up watching. If you’re as old as she is you held upreallygood.”

“Your grandmother has a few years on me but I am pleased to know that you think I’ve maintained my decrepit body well,” I teased just to see his face grow hot. It did. My dick liked this flirtatious jesting far too much. “I turned forty-five in March so not into my dotagequiteyet.”

He picked up his menu then, lifting it to hide his face. That made me snicker. When he lowered it a moment later, the flush still lingered on his cheeks.

“This isn’t how I pictured this meeting going,” he confessed while peeking over the top of the menu. I sat back, to give him some room to compose himself. “We should be talking about the shop and not about old cartoon shows or your still hot body.”

I wanted to press him on the hot comment but I let it slide. Haider was right. This was not a date. It was a working lunch and should be treated as such. And I would just as soon as the lakeside breeze stopped playing havoc with those dark brown curls.

Damn it. I wrenched my attention from his face. “You’re right. We should be discussing the offer that I have worked out for you.” I glanced over his shoulder to see Lydia coming our way. “After we order. If you’ve not had the grilled salmon steak I highly recommend it.”

His sight darted down to the menu then back at me. “I think I’ll just have a salad.”

“Please, order what sounds good. I’m paying.”

He closed his menu with a snap and turned to look at Lydia as she neared. “I’m having the salad with French dressing.”

She hurried to pull out a sleek tabletop tablet from her apron. I sighed internally, ordered the salmon, and braced myself for a professional lunch seated across from a man who made me think highly unprofessional things.

BY THE TIMEwe wrapped up our meals—if one could call a measly ten-dollar salad a meal—the two of us had reached an impasse on our offer.

Haider was questioning everything, which was his right, and showed he was concerned with the business that had been in his family for so long. His exit questions were well thought-out, concise, and while a bit more emotional than most of my other dealings generally he did quite well. We discussed taxes, possible dealbreakers—those recipes were a sticking point for him—we let that sit for the time being. I was willing to simply lower the offer if the client base and recipes did not come with the store but Opa was being a prick about it. For some reason, and I had a suspicion or two about my grandfather’s keen interest in taking everything from Haider and Capucine right down to the chalkboards that sat on the sidewalk, he was unwilling to move forward without those recipes.

Which was why I was now in the delicate position of trying to get Capucine and Haider to sell me those well-guarded ingredient and cooking instructions. Something, I felt, was not needed at all.

---