His smile started slow, then spread. “Have you tried every single item on the menu?”
My shoulders lifted to shrug again, but I pressed them back down. “Tate’s been singing here a little over a year. That’s fifty-two-plus meals. Ordering the same thing every week would get old, don’t you think?”
His head tilted to the side. “You come to hear himeveryweek?”
“Well, yeah. I’m not a groupie or anything, but friends support each other.”
He seemed to think about that, and I wondered what exactly about my simple sentence he was mulling around in his head. Finally he picked his menu back up, his gaze on the plastic-covered sheets. “I wish I had a friend that supportive.”
My heart clenched, sad at the thought that he didn’t, but then it tripped as my ears picked up on his tone. Was he suggesting that my presence every week was something other than a friend supporting a friend?
The server came and took our orders, then left us in that awkward silence that made my skin prickle like a spider had just crawled over me.
“So…” Landon took a sip of his water. “What do you do for fun? Any hobbies?”
The weight of my purse leaning against my foot pretty much summed up all my hobbies. “I read mostly.”
He nodded and ran a hand down the side of his beard. “Yeah, I remember Tate saying that. Kinda what these last weekend activities have been about, right? Plus the weight of your bag. How many books do you have in there anyway?”
“It’s a four-in-one collection.”
“Any particular genre you like the best?”
My mind hiccupped a second, stuck on the fact a guy was talking books with me and that he knew how to use the wordgenrecorrectly. Not that I didn’t think some guys read. I’d just never had any personal experience with any. “I’m a bit of an eclectic reader. As long as the book is clean, no foul language or bedroom scenes, I’m usually game.”
“Classics?”
“Absolutely.”
“Austen.”
I grinned. “Definitely.”
He twirled his straw in his water, making the ice clink against the sides of his glass as he looked at me with a smile. “Waiting for your Mr. Darcy?”
My spine slammed against the back of the chair as I jolted with surprise. “You know Austen?”
“My mom loves all the period dramas on TV. Don’t get her started on the BBC version ofPride and Prejudiceversus the Kiera Knightley remake.”
I slapped my palms on the tabletop. “No contest. Colin FirthisMr. Darcy.”
His finger crooked, and he tapped it against my knuckle with a wink. “My mom would like you.”
I felt my cheeks heat as I slid my hands down onto my lap.
“So,” he continued, bringing my gaze up out of my lap and back across the table. “Is that why you’re unattached? Waiting for your Mr. Darcy?”
A snort escaped my nose, but I didn’t move to cover it up. “Hardly. In my opinion, Fitzwilliam Darcy is overrated. Yes, he had redeemable qualities, but overall he was much too judgmental and snobby for my taste.”
Landon laughed as he leaned his elbows on his tables. “I take it back. My mom might not like you after all. No one speaks ill ofherDarcy.”
She could have him. Brooding men weren’t my type.
“Okay. Not Darcy. Out of all of Austen’s heroes, who would you chose?”
Not even a heartbeat passed before I answered. “Knightley.”
His head tilted. “Why Knightley?”
