“Harriet.” His eyes dance with that mix of confidence and self-mockery that threatens to do me in. “You’re a genius about pretty much everything. But when it comes to good eats? I’m your food fortune teller. Your taste-testing guru.” He grins, clearly enjoying himself. “And there’s this hole-in-the-wall diner I go to, Mama Rosa’s? They do breakfast round the clock. Rosa’s pancakes? One bite and you’ll be begging for more.”
“That’s not only a bold claim, it’s also an impossible one, seeing asImake the best pancakes in all of Austin.”
His eyebrows shoot up, intrigued. “Say what?”
“Yep. Banana ones. With a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg and a few secret ingredients.” I don’t mention that it’s also theonlything I can whip up from scratch that’s any good.
One of his dimples pops again. “Tell you what, if you’re that confident in your skills, then what’s to lose by going to Mama Rosa’s and checking out the competition? Either they’re better and you can plot your revenge, or you win and get to feel smug.”
I throw up my hands. It’s annoyingly impossible to stay mad at him. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
“I hear it’s part of my charm.” His wink is as quick and bright as a firefly’s flash. My heart does a stupid little skip before I can shut that down. Then his expression grows serious, and somehow that’s even worse. “And for real, I know I messed up yesterday. But I want you to hear me: I believe in you and E.M.M.A. And I am asking for a second chance. I won’t fuck it up this time.”
The raw honesty in his voice hits me harder than any winky flirts could. I try to remember all my reasons for keeping my distance, but they’re getting fuzzy around the edges.
“Well...” I drag out the word, buying time while my better judgment wages war with my loneliness. “I suppose deciding overdinner isn’t the worst thing ever. And it is Valentine’s Day so it would be nice not to eat alone.” I pause, frowning slightly, desperate to lighten the moment before I do something stupid like trust him. “Although I don’t get why we bother with this whole holiday—it’s such a weird history.”
Gale’s face twist could put a pretzel to shame. “It’s not just about chocolates and flowers and Cupid in diapers and stuff?”
“The day’s namesake is a guy who got brutally executed. Nothing says ‘be my valentine’ quite like a headless corpse, right?”
“Hold up.” I can practically see my own reflection inside his wide eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”
I forgot—here was the high school boy from my past whohatedhorror movies with a capitalH. “Scout’s honor.” I rest my hands on my hips. “There were actually several early Christian martyrs named Valentine. But the headliner—the OG Valentine—was a third-century Roman priest.”
“What did he do to get...” Gale drags a thick finger across his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Okay, remember how you used to loveStar Wars?”
He nods, puzzled. “Still do. But I don’t—”
“Valentine was basically the Rebel Alliance of romance. Legend says he performed secret marriages for soldiers who were forbidden by the state to tie the knot. Imagine it—clandestine ceremonies, star-crossed lovers, all with the threat of execution hanging over their heads.”
“That does sound kinda romantic, though,” Gale points out. “Like he embodies that old song I would do anything for love but—”
“Yeah, don’t do that. Supposedly, before his death, he saved his jailer’s daughter and wrote her a letter signed ‘your Valentine.’ But here’s the kicker—all this romantic stuff wasn’t even associated with his feast day until much later, like in the Middle Ages. Chaucer and other poets basically invented the love connection.”
“Wow.” Gale looks like someone just told him Chaucer was a new brand of energy drink, but he’s doing his best to hang in there. “So we’re celebrating a holiday based on rebels and decapitation. That’s pretty metal, doc.”
I actually laugh. “I guess so. And what’s with ‘doc’?”
“You know, you’re a doctor. And that’s cool.” His expression turns less playful and more thoughtful. “I know I keep saying it, but I’m really impressed by how you know all this random stuff.”
I shrug, feeling a bit self-conscious. “I love to read. And I might have gone through a wee phase where I was obsessed with debunking holiday myths.”
“That’s awesome,” Gale says, and I’m surprised by the sincerity in his voice.
I feel a warmth creeping into my cheeks and quickly look away. “Yeah, well, you too can obsessively scroll through Wikipedia. It’s not hard.”
There’s a moment of silence, and when I glance over, he is fidgeting. He looks almost nervous as he asks, “So during dinner, you’ll really think about that second chance? You won’t chopmyhead off?”
I freeze, a sudden realization washing over me. The balance of power has shifted, and I’m holding the cards. His eyes are locked on me, intense and unwavering. I let the silence stretch a beat too long, savoring this subtle shift. It’s not about games or manipulation; it’s about finally feeling seen... and holding power.
My thighs clench as I note how his neck muscles cord.
What is going on? Whatever game this is, it’s heady, dangerous. And so help me, I want to play more.
Finally, I let out a small sigh, but without any exasperation behind it. “Okay. Okay.”
