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“Can I join you?”
The question jolts me and my hand jerks, spilling a bit of tea on my pink skirt. I’m grabbing for the paper napkins when a fist clutching several shoves them into my lap, directly over my crotch.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” More napkins accompany the apology and I pause in patting at the growing brown stain to look up.
He’s cute. Is my first thought, following closely by the fact that he looks vaguely familiar. He has the type of looks I refer to as the boy next door. Or rather, in his case, the man next door because he’s no boy. Shaggy brown hair with a few glints of silver, brown eyes bracketed by laugh lines, several days’ worth of dark stubble on his jaw, average build and average height. Basically cute, but utterly forgettable.
“It’s fine,” I say and mean it. It’s a skirt, nothing special about it and not like he dumped the tea on me, I did that myself. His voice more than his question startled me.
Wait, rewind that. Did he ask to join me?
“You want to sit at my table?” I ask, my voice dripping in disbelief.
A slow grin spreads across his face, and I blink when it transforms him from cute to handsome. “I do.”
I shake my head certain I’m mistaken. “Didn’t you see what just happened? I got dumped. Why would you want to sit here with a loser like me?” Understanding dawns and I toss the sodden napkins onto my empty plate. “Oh, hoping I’ll be so depressed and grateful for the attention that I’ll fall into your bed? Wow takes all types, buddy. I’m not that upset.” I roll my eyes and search around the room for the server.
Just my luck. During the meal the server kept popping around every few minutes and now he’s nowhere in sight.
The sweet grin on the guy’s face drops and he sits down without further waiting for my permission. “You don’t remember me, do you?” A low chuckle rumbles out of him, and I hate to admit it the sound of it is deep and sexy and perks my interest. “Guess I am forgettable. I’m one of your clients or rather, my dog is.”
At the mention of the word client my mind starts sifting through them. Business is growing, so there’s quite a few to recall. I branded him a guy next door type, yet surely, I should remember him. His warm, chocolatey brown eyes are the stuff dreams are made of.
“I saw you,” his face twists into a grimace, his brown eyes locking onto mine, “and heard what happened. You’re not the loser, that guy is.” His chest rises and falls rapidly, a sigh escaping him. “And maybe I am too. My date didn’t even show up and that’s after we were talking for two weeks.”
Poor guy, I want to reach out and touch his hand, or rub his shoulder. I couldn’t imagine standing up someone like him. He seems… nice. “She didn’t message you? Maybe she’s just running late?”
Shaking his head, a lock of brown hair flops over his forehead, giving him a real boyish look, taking years off him. “Forty minutes late? And no, no text, no call, nothing. I’ve been properly stood up.”
“Well, it’s her loss. And I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name. Who’s your dog?”
His brows shoot up, getting lost in that errant bit of hair hanging over his forehead. “My dog’s name?”
Shrugging, I grin. “I remember their names better than I do their owner’s.”
He reaches up and finger combs his hair back and I resist the urge to run my fingers through the thick length and bring it back down. “Tory, he’s a three-year-old German Shepard.”
“Black and tan with gorgeous golden-brown eyes?” I ask, already picturing Tory in my head. “I remember him. Sweet boy, he’s overdue for a grooming, isn’t he?”
Tory’s dad squirms, the flush of red on his cheeks barely visible through the scruff on his lower face, but definitely there. “I got him groomed when I had to kennel him a few weeks ago when I was away on a business trip. Sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” I hold back a huff and resist rolling my eyes. People always apologizing for the silliest of things.
The server finally shows up, his gaze bouncing from me to the friendly guy sitting across me. “Could I get you anything else?” he asks without missing a beat.
“Did you eat?” I ask Tory’s dad.
“No.” He pauses, his pink tongue flashing out to sweep over his lips, making me notice how perfectly proportioned they are. They look firm and utterly kissable. “Brittany, could I take you somewhere for dessert?”
The server smoothly interjects, “I’ll bring you the dessert menu.”
“Wait,” I call out before he can take two steps. “Just the bill, please.” My gaze never leaves the interesting man across from me, so I don’t know how the server took my request and honestly, I don’t give a fig. He did his job, he’ll get his tip and what he thinks of me switching dates is none of my business, just like it’s none of his.
“What’s your name?” I ask him, just so I can stop thinking of him as Tory’s dad.
“Grant. And you’re Brittany.”
I grin. “I am. So where are we going for dessert, Grant?”
