Page 56 of Bittersweet

I walk over to the table and sit opposite him. “Tomorrow soundsgreat.”

“Great! I’ll text Mom now, let her know to prepare some extra food. She's a stickler for getting the right numbers,” he says, picking up his phone and shooting off a quick message. He seems so happy, almost thrilled to be introducing me to his folks. Have I read things with him all wrong? Is he more into me than I’d firstthought?

“My family are real excited to meet you,” Marc continues, placing a plate in front of me then one opposite him. “I haven’t taken a girl home in a long time. They can’twait.”

A warm flush races over my chest. I’m . . . I’m special to him. This is a bigdeal.

“Okay, here we go. One salad, hold the dressing and the cheese.” He places this close to my plate. “One steak, rare, and one half-size steak, medium well.” He distributes the protein, giving him the rawer, bloodier piece, and me the more petite one. “Enjoy.”

As he sits and serves food onto his plate, I look at the unappetizing dishes in front of me. Limp lettuce. A piece of tomato. A chunk of steak so small and thin it could fit in my purse if I took out my store loyaltycards.

“What’d you get up to today?” Marc asks, diving into his steak, which I have to say, looks thick and juicy enough to get a prize spot on Ultimate AmericanBarbecues.

“Just more work on the blog. These last few weeks, I’ve been more assertive about dealing with clients, and I’m starting to make serious traction,” Ireply.

“Because Get More with Moretti isn’t just a workout of your body. It’s exercise for the mind, too,” Marc says, clapping himself on the chest. “I got your back,babe.”

“Yeah,” I reply slowly. I’d put my renewed drive down to the fact that I was no longer spending so much time mooning over Elio, but maybe Marc’s right. Maybe being mentally fit and physically fit go hand inhand.

“And how did your workout go today?” Marc emphasizes the question with his fork, speaking the words around hismouthful.

“Fine. I cut it a bit short. I had a lot on my plate and knew we were hanging out tonight, but it was . . .fine.”

“Short?” He narrows hiseyes.

“Short like I ran two miles instead of six.” I study my plate, push a lettuce leaf around. I don’t mention the fact that I also skipped the weights session he had listed on myschedule.

“Romy.” Marc puts his cutlery down and reaches across the table for my hand. “Are youokay?”

I tilt my head to the side. “Uh, yeah. Sure Iam.”

Aside from kissing a marriedman.

“It’s just you know how much working out means to me. How much it should mean to you.” He purses his lips, presses his eyes closed for a moment. “You can make it up nextweek.”

“I can?” Over my deadbody.

“I’ll train with you. We’ll do an extra private session together.” He squeezes my hand. “And I won’t even charge you forit.”

“Oh! That’s . . .”Hellish. The worst idea I’ve ever heard. “Sweet.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He releases his grasp and attacks his steak again withgusto.

We spend the rest of the meal making small talk about the gym, his business, clients who’ve impressed him today, and his training schedule for the week ahead. All the while, my mindraces.

Is this it for me? Could Marc Moretti possibly be . . . theone?

No. Things would have to change a lot for me to consider him happily-ever-aftermaterial.

Still, I try the name out in my head. Romy Moretti. It sounds good onpaper.

And in a weird way, Marc kind of does, too. He owns his own business and his own apartment. He doesn’t have a wife, a child, or any strange skeletons lurking in his closet that are absolute no-nos forme.

He’s without question the most eligible bachelor I’ve dated since Jeremy—eligible being a key word here—so why am I stillresisting?

Maybe because I haven’t felt those goosebumps.

But maybe that’s because I haven’t given goose bumps achance.

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