Page 37 of Bad Luck Vampire

“’Tis fine,” Alasdair said gruffly. “It all worked out. She let me take her out to lunch.”

All four men brightened at this. It was Inan who said, “So, ye’ve the second date under yer belt. Well done, lad! One more to go.”

“Second date?” Sam asked, glancing up with interest. “When was your first date?”

“They’re counting the wedding,” Alasdair said dryly, and Sam immediately shook her head.

“She was on a date with Tybo, how could that be a date with Alasdair?” she asked his uncles with disbelief. “And why one more to go? One more to go until what?”

Much to his relief Odart forestalled anyone explaining the ridiculous third date rule by growling, “What o’ dinner?”

“Aye. Did ye ask her out fer dinner?” Connor asked.

“Aye,” Alasdair said, but his tone was distracted and his gaze moved to Sam as the question reminded him that he needed to know where to get pizza. “Sam, wh—”

“Google it,” Sam said before he could even finish getting the question out. She’d obviously read the question from his mind. “I know a couple of good places near here, but you want something near enough to Sophie’s office that the pizza won’t be cold or soggy before you get there.”

“Right,” Alasdair breathed, and pulled out his phone to google the best pizza in Toronto.

“Pizza?” Inan asked with interest.

“Sophie’s working late, so I’m taking her dinner,” he explained, going through the search. “And then after work I’m taking her out for dessert.”

“Three dates,” Connor crooned. “That’ll be three e’en without the weddin’.”

“Aye,” Inan agreed happily. “It’ll be a green light night fer ye, lad, and she’ll no’ e’en feel like a hurdie afterward. Well done, boy!”

Alasdair grunted as his uncles each thumped him on the back. Much to his relief, they then left him alone and moved over to pester Sam about what rabbit food she was cooking for poor Mortimer tonight. Ignoring them, Alasdair quickly found a restaurant near the insurance office that had good reviews, but then he was faced with a menu that seemed to have a lot of choices.

“Who stole yer scone, lad?”

Alasdair glanced up with surprise when his uncle Connor asked that.

“Yer scowlin’,” Connor told him dryly. “Can ye no’ find a place with pizzas?”

“I found one,” Alasdair said with a small frown. “It’s just that they have a lot of choices, and I didn’t think to ask Sophie what she likes. Maybe I should call her,” he added, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Oh, now don’y be doin’ that, lad,” Connor said at once. “A lass needs to ken she can depend on her maun to satisfy her needs on his own without her input. Let’s see what they ha’e on offer.”

Alasdair found his phone plucked from his hand, and then was pushed out from even seeing it himself when his other uncles suddenly crowded in to look at the menu he’d pulled up.

“Oh, order this,” Inan said, sounding excited.

“And this,” Odart growled.

“This one sounds good,” Connor murmured. “Order it too.”

“What do ye mean order it?” Alasdair asked with alarm. “Ye’re no’ ordering online.”

“Aye. Fer pickup,” Connor told him. “It’ll be grand.”

“Crap,” Alasdair breathed, and tried to fight his way between two of his uncles to get to his phone, but that was impossible. They were all large men, and they weren’t moving. This, he was sure, was going to be a disaster.

Thirteen

It was five minutes to seven when Sophie saw Alasdair’s SUV pull into the small parking lot next to the insurance office. Actually, it was dark out already and what she really saw was headlights as he pulled in. It was enough. Jumping up from her seat, she brushed down her skirt, tugged her blouse down a bit, and retucked it into her skirt, then bit her lips to give them color. Sophie then ran her hands through her hair as she hurried out of her office.

She was excited and nervous and relieved all at once. Excited to see him again, nervous to see him again, and relieved he was finally here. The office always cleared out quickly on Friday nights. By 5:35 she’d been alone, and then she’d spent the last hour and twenty minutes watching the clock rather than getting much of anything done.

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