Or something.
“Dinner for two, my lady,” he murmured.
My lady?
That felt a little weird.
“Are those . . . Norbert Love Signature chocolates?” I squeaked and gestured to the distinctively green box on my plate.
“Yes.” He brightened. “You know your confectionaries?”
“Something like that,” I murmured weakly. They were a mere $125 a box. I only recognized them because my roommate Aiko had bought them for her fiancée Tanesha for Valentine’s Day last year. Tanesha had eaten them so slowly they’d lasted into summer semester. She’d cut them in fourths after a bad day and shared them with both of us.
“I’m not just a romantic, but a hopeless romantic,” he admitted with a wide, unapologetic smile as we sat down.
“It’s . . . impressive. I mean, I thought we were here to talk about you moving to the mountains.”
Somehow, I tacked on what I hoped was a charming smile. He returned it.
“We will definitely do that. Yes, it may seem like I’ve gone overboard, but as I said—you can’t recover from a bad first impression. Plus, this is how I show up in the world.”
He shrugged a little as he said it. His lack of apology impressed me, but I leaned back against the booth as far as I could. For some reason, I wanted a little extra space from the Acqua di Gio. It filled the booth in a choking way.
Tyler continued, “For some women, this kind of treatment is a bit too much. I understand that. I believe women should be pampered, protected, and taken care of. It so rarely happens anymore that I like to give it. As a sort of . . . gift, if you will. Any woman with me is always safe.”
My internal critic immediately shrieked, Serial killer! Serial killer!
Should a man have to insist he was a safe person? Would he expect a gift in return? With a lick of my lips, I brushed it off. Ellie had clearly gotten to me with her own fears. Tyler didn’t seem like a creep. He was just . . . intense.
Obviously wealthy, too, with all this extravagance for a blind date.
So, everything was fine.
But what did he mean by protected and pampered? His charming routine felt slightly . . . sinister. Something inside of me recoiled at this situation. It felt like I was standing in a box with the walls caving in. Pressure all around me.
Instead of screaming, I managed a smile. “That’s a . . . lovely sentiment.”
Tyler leaned back and spread his hands. “Lizbeth, tell me everything about you. I’ve so looked forward to getting to know you. I want to hear it all.”
“Right! You want to hear about life in the mountains.”
“Of course.”
“Okay, well, life in the mountains is—”
“We’ll get to that. What do you do for a living?”
“Oh. Okay. Well . . . I’m not that exciting. I—”
“I’ll decide that.”
My jaw tightened.
His eyebrows quirked in silent question.
“Will you give me a chance to finish a sentence,” I asked, “or should I let you decide that too?”
Although my tone had cooled, a hint of something appeared in his gaze. I hated to call it respect, but it was too intense for amusement. With a flicker of his fingers, he indicated for me to continue.
“As I said . . .”
While I explained a few aspects of life in the mountains, his attention focused wholly on me. For a little courage, I sipped at a glass of Dom Pérignon. My mouth warmed as I swallowed the wine. It wasn’t often that I drank. The scent reminded me of Mama, and any other liquor reminded me of Dad. He certainly drank them all, even mouthwash when he grew desperate while the bank account dwindled.
“Fascinating,” Tyler said when I finished. He’d fallen into a contemplative expression, but the waiter saved me from the awkwardness of asking what such a face meant. Before I could reach for my menu, Tyler spoke up.
In French.
Two semesters living with a French Canadian foreign exchange student who’d quickly become one of my best friends had made me conversant in the language. I followed him with some difficulty. He ordered an elk chop with raspberry sauce, a plate of charcuterie, and sea bass with scallops in lemon butter, then dismissed the waiter with a twitch of his hand.
The melodic blur of his voice, like a string of velvet letters, left me stunned for a few seconds. Sexy. But kind of annoying. Fish? No thanks.
Had I missed how high-end this restaurant was on the Yelp reviews? Did he just assume the waiter would speak French? I mean . . . was speaking French really necessary? JJ flickered through my mind, but I couldn’t place him in a restaurant like this, and he flitted back out.
Tyler turned his attention back to me with another deeply charming smile. “Forgive me,” he said as he leaned forward. “I studied the menu beforehand, and I find the experience far more authentic in its original language. Do you trust my judgment?”
No.
The thought came so unexpectedly that I had to recover my thoughts and scramble to remember his question.
Did I trust him?
“As long as I get the elk chop.”
His grin illuminated his handsome, dusky features. Another curl dropped onto his forehead. “You know French?” he asked, delighted.
“I’m conversational, yes.”
“How lovely.”
“Shall we talk about your transition to the mountains? Do you have any questions?”
“Yes, please, if you don’t mind.” A more sober expression came to his face. “My parents are getting old, and I don’t want to lose what time we have left. If they move here, I may need to move my business here as well. I’m concerned things are just too small. A date may feel a bit . . . odd for such a conversation as this . . . but it helps me feel like I know someone in the area more than just in passing. Besides, I wanted to test the local flavor.”
“I see.”
He launched into an explanation of what he did for a living. Something with foreign trade, international business. Big dollars, I was sure. The details blurred together. One
