Page 35 of Bittersweet

But they don’t have that natural curve Elio’s armshave. . .

No.

Do not think abouthim.

The blender throbs into peace, and Marc’s lips lift in a smile. “Let me guess: you’re writing the next great Americannovel.”

“Huh?”

“You’re sitting in a café with a laptop. I’m just running through the options here.” He nods to my computer then back tome.

“Oh. No. Nothing literary like that.” I link my fingers together and rest them in mylap.

“The next erotic romance then.” His voice lowers, and there it is again—that flash of something naughty in hisgaze.

“Actually, I focus on a different kind of happily ever after,” I say, flirting a little too, and he laughs. My chest warms.I can do this.There can be life after Elio. “I write about weddings for a blog I run,Love,Romy.”

“Weddings, huh?” His gaze roams to my lap. What is he lookingat?

He doesn’t look away. I press my legs tighter together, as if he can somehow see through my jeans and discover what lies beneath, but it does nothing to deter him. Any thoughts of flirting I have disappear. What a creep! “Um, are you looking at my—”vagina?The word is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to say it. “My thighs?” I settle oninstead.

“What? No.” He looks at me as if I’m one muffin short of a bakery. “I’m looking at yourhands.”

Myhands?

But my handsare—

Oh.

My hands are in mylap.

“I was checking out your ring finger. Trying to see if you weremarried.”

Oh.

He wasn’t trying to use his supersonic personal trainer powers to see through my layers of clothing to my lady bitsunderneath.

Gotit.

Heat flushes my chest, and he’s still looking at me like he’s expecting an answer to his question, so I wave my fingers at him in proof. “No. Not married. I know it seems strange—I write about love all day, every day, and yet I don’t have it myself. But, here I am.” I wave around to the sterile walls of the café, trying not to sound too much like I’m engaged in a pity party for one. “Focused on weddings and perfectlysingle.”

“Good to know.” Marcsmiles.

“Is it?” Icounter.

“It definitely is.” His eyes flash with that hint of flirtiness again, and I find I don’t hate it. It’s nice to feel appreciated, wanted. Especially after my recentrejection.

Although . . . “Do you have a girlfriend, Marc?” I blurtout.

“No.” Hesmiles.

“A wife?” Best to bespecific.

“No.”

“A live-in lover? A child? Any relationship with any woman or man that might be considered sexual or romantic innature?”

“No.” He laughs, shaking his head. “But I wouldn’t mind changing that sometimesoon.”

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