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Not until this moment.
This intense but dreamy moment when he’s angry.
For me.
Onmybehalf.
And I can’t stop myself from replying back, “No, I… It was my mom. She thought it was a good idea to go out with Evan and —”
“Yourmom,” he bites out, “thought it was a good idea for you to go on a date with a pothead.”
“I don’t think she knew he was a…” I shrug. “A pothead, or she wouldn’t have set me up with him.”
He watches me a beat. Then, “Well I should hope not.”
“No, she’s a great mom. A little kooky but great. It’s just that…” I sigh. “You’re right, I guess. I don’t date. At first I didn’t because of how people saw me.” An angry muscle flickers on his cheek. “No boys were really ever interested in me, and if they were, it would be like a pity thing.” I swear I hear him mutterpendejoand I’m pretty sure it’s a curse word. “But then I grew up and realized I deserved better than to be treated less so I decided to wait for it.Ifit ever happened. And focused on my studies. My career. And then I…”
Found you.
My eyes pop wide at what I almost said.
And it doesn’t go unnoticed by him.
Causing his eyes to narrow as they look into mine. “And then you what?”
“I, uh, found this job,” I say, looking down at my hot chocolate mug, lest he find out the truth. “And so all my time’s taken up by my classes, homework, work, my family and all that stuff. Plus, I watch a ton ofDateline, which I’ve already explained is very informative and eye-opening. So I don’t think I could date even if I wanted to and —”
“Ah,” he murmurs. “The reason you think I’m going to cut up your body and put it in my trunk.”
I hastily look back at him. “I don’t think that. I —”
As always, to find that he never, not for one second, moved his eyes away from me. “Right. My suitcase then.”
“Absolutely not. No. I do not think that.”
He sips on his hot chocolate. “So then what do you think, Meadow?”
There’s something about the way he says my name.
Something thrilling and provocative, something that I’ve never felt before.
That compels me to spill all my secrets.
“I just… I was pointing out the strange coincidental quality of things,” I say lamely.
“What strange, coincidental quality?”
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Just the fact that you showed up at the same restaurant as me.”
When I thought you were going to take Tara to an Italian place, I add silently.
He dips his head in a nod. “That does have a coincidental quality to it, yeah.”
“And then,” I begin to squirm in my seat once again, “there’s this snowstorm and your car breaks down exactly where your friend’s cabin happens to be in the woods.”
Another sip of hot chocolate while he watches me from over the rim.
“You got me,” he says then. “I do secretly control the weather.”
