“Thank you,” I muttered sarcastically.
“Are you considering it?”
I opened my mouth to reply. Then close it again.
Because that was the terrifying part, wasn’t it?
The fact that some tiny, reckless piece of me had actually considered it for half a second.
Marcus saw the hesitation immediately and points his fork at me accusingly. “Oh my God. You are.”
“I’m not!” I protested weakly.
“You hesitated!”
“I’m overwhelmed!”
“You’re into it.”
“I’m having a mental breakdown,” I shot back.
“That too.”
I laughed despite myself, shaking my head as I rest back against the couch cushions.
“It’s insane,” I said more quietly. “Like… objectively insane.”
Marcus studied me carefully, his teasing softening around the edges. “But?”
I stared down into my wine glass. “But nobody’s ever looked at me like that before.”
The words poured out before I could stop them. And Marcus went still.
I hated how vulnerable the confession felt.
“He was intense,” I whispered. “Like…too intense. It scared me—but probably not as much as it should have.”
Marcus nudged my knee gently with his. “Baby, from what you’ve shared, your entire dating history is emotionally unavailable men and red flags.”
“That’s not true.”
“You once dated a guy who owned three swords.”
“In my defense, I didn’t know that until date four.”
“You stayed until date seven.”
“He was charming!”
Marcus snorted loudly.
The tension in my chest loosened a little after that.
Thankfully, he didn’t push the Lorenzo conversation further because honestly, if I talk about it any longer, I thought my brain might actually explode.
“I don’t want to think about him anymore tonight,” I muttered, finishing the last sip of wine. “My nervous system physically cannot handle it.”
Marcus stretched dramatically across the couch. “Fine. We’re switching topics. Let me tell you about the gorgeous British bartender who almost convinced me to miss my flight home.”
