Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, the words brimming with sincerity. “It’s a touchy subject. My dad, I mean.”
“You brought him up.”
“Hmm. I also feel a little uncouth in a place like this.” The confession was hushed, and his eyes were directed out over the dark lagoon in an effort to avoid meeting her stare. Daff could barely hear him over the piano music in the background and the chatter of the other restaurant patrons. “With its weird wine rituals and place settings and unrecognizable food.”
“Then why come here?” she asked again, her voice gentling.
“I thought you’d like it.”
Oh.
For God’s sake. Why was he so damned sweet?
“I do,” she said after a beat. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
His eyes swung back in her direction, and she met his scrutiny head-on. Her expression was serious, but she hoped that he could see that she was being sincere. His eyes darted back and forth between hers for an excruciatingly long moment before he smiled. The parting of his lips was slow and hesitant, like a foal taking its very first steps. It was like watching the sun come out from behind a cloud, and the subsequent brightness was almost blinding after so much gloom.
“You’re welcome.”
“Now try the fish. It’s freaking awesome.”
“There’s barely enough here to feed a fuckin’ gnat,” he complained, and she laughed.
“This is the first of seven courses. You’ll be stuffed after this, trust me.”
He looked dubious but lifted his fork nonetheless.
“I hope so, or we’re stopping at a McDonald’s on our way home.”
“Trust me,” she repeated, keeping her gaze level, and he nodded.
“Hmm.”
“What a fucking revelation that was,” Spencer groaned in the car a few hours later. The evening had gone surprisingly well after his stupid, embarrassing first-course rant. They had kept the subjects neutral and limited to mutual acquaintances and party planning. Daff was an easygoing, witty companion, and his fascination with her was stronger than ever by the time the long and shockingly good meal was finally done.
“I mean, most of that stuff looked like art—how the hell did they manage to make it so delicious and so filling at the same time? I don’t get it. It’s like some weird sorcery.”
“You ate seven courses, Spencer,” she reminded him. “That’s a lot of food.”
“It didn’t look like a lot of food.” He shook his head, still astonished.
“But it was.”
“I didn’t hate it.” He could hear the shock in his own voice, and she laughed.
“I didn’t hate it, either. In fact, I found everything about it quite enjoyable. The company included.”
He nearly swerved from the road in his rush to look at her.
“Hey, watch the road, buddy,” she criticized.
“Sorry. I just . . . I enjoyed your company, too.” And now he sounded like a teenage boy after his first date, and he cringed a little.
“Good to know we can spend a few hours together without killing one another, huh? Bodes well for this partnership.”
“I never find your company a hardship,” he said, focusing his attention back on the road. Disturbed by her words. “If anything, you’re the one with some inexplicable grudge against me.” He heard the questioning lilt in his statement, inviting her to elaborate on exactly why she always seemed to have it out for him. But she didn’t respond, just kept her attention on the darkness outside.
Fuck it. He was going to ask and let the words fall where they may.
“Why don’t you like me?”
And didn’t that just sound needy as fuck?
“I don’t not like you,” she said, her voice completely emotionless, which frustrated the hell out of him.
“You always seemed to.” Why was he pursuing this? It was humiliating, but for some reason he couldn’t seem to help himself.
“I just don’t think we have much in common, that’s all,” she elaborated. “You were a rugby player.” She said the words in the same tone of voice one might use to say serial killer.
“Not sure what that’s supposed to mean,” he muttered.
“Nothing, I just tend to get along with more cerebral people.” The dashboard lights highlighted her immediate wince, telling him she regretted the words as soon as she said them. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“You think I’m dumb.” He was hurt and completely offended by her words and her attitude. And was sorry to witness the resurgence of her snobbery, which had been refreshingly absent all evening. “Guess that explains the mushroom thing.”
“No, I don’t think you’re dumb. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Daffodil,” he said, quite fucking fed up with this bullshit, “but you barely finished high school and didn’t go to college, right?”
Silence.
“Because while I may have been just a rugby player and it may have been what got me into college, it wasn’t what helped me graduate summa cum laude. It wasn’t what made me start a sports shop from scratch and turn it into one of the most thriving businesses in the area. That all came from here”—he stabbed his forefinger against his forehead and then lowered his hand to jerk a thumb at his chest—“and here.”