There’s not a lot of space at the counter, so we’re sitting close together, our arms brushing up against each other as we eat. It’s . . . intimate. And would be a fun date, if this were a date.
I’ll file it away for a third date when this kind of food is more appropriate. That is, if I ever get a chance to go on a third date again. At this rate, that may never happen, since I’ve had zero time for even a first date.
His phone buzzes on the counter, just as he’s finished his burger and I’m too full to have another bite.
He turns it over to look at it. “It’s my mom,” he says, showing me the screen. “Is it okay if I take it?”
“Of course,” I tell him.
She called when we were at Common Ground too. Each time he’s answered her calls without hesitation. It’s sweet, actually.
I’ve ignored calls from my family so many times during work that they’ve stopped trying. Mostly. They’ve resorted to texting, mainly, with Gigi sometimes sending me out-of-context GIFs for fun. Her favorite is one of Kermit the Frog sipping tea. Just because.
I try not to watch Luke as he talks to his mom, but I can’t help but notice the way he smiles and laughs and listens intently as she talks. It’s kind of endearing. I like a guy who loves his family.
Not that I like Luke. I can appreciate it, though.
“Sorry about that,” he says when they hang up. “Her dishwasher went out again. I’ll have to go over on Saturday and fix it.”
“You can fix dishwashers?” I ask, picturing him sitting on his mom’s kitchen floor in his suit while he works. Until he came over to my apartment the other day in jeans and a T-shirt, it was hard to picture Luke in anything but a suit.
Not that I picture Luke all that often.
“Of course. I’m very handy,” Luke says, one corner of his mouth pulling up into a smirk.
I shake my head, the double entendre landing just how he meant it to.
He chuckles. “Someone’s got to do it,” he says. “For so long, she did all that stuff. She was Mom and Dad for most of my life. Now it’s my turn to help her.”
“That’s commendable of you,” I say.
His brow pinches. “Commendable? Is it that hard to compliment me, Archie?”
My cheeks heat. That did sound a little robotic. I’m still getting used to feeling something other than animosity toward Luke. Old habits die hard.
“Okay, fine,” I say. “It’s . . . very sweet.”
He smiles. “That felt like it hurt you to say.”
“It really did,” I laugh.
He nudges me with his shoulder. It’s a thing I’ve noticed he does. Especially since sitting side by side has become a habit of ours as of late. On my couch, in the conference room, and now . . . here.
“You better be careful,” he says, picking up his soda, condensation dripping from the bottom. “Soon you’ll be telling me how amazing I am at my job.”
I scowl. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“Come on,” he says, bumping me lightly with his shoulder again.
I let out a frustrated-sounding breath, but we both know it’s fake. “Fine,” I say. “You’re not terrible at your job.”
“See? Was that so hard?”
“Try not to let it go to your head,” I tell him.
Chapter 18
PR Tip #44:The crisis you can’t predict is the one your client creates by accident.
