Page 109 of Really Truly Yours

The city streets teem with people enjoying the evening. Though he’s not from the area, Gray seems to know where he’s going.

The restaurant is a two-block stroll. The large picture windows are sparkly clean, showcasing the trendy and classy space inside. The tables are cloth-covered with fresh floral arrangements. Modern chandeliers with sleek round globes dangle from the high ceiling. Contemporary artwork on giant canvases intersperse the walls.

He has reservations, and we’re quickly seated.

Gray asks if I’d like wine with dinner. I shake my head. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

He grins. “Me neither.” His nose wrinkles. “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

The grin falters. “I discovered I do unconscionably brainless things when I indulge.”

“The stupid stage?”

His shoulders edge lower. “Yeah. What about you?”

I fiddle with the corner of the menu. “In my case, I’ve watched others do those things thanks to drugs and alcohol. When it comes to substances, I don’t go there.”

His understanding smile is warm and unnerving.

I have no clue what to order, although the place smells wonderful. Gray makes suggestions. I pick something that sounds mild.

When the waiter leaves with our orders, the silence feels loaded. He leans his chin onto his palm. “So. What else do I need to know about you, Sydnee Carson?”

I snort. “There’s nothing you need to know.”

His eyes widen out.

Ugh. I’m dreadfully bad at small talk. And on a date? “What I mean is, there’s nothing interesting.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. What do you do for fun?”

I blank my face. “What’s fun?”

He looks genuinely sad. “Aw, don’t say that.”

It’s true enough.

“No hobbies or anything?”

Tell him about your writing.

I stare at him, into his eyes as far as I can see. I don’t need to be laughed at.

His head tilts. “Whatever it is, I want to hear it.”

He’s handled all the secrets of my life well enough thus far. I take a deep breath. “I write.”

A slip of a smile finds his lips. “Tell me about it.”

This is sooo personal. “I usually don’t talk about it, but…I write.”

“Like, novels?”

I nod.

“What kind?”

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