Page 40 of Perfect Date
“So much for a perfect date,” he sighs, “What a way to start it.”
“It’s okay, it’s just fake anyway, right? No big deal.” I try to sound airy and light-hearted when I respond, but for some reason it makes my chest ache just a little bit in a way I don’t really understand.
I knew exactly what this was when I agreed to come meet him in the first place.
His brows furrow and the lines around his mouth tighten when he nods.
“Well, you’re here now,” I say trying to lighten the mood.
“You’re right, I’m here now,” he says.
When the waitress returns with our drinks, and we’re holding them in hand, he holds his up, “Alright, sweetheart, how about a toast?” He asks and it makes my heart skip a beat. His voice has this… tone that I love. I can’t quite explain it. It’s smooth and sounds amused and sexy at the same time. This is the third time I think he’s called me ‘sweetheart’ and I decide not to overthink it and just enjoy how good it makes me feel.
“What are we going to toast to?”
“Us, obviously,” he flashes a smile and raises a dark brow, “to our date.”
“To our date,” I repeat and we touch glasses and take a drink.
It can’t be any worse than my last three, that’s for sure. Not with him.
Famous last words.
10
Looking around again, I can’t help but smile at the energy and turn back to him with a large smile, “This place was a great choice. It’s really amazing. There’s not anything like it back home. How have I been here over six months and not known about its existence?”
“So, I’m right, you hadn’t been here yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“It’s one of my favorite places because the guy that owns it taught his bartenders to make drinks that are almost as good as mine,” he smiles cockily.
“Oh, of course. No one can compete with your mixology skills, I’m sure.”
“Hey, I detect sarcasm in your tone,” he accuses.
“I don’t know why you’d think that,” I tease. “I never joke about the quality of a great drink.”
“As you shouldn’t.”
“So, why a bar?”
“What do you mean?” He asks taking another drink and then licking his lips. I do my best not to stare. He really is stupidly attractive. If I let it, it would be distracting enough to make all thought and sensible discretion flee my mind.
“How did you come to own a bar? Assuming that’s not too personal of a question.”
“No, it’s not at all. It runs in my family, actually.”
“Runs in your family?”
“I mean the bar, it’s been in the family for years. My grandfather used to own it. He and I were very close and he left it to me when he passed away.”
“Oh wow, what an honor.”
“Yes, although that’s not how I took it at first, and others in my family weren’t at all amused.”
“How come?”
