Chapter 11
Eloise
Roman and I decided to go out on the following Friday, but in the meantime, I wrote out and deleted multiple texts to him of random thoughts I had during the day, including but not limited to:
Been thinking about naming the new bike Betsy. What’s your opinion? Also, does that make you the father?
If you want to, we can have a big, dramatic breakup at the wedding. I think it would piss-off and delight to my mother because I can’t be DRAMA, but I’d also steal the spotlight away from Lily.
What are your thoughts on wedding cakes that are not cake? Like imagine nine tiers of cinnamon rolls or three layers of pie.
But I didn’t want him to think I was a total weirdo and kept those questions to myself. Even if I was still desperate to know his answers.
Now, I check myself over in the mirror, aiming for cute but not over the top. Sure, I have the hots for him, but I don’t want him assuming I’m thinking of him every day. Even if it’s the truth.
Wearing my most flattering jeans, white tank top, and a cute cardigan with flowers all over it, I loop my purse over my shoulder and head outside. Roman’s beast of a car rolls up right as I step onto the sidewalk, and I’m there before he’s even closed his door.
“Wait.” He huffs, rounding the hood. “Woman, will you wait? Goddamn it.”
“What?”
He doesn’t think it’s funny like I do and shoots me a glare as he opens the passenger side door for me.
“Such a gentleman,” I tease, and he rolls his eyes.
“Wait for me next time.”
I salute him and buckle myself in as he stalks back over to the driver’s side and settles in his seat.
“I made reservations at Tabby Cat,” he says. “Hope that’s okay.”
“We could have walked there after work. Probably would’ve been easier for you.”
Tabby Cat is right across the street from my bakery and only a few blocks from his shop. He didn’t need to drive to my house to pick me up, but he shrugs.
“I wanted to.”
“Like a real date,” I say absent-mindedly then feel my cheeks flush, though he either didn’t hear or doesn’t care. He merely looks me over, from top to bottom, his eyes stumbling on my chest, before pulling out onto the road.
He clears his throat. “You look good.”
“Thanks. So do you.” His dark hair is pulled back in a bun at the nape of his neck, and his usual black T-shirt has been replaced by a black button-down, rolled up his forearms. His muscles test the stitching, and I can’t help but drag my finger over the seam on his shoulder. “So, are you a body builder or what?”
He glances at me, that hesitant quirk to his lips—like he’s still trying to remember how to smile—lifting the corner of his mouth. “Not a body builder.”
“But you’re massive.”
He doesn’t disagree with me. He also doesn’t reply.
“You’re a gym rat, huh?”
“A bit,” he says, and fifteen questions immediately come to mind.
“How many push-ups can you do?”
I swear he’s about to laugh, but he rubs his hand over his mouth and beard. “I don’t know. A lot. I usually do sets to failure.”
“What’s your squat?”
He exhales audibly. “Heaviest I ever squatted was four-ten.”
“Four-ten,” I repeat, amazed. “I think my heaviest squat was about two hundred.”
“You a gym rat too?”
“I used to be. I played volleyball growing up, but after I quit, I sort of lost my desire to be in the gym.”
He eyes me at the stoplight. “You’re not wearing any pink.”
I gasp when I realize I forgot and dig into my purse as he hooks a left to park the car. Using the mirror on the visor, I apply my bright-pink lipstick, blotting on a tissue. When Roman opens the door for me, I don’t know what to do with it, and he holds out his hand. “Give it to me.”
I stick the tissue in his palm and hop down, holding his other hand.
With the sun setting, the sky is a watercolor painting, and it’s funny to be downtown but not going into my bakery.
I wave to Mio’s parents as we walk by the window of their sushi place.
Roman places his palm on my back, ushering me across the street to Tabby Cat, a wine bar and bistro with tables outside that are filled up.
Directly across from us, I spy Morgan cleaning up Sweet Cheeks, about to close down, while Stone Ink is lit up and open, with people milling about inside.
Through the windows of Chapter and Verse, I can see Nicole organizing books while Ian holds a cat so a toddler and their parent can pet it.
It makes me wonder about Roman’s daughter.
“Who’s with Mazie tonight?” I ask as he opens the door for me.
“June and Riley. They’re having a girls’ night.”
I cluck my tongue. “And I’m missing it for you.”
“Sorry,” he says flatly. “Being my fake girlfriend really fucks up your social calendar, I guess.”
“I’m glad my fake boyfriend has a sense of humor to go along with all the muscle. You’re not just brawn. You’ve got brains too.”
“Too bad it’s fake though, hm?” His dark eyes tilt at the corners, playful. “Won’t see how big your fake boyfriend’s dick is.”
I choke on my tongue. “Is it? Big, I mean.” I wave away the question. “That was inappropriate. But you were the one who brought it up. Look at what you’ve done to me! Now I won’t be able to stop wondering about your dick.”
As we approach the check-in stand, he lowers his head, his mouth against my ear. “You won’t have to wonder. I’m telling you it’s big.”
My brain goes static and then shuts down, so I’m unable to do anything but follow when Roman gives his name to the host, who leads us to a table near the bar. But with my mind back by the entrance, I can’t pay attention to what the man is saying. Something about our server and the wine list.
I blink over at Roman, who’s staring at me like he knows he’s scrambled my mind. “All right?”
“Uh-huh. Yep. Definitely.”
“Good.” He lowers his attention to the menu, but with how long his legs are, his knees butt up against mine, and I’m completely useless. Thank god, Nate strolls over.
