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“Basically, all you have to do is meet me once a week for an activity of my choosing, in which you’ll get an opportunity to practice letting your hair down. Figurately.”
“That sounds a lot like dating.”
“Oh no.” I shook my head emphatically. “I’ve done a bad job describing it then. I have absolutely zero interest in dating, especially when it concerns beautiful, intelligent women like yourself.”
“My mistake,” she said, biting back a smile.
The woman with the painted brows set our starters and drinks between us then, and we thanked her in unison without breaking eye contact.
“So, just to be clear, you would never date a woman like me?”
“Absolutely not,” I said, hoping she could read between the lines in my lying eyes. “Otherwise, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to teach you.”
“Teach me what exactly?”
“How to relax and give fewer fucks.”
Her pursed lips pulled to one side. “You do seem to have a knack for that.”
“I’m an expert,” I said. “When I’m through with you, you’ll be…”
“Pregnant and relaxed about it?”
I laughed. “Sure. If that’s what you want to get out of our time together.”
“Okay,” she said. “Deal.”
I smiled, feeling both out of my depth and more excited for the future than I’d been in ages. But the pressure was on. Because, deep down, I didn’t want to be one more man who let this woman down. I wanted to be better than that. More than that.
And more than anything, more to her.
