“You read it?”
“I finished it.”
I look down, completely taken aback that he not only opened the book, but he also read it to the end. Here I thought, he was going to use it as a coaster or doorstop.
He leans forward and grabs my attention with his dark eyes, willing me to look at him. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I thought?”
I lift a shoulder. “Only if you want to share. Reading is a selective and personal endeavor.”
“I loved it.”
I look up with slightly narrowed eyes, searching his for any sign that he’s bullshitting me. His gaze is steady, and his shoulders are square. His expression doesn’t give any clue that he’s lying, and all I see is conviction.
“Thanks,” I state quietly.
“Your prose was fantastic. I loved how the heroine was feisty yet vulnerable. Her backstory was completely believable, as was the male narrative. I had worried you were going to paint all men as macho Neanderthals who tossed women onto beds and dominated them.”
I smile. “Well, I do have a few of those. Fire and Gold just happens to have a hero who is sensitive yet can be the protector the heroine needs.”
“It was great. And the scene at the end, where the ex-husband comes to take her, how did you know the best place to bury a body?”
Laughing, I cover my mouth with my hand and shake my head. “You can thank Google for that.”
Turning on my stool, I take a look around the establishment. It’s a modern bar with black leather backed booths and a swanky dance floor with pool tables off to the side. To me, it’s exactly the kind of place I would write about, where my hero would take a date if they were coworkers at a firm, coming out for happy hour. I’d have them place a bet on who could go home with someone and get laid first. Of course, they’d leave with one another.
“Is this where you bring your dates?” I ask as I spot a couple chatting ever so closely at the end of the bar.
“No.”
“Too close to home?”
“Kind of. I love the food, and the vibe is chill. I come here with friends.”
I nod in understanding. “So, where do you take your dates?”
“Cellar Door, Marie-Jeanne, Good Measure—”
“No Alinea or Smyth?” I ask, throwing in the names of Michelin-starred restaurants in our city. What he named were anything but.
He shakes his head. “I like to go to trendy dive bars and cool hangout-type eats.” I must look confused, so he turns to me fully, placing his arm behind my chair and explaining, “Say I wanted to impress a girl. If I brought her to Smyth, she’d only like it because it was ritzy and flashy. She’d assume I had money and would take her to places like that all the time. I don’t want a woman to date me just because of the places I’ll take her. Plus, I enjoy hanging out in large groups—double and triple dates. I can’t expect my friends to afford the same places I can.”
“So, dive bars it is.”
“For me, a romantic date is a meal of her favorite type of food and then a movie or a museum. It’s not about showing off. It’s showing that you listen to what they want.”
I tilt my head and take him in—handsome, hardworking, considerate. “You’re a good man, Jake Moreau.”
He grins in agreement. “I told you I was hero-worthy.”
My laughter is a little too loud, and it makes the people around us turn their heads. I take a drink in embarrassment.
“I should be taking notes. I always thought men wanted to put their best foot forward on the first date. You know, flashy car, expensive dinner, trendiest after-hours.”
“I love that stuff.” He points to his shirt, which must be designer by the way he’s using it as an example. “There has to be a balance of what you give and take in a relationship.”
“Is this you letting me in on the inner workings of the male brain?”
He laughs deeply. “I’ll let the romance novelist into the secret mind of a man, though I might be breaking some kind of male code out there somewhere.” He winks, and I let out a sharp laugh.
“Don’t worry; your secrets are safe with me.” I pause as I let what he said sink in. “Does it worry you that a woman might only want you for your money?” I immediately don’t like the way the words came out. Based on his designer clothes and expensive car in the parking lot, I guessed he was well off. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I was assuming—”
“You assumed right. The flower business is lucrative, and the building is paid off, so it’s all profit. I keep telling my father he has enough to retire, but working is in his blood. I was raised by an entrepreneur with high morals, who never saw himself as a wealthy man. If I buy fine clothes, I must take care of them. If I invest, I do so in my home. And if I ever marry, I’d do it for life.”
“I wish all men thought that way.”
“Only the good ones.”
I let out a pfft sound and take a swig of my drink.
“Man trouble in the past?” he asks.
I groan. “Let’s just say, I don’t have the best view of the male species.”
“I take that as a personal insult.”
“You should. Your father might have taught you to marry for life, but you’re certainly having fun, mating your way through the dating pool.”
“And you have nothing to say about the women who are sleeping around? That’s a double standard.”
“I’d be hard-pressed to think a woman or two hasn’t been led on and perhaps fallen in love with your good looks and charm.”
“So, you think I’m good-looking?”
“Hardly the point.”
“True, but it’s nice to hear. I thought you were immune to me.” He winks, and I have to look away, so he doesn’t see how the
