Page 28 of Snowed In
“We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. We haven’t even started on my favorite foods yet.”
“The true way to any man’s heart.”
He closes another inch between us, and I have to crane my neck to meet his eye.
“You’re thinking about it,” he states, looking more curious than he does smug. Like he’s trying to figure me out.
“A little,” I confess, not wanting to lie to him. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
“And do you maybe want to put me out of my misery and tell me which way those thoughts are going?”
“And ruin the suspense?” I tsk and move past, glancing up at the biggest shark I’ve ever seen hanging from the ceiling.
How many skeletons does this placehave?
“Kind of cool, huh?” Christian says, joining me.
“Kind of morbid.”
“Oh, come on.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and I know he thinks I’m just teasing him. “You don’t like creepy taxidermy?”
“Not really,” I say, as he takes out his phone for a picture of the thing. “I’m a vegetarian.”
* * *
“You didn’t know,” I tell him for the hundredth time as we head up the stairs of a nearby cocktail place. He’s so horrified that I’m starting to feel bad that I told him. He’s also so horrified that it’s a little funny.
“You try and think outside the box,” he says. “You try and be cute with your dead zoos, and then your date turns out to be a vegetarian.”
“I liked the shells,” I assure him. “And the architecture.”
We’re shown to a small table at the side of the room, and Christian lets me order a boujee red wine for both of us, probably still feeling guilty.
“I’ll bring you somewhere better next time,” he promises when the waiter goes.
“Next time?”
His eyes narrow in the dim light. It’s the only warning I get before he leans in. He leans in so much that I move back, watching as he crosses his arms on the table and tilts his head, studying me.
“It’s bad manners to put your elbows on the table,” I tell him.
“Says who?”
“… the French?”
“You’re killing me here, Megan. I’ve laid out my cards. I’ve been up front. I’m about to pay for the third most expensive wine on the list—”
“It’s actually the second.”
“And you still haven’t given me a yes or no,” he finishes. “So please. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“So you don’t have to pay for the wine?”
“So I’m not wasting your time. Or mine.”
I make a show of looking around the room, stalling. “I think,” I begin slowly. “That it isn’t the most ridiculous idea in the world.”
“I guess that’s a start,” he says when I don’t continue.
