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Let’s hope not.

“Yes, like a food you hate that everyone else loves,” I say casually, as if I was thinking of this the whole time I’ve been sitting across from him.

“That is a dangerous skeleton to reveal.”

WE ARE BACK TO BANTER, AND I LOVE IT.

“It is. It can change the dynamic between people.”

“Can it?”

“Absolutely. Like if you didn’t like beans on a jacket potato, that would be weird,” I declare.

“All right. Tell me what you like on your jacket potato.”

“I do miss a good jacket potato,” I say, thinking of the ones I’d get back home in London. “I like it with butter, beans, cheese, and crispy onions. You?”

“Same, except I get garlic chicken instead of beans,” he says.

“That’s acceptable.”

He laughs, and my stomach flips at the sound.

“So what’s your food skeleton?” Mason asks.

“It’s a true skeleton.”

“Go on,” he says, his eyes sparkling at me.

“I hate bananas.”

His brows snap together in a V. “You hate bananas?”

“Yes. The texture, the smell, everything. They’re disgusting.”

“I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like bananas.”

“Now you have,” I say.

Mason’s mouth curves up into a full smile. “Now I have.”

“What’s your food skeleton?” I ask.

He appears to think on it. “I have a few, but I’ve got to go with ketchup.”

“What? You don’t eat ketchup? Ever?” I ask.

“Nope.”

“Is that why you always have mango chutney with you? Is it your condiment crutch?”

Mason stares at me inquisitively. “You know I hoard mango chutney?”

Shit, shit, shit, he has no idea that I remember all the things I hear about him. I once again reach into my bag of tricks for a quick answer, and luckily, I don’t come up empty.

“You said it once. I remembered it because it was unusual,” I say casually.

The corners of his sexy mouth draw upwards. “So you remember things about me.”