“Have a seat,” he says, a hand out toward the couch. “Do you want a drink?”
“No, thanks,” I tell him, taking a spot on the plush sofa and feeling slightly envious that I didn’t have to jump over the back or squeeze around the side to get to it.
He takes a seat next to me, angling himself toward me, tucking one leg under the other.
“So, what should we do about the post?” he asks.
I lean my head back against the soft cushion. I’m tired and hungry, and I know we have to deal with this as fast as possible, but I kind of don’t want to right now. I’m having a hard time even thinking straight.
“I have no idea,” I finally say.
My stomach makes a grumbling noise, and Luke hears it. “Eat something that didn’t agree with you?”
“No,” I say, defensive. “I didn’t eat at all. I left the restaurant just as the food came.” I wish I had time to take the enchiladas withme or at least hit a drive-thru on the way here, but I was in panic mode.
“Right,” he says. “On your date.”
“Yep,” I say. My stomach makes a noise again, and Luke gets up from the couch.
“I’ll make you something,” he says.
“No, don’t worry about it,” I tell him, but he’s already heading toward the kitchen.
“I need your full brain, Archie,” he says. “And you won’t be able to think if you’re hungry.”
“Just give me a piece of cheese and bread or something.”
“I’ll do you one better than that. I’ll make you a grilled cheese,” he says, giving me a wink. “I think I have some tomato soup too.”
My stomach makes a noise again because that actually sounds amazing right now.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re both back on the couch. A wooden tray on my lap, a steaming bowl of tomato soup, and the yummiest-looking grilled cheese sandwich on a plate.
“Is this sourdough?” I ask, picking up half.
“Yep,” he says. “You don’t get crappy sandwiches at Chez Wilder.”
I forgive him for that stupid joke when I take a bite of the grilled cheese. It’s incredible. Perfectly grilled, with a lovely cheese pull, and he’s added some herbs that take it to the next level.
“This is so good,” I say around a bite.
He smiles, pleased with himself. “Glad you like it.”
“You brainstorm while I eat,” I say. I’m not trying to be dainty about it. I’m scarfing this down. This isn’t a date, anyway. I’m not trying to impress anyone.
“Okay, well, we haven’t heard anything from Victoria yet,” he says.
“We will, though,” I say, dipping the edge of my sandwich into the soup before taking a bite.
“Right, so better to get ahead of it now before she calls.”
“But how?” I ask before taking another bite. “It’s Friday night; whatever we do will get buried.”
He nods, rubbing his jaw with his fingers. “That’s true. Maybe we don’t do anything?”
“Crap,” I say, looking down at my dress, tomato soup dripping down the front of it. I guess I was a little heavy handed with my last sandwich dunk.
“Shoot.” Luke gets up from the couch. “I’ll get you a towel. You need to get that out or it’ll stain.”
