Page 5 of His Hot Mess

Chris shrugged. “Suits me. I’m waiting for Graydon anyway.”

“Good luck with that. He and Lucy were just sexting—they’re probably off making out somewhere by now.”

“Sexting?” Chris looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah. You can’t possibly have never heard that before? What’s your deal, anyway? How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“So you’re An Old.”

“An Old?”

“Yeah, that’s what we call people in their later years.”

Chris twisted his mouth. He was definitely trying not to laugh now. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-one.”

He laughed. “Three years difference. Not exactly what I’d call a spring chicken.”

I gaped, then turned back forward, snatching a menu from the holder in front of me.

Ignoring the warm, tingling feeling spreading over my shoulder, neck, cheek—every part of me that was within reaching distance of Chris, I scanned the menu intently.

But I wasn’t really seeing it.

I was all bubbly inside. That happy, jittery feeling I got when I was flirting with someone.

Don’t forget how that turns out for you. And how you’re not doing that anymore.

The bubbles fizzled. Frowning, I squinted at the menu as if the listing of various ways of cooking eggs would give me the serious energy I needed.

I wasn’t flirting with him. Besides, he’d mocked my business plan. Irritation rose up inside of me again and I slapped the menu down.

Chris had picked up his book and was taking a sip of his coffee.

What had he said? Goals were the first step to making a business plan. What the hell would he know about making a business plan? He didn’t run his business, Graydon did. Had he started some other business? Gone to business school?

Why did I care?

“Can I help you?” he asked, without turning his eyes from his book.

I was silent long enough that he looked over at me.

His eyes were a dazzling blue-green. The same color as the lake we’d helped Lucy get Graydon back on. Even though it was called Emerald Lake, the water seemed to change color depending on which way the light was hitting it. I’d kneeled down and stared at it, mesmerized, as everything else seemed to fall away. I’d wanted to stay there forever.

Chris’s eyes had the same effect on me. The cacophony of the restaurant died away. The clinking of cutlery faded to a soft tinkling, like wind rustling summer leaves; the conversations a deep rumble, like rushing water.

You’re staring, Sadie.

I looked away, heat rising in my cheeks double-time. Unnerved, I scrambled to remember what we’d been talking about.

Business.

“How do you know so much about business plans, anyway?”

Chris hesitated for the briefest flash. Then he said, “I wrote one. In a past life.”

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