Page 25 of No Headlines Please

"Nope. Ladies first. And I've already tried it."

"Which one?"

"All of them."

"Oh." She cleared her throat. "Right. So you probably come here a lot, huh?"

I did. And the reason for this was simple. I owned the place, which was how I'd managed to get the best table with nearly no notice – and why our most discreet server wasn't addressing me by name.

Keeping it simple, I said, "Sure. I like the place, don't you?"

"Definitely." And then, as if eager to prove it, she reached for a spoon and tasted the lobster bisque. She leaned back and closed her eyes for a long moment before softly groaning, "Oh, my God. That's so good."

I found myself irrationally pleased by how much she enjoyed it.

Not too long afterward, I was less pleased by how quickly the evening was slipping through my fingers.

The courses kept coming while our conversation drifted effortlessly from one topic to another.

Delaney ranked the soups, voting all of them the best while declaring the lobster bisque the super-best, as if such a ranking existed. Later, she became attached to the wild mushroom risotto, raved about the bacon-wrapped shrimp, and flat-out refused to believe the tiny chocolate dessert arriving at the end of the meal was intended for human consumption.

With a laugh, she said, "It's way too pretty to eat." And then, she proved herself wrong by devouring it anyway in tiny ladylike bites – unlike the prior courses, which she'd sampled with obvious delight before the waiter had whisked them away to box up for later.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I didn't want the evening to end.

Delaney was a walking contradiction – thoughtful, but outrageously honest, beautiful, but modest to a fault, and sweet, with a hint of mischief she couldn't quite hide.

Far too soon, the candle between us had burned noticeably lower, making a mockery of how quickly the minutes were slipping away.

Just like that, dessert was gone, and I still hadn't heard her story.

Sure, I could've pushed the issue, but the thought of ruining her obvious pleasure for the sake of extracting information seemed like a dick move on the best of days.

And from the few nuggets I had gleaned, today had most certainly not been her best.

But that didn't mean I was giving up on the story.

The way I saw it, there was always coffee.

10

One Snafu Away

Delaney

My life was a disaster.

My sister was out-of-state, my bank account was empty, and there was a very real possibility I was one snafu away from sleeping in the ancient Ford Focus parked in the underground garage of a hotel that had refused to let me stay.

And yet somehow, all I could think about was the man walking beside me.

Dinner had gone by way too fast, and the drive back to Tessa's apartment building had gone even faster – and not because Maddox was speeding.

He wasn't. It was our lively conversation that had made the fifteen minutes feel like five.

The drive had ended the moment he parked in the underground garage beneath Tessa's building. The conversation, meanwhile, was still ongoing.

Without skipping a beat, Maddox retrieved the giant takeout bag from the backseat before falling into step beside me.