Page 22 of Hard to Get

“What about you? Which fruit do you think looks evil?”

“Pineapple. Those spikes can injure you.”

“True. Although pineapple is my favourite fruit.”

“I don’t think I have a favourite fruit. I like it all.”

“You must like veggies, too, since you ordered Brussels sprouts.”

“If you ask my mom, she’d say no. I did not eat my veggies when I was a kid. But I eat them now.”

“And protein.”

“Yep.” He sighs. “Eating healthy is such a drag. You have no idea how much I’d like to scarf down a family size bag of potato chips every day.”

“Ah. Potato chips. Another favourite of mine.”

“Me too.”

We get into a discussion of the best chips: kettle cooked or regular, rippled or not, flavored or plain, and kinds of dip.

“I make a great dill pickle dip,” I tell him. “It’s even good for dipping pretzels.”

His eyes spark with interest. “That sounds tasty. Are there really pickles in it?”

“Yes, finely chopped.”

“Okay. I’m going to have to try that. I’ll bring the chips.”

I hold back my smile. “Bring the chips where?”

His easy smile is playful and unrepentant. “To your place. Where you’ll make the dip.”

“Ohhhh.” Like I didn’t know that’s what he meant. A fizzy feeling sparkles in my chest. I forgot how much fun it is to flirt with a man. Okay, with a man who’s good at it. Like Jayden.

Our food arrives so we halt our conversation for a few minutes. We’re each given small plates so we can share and I take a big meatball, steamy with tomato sauce and melty cheese, a salmon cake, and a few crispy Brussels sprouts.

“Remember the three-meeting theory?” he asks a moment later, after he’s eaten half a meatball.

“Yes.”

“I was thinking more about it.” He picks up a piece of focaccia.

“Okay.”

“You had a point about the fact that we live in the same neighbourhood and walk our dogs in the same park. It might not be a message from the universe.”

I tilt my head as a spear a Brussels sprout. “No?”

“Maybe. But then I thought if we ran into each other somewhere else—where we wouldn’t expect to see each other—then that more likely means something.”

He’s so earnest about this. It’s adorable. It should be cheesy and fake but I’m charmed and curious. “At the arena. Also, Jack and Sky.”

“Exactly.” He points his fork at me. “It might just be luck that we keep running into each other.”

“You feel that’s lucky?” I’m apparently susceptible to flattery, because the fizzy feeling of delight inside me is intensifying.

“Of course.” His bewilderment at my clarification is endearing. “But I was also thinking about if it’s fate or the universe or whatever, I don’t like that being out of my control. I want to control my life.”