“That’s why you chose it, right?” He asks. “Nursing.”
“Yeah,” I say, hesitating for a moment. “That. And my mom.”
His expression shifts immediately into something softer. His green eyes stare into mine, while a soft curl falls just above his eyebrow.
“I guess I just hope I can prevent missing someone like that for another family.” I softly say, a lump forming in my throat.
“That’s really great, Mads,” he says, voice low.
“Thank you.”
Our eyes stay locked for a moment before Ryan leans back in his chair and lifts his glass. “Alright,” he says. “That’s enough emotional conversation for one night.”
I laugh. “Agreed.”
“Rapid fire,” he continues. “No thinking.”
“Oh no.”
“Favourite song. Go.”
I blink. “Right now or all time?”
“All time.”
“Every Breath You Take by The Police.”
He nods immediately. “Good one.”
“Okay,” I say. “Favourite ice cream flavour.”
“Easy,” he replies. “Vanilla.”
I stare at him. “No.”
He frowns. “What do you mean, no?”
“That cannot be your favourite,” I say. “That’s the most boring answer you could’ve picked.”
He scoffs. “Vanilla is classic.”
“It’s also what you say when you don’t want to commit,” I argue. “Chocolate chip, cookie dough, salted caramel, pistachio. All objectively better.”
“You just don’t know your classics,” he says lightly and I just shake my head.
The rest of the dinner drifts by easily. The lights dim slightly, casting a warm glow over the entire restaurant. Women's jewellery stand out a little more as they move, wine glasses hanging on a rack behind the bar shine, almost sparkle. And with the soft music playing through the speakers, it almost feels like we’re in a Jazz bar in the middle of Paris.
But for some reason, my eyes are glued to him. The light catches along his jaw, shaping his features, and it turns his eyes a darker shade of green. His watch shifts across his wrist when he lifts his glass to his lips. And I think if he looked like this every day, girls would start breaking girl code and still flirt with him.
Suddenly Ryan shifts a little closer, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Okay,” he murmurs, just low enough for me to hear. “We should probably look like we’re actually a couple.”
“What? We look like we’re—”
Before I can even process, he moves in one smooth motion. His hand grips the bottom of my chair and pulls it closer to his, closing the space between us instantly.
I suck in a breath and butterflies fill my stomach.
“Just act like we’re talking about something boring,” he murmurs, his mouth close to my ear.
