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He ignored her and slid the omelets onto two plates before carrying them to his dining table. They’d always eaten at the island before. The kitchen table seemed far too intimate.
“Come sit,” he said, already digging into his food. “It’s getting cold.”
Sophie chewed her lip and glanced toward the front door. Maybe just a few bites. Just so that she could explain to him that this could never happen again and that he couldn’t tell a soul. She dropped into the chair across from him and watched him. He was eating his mushrooms and eggs very precisely, as though completely unaware that he had company.
“You eat your omelet with a knife?” she asked.
“It’s called Continental style. Europeans do it.”
“Which would totally make sense. If you were European.” Sophie dug into the decadent-looking breakfast, ignoring the knife like a normal American.
“So what do you want to do today?” he asked casually.
Sophie’s fork clattered to her plate. “Don’t do that.”
He finally set his silverware aside and looked at her. “I want you to stay.”
“Why?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
“I want to spend time with you.”
“Since when?”
“Since—just, I don’t know. Please?”
Somehow his sulky, frowning expression was infinitely more effective than puppy-dog-style begging or standard-issue flattery. She knew instinctively that he didn’t want to want her to say. That he was just as annoyed by this connection between them as she was, but every bit as reluctant to let it end.
“If I stay, are we going to talk about us?” she said around a succulent mushroom.
“What do you think?”
“Right. You’re not so much about the talking. But we can’t just ignore it.”
He sighed and resumed eating like so
me damn Regency duke. She decided to wait him out, and several minutes passed as they ate in silence.
“I don’t know how to explain anything,” he replied finally, sounding a little lost. “I don’t really know what I want, or what’s going to happen on Monday. I just want…” His eyes met hers, and she melted at the bewildered longing in them.
“Yes?” she prodded quietly.
“I’m tired of being alone every weekend,” he said, eyes locked on a mushroom.
She swallowed against the sudden rush of emotion, and slowly the intention of running away faded. She knew that by not leaving immediately, she was signing herself up for the most intense heartbreak of her life, but she couldn’t walk away. Not now.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll stay. But you’re taking me to the mall to buy some underwear.”
The relief on his face made her heart twist, and she turned her attention to the eggs before he could read her expression.
“I like lace,” he said, plucking a mushroom off her plate. “Lacy panties. Tiny ones. Black is nice.”
“Oh really, you prefer your women in tiny black lacy panties? That’s completely new to me, since most men I’ve been with preferred faded white granny panties. This is so original of you!”
“If you’re going to talk about past boyfriends, I won’t cook for you. We’ll be stuck getting horrible, soggy Chinese food.”
Sophie secretly loved cheap, crappy Chinese. Preferably straight from the box. But she could give a little. “Fine. I can be bought by fine French cuisine. Ooh, what about crepes? What are we going to do today, anyway?”
He raised an eyebrow.
