“Well, um… what should we talk about on dates?” He should know—he must have way more experience than me.
“This isn’t that kind of date, Hattie,” he growls.
Good. I was starting to worry Mr. Insufferable was gone.
I give my best attempt at a professional smile.Pretend he’s a difficult customer.Just like at the bookstore.
“People should see us talking, right?”
He sighs. Poor man.
Talking to me must besucha chore. It makes me want to shut up, but I force myself to find a topic that won’t push too many of his oh-so-sensitive buttons.
Impossible, probably, but I give it a go anyway.
“What’s your favorite color?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are we in second grade?”
“Well, what’s onyourmind?”
He runs the rim of his wineglass against his bottom lip before he answers, thinking, and I do my best not to admire it.
“I don’t think I have a favorite color.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. Everyone has a favorite color.”
“Really,” he says skeptically, a drawl that heats my cheeks. Thankfully, the fifty layers of foundation means he can’t see it. “In that case, what’s yours?”
“Red,” I say immediately, smirking. Was that really so hard? “It’s just the best. Nice and vibrant.”
“What study backs that up?” He leans in, exchanging his almost-scowl for an almost-frown. I’m not sure it’s an improvement. “You can’t make a claim like that without the data to support it.”
“Really, dude? You’re trying to pick a fight over colors?”
He leans back in his chair and snorts, the corner of his mouth turning up. Just a fraction. “All right. Give me something worth arguing over.”
“Okay, fine. Tell me why your mother’s the Blackthorn, but you and Margot have the family name. She never took on your father’s name?”
A whisper of a smile.
“My parents are unorthodox people. Dad realized early on we’d be better off with a name that carries weight. When the time came to get our names on the birth certificate, he insisted. Hell, my mother never changed her name when they tied the knot, and around the time I was two, Dad decided to hyphenatehisname.”
Whoa.
Unusual for sure, but not harmful, right?
I smile and nod, taking another sip of wine.
“You asked,” he teases. “Believe me, that’s a light intro to the eccentric streak in this family. Should I brief you now on the rest, or later?”
I swallow roughly.
“Um, I suppose I should know what I’m marrying in to. Is their weirdness why you left Portland years ago?”
His almost-smile disappears. Irritation rolls over his face like a gathering storm.
“Margot must have told you,” he snaps, tossing the rest of his wine back in one gulp. “I enlisted.”
