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I should get a diet soda or water, but a glass of wine sounds amazing after the day I’ve had. “Would you mind getting me a glass of white? Pinot Grigio or Sauv Blanc? I can pay you back.”
Wyatt’s smile falls. “Pay me back? Why?”
“You’ve already done so much. And it isn’t as if this is a… Never mind. Thank you.”
He nods with a small but genuine smile. My stomach twists into a knot at the memory of how I wrote him off after only a few short messages, all because he read romance books. We could’ve had a real date, and who knows, maybe we have more in common than I originally thought. Even if we don’t, he has to be one of the kindest and most accommodating men I’ve ever met. At the very least, maybe we could be friends.
I find a small booth toward the back and slide into one of the bouncy cushions. As I move my tray closer, the delicious scent of barbecue sauce with a hint of red onion hits my nose, making my tummy rumble. If I knew Wyatt better, I’d start without him, but with us being strangers, barely acquaintances, I wait.
A few minutes pass, and my stomach rumbles again, this time a bit louder. I hold my hand over it, whispering to my belly, “Shh!”
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Wyatt laughs, setting down his tray and passing me the glass of wine. “We may be at a five-star hotel, but this is a buffet, not a fine dining experience.”
“I didn’t want to be rude.”
He waves me off as he slides into the other side of the booth. “It’s not rude. Unless, of course, this is a date.” His lips tilt up into an adorable, boyish grin. “Then maybe it would be frowned upon.”
“This isn’t… I didn’t mean… I just…”
“Relax.” Wyatt reaches across the table and covers my hand with his. The simple touch sets my entire body on fire in the best way. “I’m just giving you a hard time. You’ve had quite a day. I was trying to lighten the mood.”
As he pulls his hand back, I admit softly, “There’s something I need to get off my chest.”
“If this is about the dating app, consider it water under the bridge.”
“That’s the thing,” I sigh. “I need to apologize. I don’t do well with confrontation, so I sort of slunk away. It’s been my experience that men don’t handle rejection well.”
Mid-sip, Wyatt nearly chokes on his drink. “I, uh, I wouldn’t know.”
“Don’t date a lot of men?” I tease.
“I’ve dated a few,” he admits, taking me by surprise. “But I would rather someone be honest with me.”
“And for that, I’m sorry. You said you read romance, and I… bailed.”
Speaking into his glass, he asks, “What do you have against romance?”
To give myself a few extra seconds to consider the most polite response, I take a small bite of pizza, but a soft moan escapes me. The creamy cheese with the tang of the sauce is absolute perfection. As I finish chewing, I glance up and find his eyes pinned on me, heat blazing in them as he continues with his drink.
I quickly swallow and reply, “Men in romance books don’t exist in real life.” Though the statement is beginning to feel a bit like a lie the more time I spend with Wyatt.
“And why do you think they don’t exist?”
“Seriously?” I inwardly roll my eyes. “Men don’t act the way they do in books. It’s unrealistic.”
“It isn’t as if they are werewolves.”
“True,” I laugh. “Werewolves are already fictional. Men—human men—exist in real life, but the idea of a prince rescuing the peasant maid is ridiculous. Romance, in general, is just fairy tales for adults.”
“All fiction is pretend,” he counters, but there’s no bite in his tone. “For me, romance offers an escape to a world where love always wins. I know going into the book that, no matter what, the two—or more—main characters fall in love and live happily ever after. But I suppose you’re right. In real life, most of us aren’t that lucky.”
I try to hide my smile but fail. “Not lucky, eh? You sound a little jaded for a romance author if you believe people don’t fall in love.”
Wyatt swirls a few noodles around his fork, then pierces a piece of beef. “Jaded? No. But have you ever been in love? And not just being in a relationship and loving someone, but having that love returned in a way that always made you feel safe and adored?”
“No,” I reply softly.
He brings his fork to his mouth, but as he’s about to take a bite, he admits, “Neither have I. But that doesn’t mean I believe it won’t happen.”
