Page 15 of Only the Wicked
“Would you like a bag?” she purrs.
“No, she’ll wear it out.”
“Would you like your receipt? Texted?” Her addendum rings several octaves higher.
It takes effort to control the eye roll. Yes, he’s got charisma in spades. He’s attractive. But really? She’s probably almost twenty years younger than him and she’s hoping to score a date when he walked into the store with another woman and bought said woman a sweater. Have some dignity.
“No, thank you. Have a nice evening,” he says with all the grace of a southern gentleman.
I hold the door for him and he steps through it, bracing his arm against the door for me. Out on the sidewalk, he gestures.
“This way. We have reservations.”
“That wasn’t really necessary,” I say, glancing at the sweater he’s holding in his far hand.
“Well, after dinner, I figured we might walk around. There’s a fire pit on the hotel property.”
“Near one of the outdoor bars.”
“Exactly.” He smiles. “If dinner goes well.”
My stomach flutters, and I’m cognitively aware it’s the physical reaction of a real date, which this is not.
“What’d you do this afternoon?” The question comes out cocked and poorly timed.
“Oh, I went on another hike. Drove around. Checked out a few properties for sale.”
“Are you considering moving?”
He shrugs. “I like it here. Plus I tend to look at real estate everywhere I go.”
“What did you say you do?”
He pauses outside the door to On the Veranda, a cute restaurant with a black awning.
“I didn’t.” He’s smiling, like he’s fully entertained, even happy.
“Realtor?” I ask, playing it up.
“Programmer.”
“Ah. I didn’t peg you as a nerd.” He throws his head back, barking out a laugh. “Although, the business overcoat…” I lightly touch the fabric.
“I have meetings in D.C. Had to pack clothes that worked for this jaunt and…” He angles his head to the back of the restaurant, and I presume he thinks he’s nodding in a northern direction, indicating D.C.
“Carry-on suitcase only?”
He side-eyes me.
What am I saying? He flew a private plane.
But I don’t know that.
“If I could get by with only a duffel, that’s what I’d carry.” He stops, hands in his pockets, watching me. “I have a favor to ask.”
I tilt my head, curious. “Okay?”
“It might come off as strange, but…can we steer clear of work conversation? I need a break from it.”
