9. Mary
Chapter 9
Mary
We’re seated at a small table in the back of my favorite restaurant for our so-called ‘date’. Connor sits across from me, perusing the menu.
“Can I get my phone back now?” I ask.
“After.”
I huff.
He looks too perfect to be real. Too polished, too well groomed. Like a predator camouflaged among prey. The curve of his cheekbones, the way his dark hair falls over his forehead… The undercut fits him perfectly. How can someone look so dangerous yet attractive?
“Blue?”
I blink in surprise. “Yes?”
He closes the menu and rests it against his thigh. “Do you come here often? ”
“Yes. It’s easier and faster than going to another restaurant. Besides, they know me here.”
“What do you recommend?”
“Well, uhm… If you want seafood, the salmon. If you prefer meat, the filet mignon.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying me. “And what about you? What’s your favorite dish here?”
“The burgers are pretty good.”
“I’m not asking what’s pretty good. I’m asking what your favorite is.”
“The Spaghetti alla Napoletana.”
“Sounds great.” He signals for the waiter. “We’ll have two of the Spaghetti alla Napoletana, please.”
“Of course, Sir. What would you like to drink?”
“Co—”
“Water, please. Two bottles. Thank you.”
The waiter taps on his device and disappears with a bow.
Connor leans back in his chair.
I pout. “I wanted coffee.”
“You had enough coffee for one week.”
“How do you know?”
“Your fingers are shaking, your leg hasn’t stopped trembling, you’ve been fidgeting with your hands the whole time we were walking around, and your eyes are… beautiful but red. You have caffeine jitters. How many cups did you have this morning? Five?”
“Four. ”
“What about the energy drink?”
“Alright then, Mr. Know-it-All. Let’s see how well you think you know me. What else can you tell me about myself?”
A slow grin spreads across his face, revealing dimples that send a strange flutter through my stomach. Damn him.
“Well, for starters, you prefer your coffee black, no sugar. Unless it’s from the coffee place around the corner, then it’s a vanilla latte. Your morning ritual involves reading the newspaper cover to cover, followed by a brisk yoga session. Your guilty pleasure TV show is The Bachelor. Your favorite flower—”
“Okay, okay! Stop.” How does he know these things about me? “You’ve made your point.”
“I am dedicated to my work.”
“What has that to do with work?”
“I check everyone. The waiter who served us, for example. He isn’t a regular. He’s taking the shift over from his sister when she’s ill.”
I’m not anyone special, then.
“Can I have my phone back now?” I don’t like this.
Connor regards me with that infuriating half-smile of his. “What’s the magic word?”
I hold back rolling my eyes. “May I please have my phone back now?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. I’m rather enjoying this little date of ours.”
My mouth drops open in indignation. “This is not a date! ”
“It’s not?” He feigns confusion. “Two people sharing a meal together, learning more about each other. Sounds like a date to me.”
“You stole my phone and are holding it for ransom, so I’d come to lunch with you. How on earth could you construe this as a date?”
Connor shrugs. “Technicalities.”
I shake my head. “You are unbelievable.”
“Why thank you, I do try.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Are you sure about that?”
The server appears at the table, delivering our order of Spaghetti alla Napoletana. I take a bite, savoring the rich tomato sauce and perfectly cooked noodles. As good as always.
“There it is. That smile.” He leans back in his chair, grinning. “You know, you should do that more often.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What, smile? I smile plenty.”
“Not like that. That’s a real smile. It lights up your whole face.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. I lower my gaze to my plate, twirling spaghetti around my fork. What is happening to me? Since when do I get all shy like some smitten schoolgirl?
“You’re just trying to butter me up so I’ll forget you stole my phone.”
Connor chuckles. “Is it working?”
“Maybe a little.” I glance up at him, unable to stop the corners of my mouth from twitching upwards .
“Why is this your favorite?”
How do you explain to a stranger why something as simple as pasta makes you happy? Why the mere sight of it transports you back to happier times, simpler moments.
“It’s silly.”
“Tell me.”
“We used to go to this tiny Italian place every Sunday night. Nothing fancy, just a tiny restaurant run by this lovely older couple. But they made the best pasta. We’d sit at the same checkered tablecloth booth by the window, and my dad would let us try sips of his wine. He’d laugh like I’d never heard him laugh since.” Back when life was easier, problems were less complicated. “The owner, Mr. Rossi, would fuss over us like we were his own family. And the best thing, he would give me and my sister gummy cherries after dinner.”
Gummy cherries became our favorite candy, and we ate it while watching reality TV before…
I gaze up at Connor, his intense eyes fixed on me.
“You don’t go there anymore?”
“Not exactly. After my father took over the hotel from my grandfather, he hired the older couple, and they ran this restaurant before their son took over. So, now I can get a taste of my favorite food whenever I want.”
“I guess there’s a lot I still have to learn about you.”
God, what am I doing? I stuff another bite of pasta into my mouth .
“Blue?” He leans across the table, holding a napkin, and dabs at the corner of my mouth, his eyes lingering on my lips. “You had a little sauce there.”
I let out a nervous chuckle. “Th-thanks.” The mere closeness to him causes my brain to go haywire.
“So, tell me more about yourself, Connor Milton. What’s your story?”
“There isn’t much to tell, really. Boring life, boring job, boring hobbies… Pretty standard fare.”
Standard fare? From what I’ve seen thus far, Connor is anything but ordinary.
“Where are you from originally?”
“Let’s see... born and raised in the UK. One little brother.”
“Age?”
Connor raises an eyebrow. “Mid-30s. Is this an interview now? Should I have brought my CV?”
“Since we’re on a date and supposed to get to know each other… It’s only fair you share something about you, too.”
“Oh, so it’s a date now?”
“Only if you share something. I hardly know anything about you, besides your ability to break in and…”
“And?”
That you’re a good kisser.
“Nothing,” I say.
“That I’m charming?”
“Hardly.”
“Handsome? ”
He’s pure sin with his mysterious and intoxicating aura. But admitting that would only fuel his ego.
“Do you have a mirror?” I ask.
“Irresistible?”
“Try annoying.”
He chuckles.
I clear my throat. “Anyway, how do you know so much about me? Are you stalking me or something?”
A predatory gleam appears on his face. “Or something. We went to the same college.”