He’s wearing his baby in a carrier on his chest and a big grin. “Eloise, hey. How are ya?”
“I’m good.” I pinch George’s foot, lowering my voice to the monster gravel he loves so much. “Georgie!” He shrieks in laughter, kicking, and I keep going. “I’m gonna eat you up, I love you so.”
“Hey, I never had the chance to thank you for his birthday gifts,” Nate says, and I wave him off.
For George’s first birthday a few weeks ago, I’d given them a Wild Things-themed basket, including the book, some stuffed Wild Things, and a T-shirt with the characters on it.
“I know you’re really busy with this place.” I wiggle George’s foot. “And this big guy.”
Nate nods. “My best boy. Helping Daddy out, right?”
George claps a few times, cooing “Dada” a few times and then “Mama.”
“I know, I know, Mama’s coming to pick you up soon,” he says, smoothing his palm over his son’s head. Then he informs me, “Tabby’s working late.”
“That’s what she gets for being so smart,” I say, and he laughs.
“Got that right.” He turns toward Roman. “What’s up, man? Roman, right?”
Roman nods, and they shake hands.
“How’s your daughter?”
“Good.”
When Roman doesn’t say anything else, Nate smiles, nodding along like he expected as much. “Well, I’ll let you two enjoy your dinner.”
I wave as he retreats then turn to Roman. “You two know each other?”
“In passing.”
Nate co-owns Tabby Cat with the chef, but he ran a bar for a long time, a neighborhood spot I used to love going to.
Now, he’s married with a kid, and Tabby, his wife, often stops into Sweet Cheeks with the baby.
So I know them pretty well, but I have no idea how Roman does.
I wait for him to explain, and when he doesn’t, I shake my head.
“Like pulling teeth with you. How’d you meet in passing? ”
“I don’t know,” he says almost defensively. “We see each other around, and Mazie and I went to check out some place with…dress-up or something. He was there with a bunch of other dads.”
“Oh yeah.” I tap my fingers on the table, remembering Nate and his best friends are all dads. “You should hook up with them, set up some playdates.”
“I don’t know if you could tell, but I’m not exactly a playdate kinda guy.”
“You went out with Sloane and her kids.”
“That’s different.” He focuses on the menu, as if that’ll make me drop this line of questioning.
“How?”
“I know her.”
I snort. “You know Nate.”
“Not like I know Sloane.”
“Yeah, but if you hung out with him, you’d get to know him better.”
He sighs, slowly drawing his eyes up to mine. “I have five friends. I don’t want any more.”
I bite back a smile. “Five? That’s it?”
He nods seriously.
“Am I one of them?”
He stares at me for a long moment, his tongue poking out to wet his lower lip before he finally answers, “Yeah.”
I press my hand to my heart. “I’m touched.”
His focus follows and lingers on my cleavage. My boobs are huge. No matter what I wear, I can’t hide them, so I’ve learned to ignore the stares. But I want Roman to stare at me.
I want him to lick his bottom lip again as his pupils expand. I want his shoulders to lift on a deep breath like he’s controlling himself, and I want him to like what he sees so much, it makes him uncomfortable.
All those things happen, and when he shifts in his seat, I can’t help but smile. I check out the long list of wines, specialty cocktails, and few beers on draft. “What are you going to get to drink?”
“I’m good with water.”
I tip my head up. “Just water? You don’t look like a wine guy, but this is a wine bar.”
He scrubs his hand over his head, messing up his hair further then tugs on his shirt, eyes skirting around the place behind me. “I don’t drink.”
Of course he doesn’t. I’d heard the rumors, but it’s impossible to know what’s true and what’s not.
He sets his elbows on the table, hands clasped together, and doesn’t equivocate when he says, “I’ve had some addiction issues in the past. I’m sober for about seven years.”
I imagine he must have had to have this conversation a few times before—maybe more than a few, from how he’s so calm—but I’m embarrassed. Not for him, but because I feel so stupid for teasing him about the wine. I don’t know what to say.
“It’s fine, though,” he says quickly, leaning forward to place his hand over mine. “Order whatever you want.”
I shake my head. “I’m such an asshole.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am. I—”
“Did nothing wrong. Don’t be weird about it.”
His monotone delivery pulls a laugh out of me. “I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t stress about it.” He rubs the pad of his thumb over the length of my pinkie, and he could probably crush every bone in my hand if he wanted to. Yet, he’s gentle. Like I’m blown glass.
“You fascinate me,” I confess quietly, and he dips his chin an inch, his mouth curling into what I can only describe as a smirk sinful enough to make a nun drop her robes.
“Yeah. I’d say the same about you.”
I wouldn’t normally fish for compliments, but this feels too good. Being with him is too good, and I need to know it’s real. “You think I’m fascinating?”
“If I tell you the truth, you’ll think I’m a creep.”
I’m on the edge of my seat. “Why?”
“Because I’m worse than Kyle.” When I frown, not understanding, he slides his hand from mine and sits back in his chair, putting as much space between us as the table and chairs will allow.
“Since that night in Wawa… If you knew how often I thought about you, you’d hire someone bigger than me to kick the shit out of me. ”
Well…
“First of all, there is no one bigger than you,” I say, earning an amused glint of his eyes. “And I think you might be surprised with how much I would enjoy being obsessed over.”
He arches one brow, deliberately raking his dark gaze over me then clucks his tongue. It is deliciously filthy. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Try me.”