AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Turns out, yes. As I tell him some of the mischief my sisters and I got into, he shares stories that are eerily similar—with maybe a few more finger guns and sticks used as swords in his case. Oh, and he wasn’t exposed to as many farm animals as I was growing up. Or tea parties. Still, he and his childhood buds helped each other at school like my sisters and I did, except they couldn’t switch places for exams. They just had a system of who’d do the homework for which subject, and then copied from one another.
Weirdly, I picture having kids with him. Specifically, boys with chocolate-colored eyes. More specifically, boys that would get into the same mischief he’s describing, then blink their guilty-but-guileless-looking eyes at me. Boys that—
Wait. I seriously need to snap out of this.
I clear my throat awkwardly. “Are you still in touch with those guys?”
He nods. “I videocall most of the ones in Russia, but as luck would have it, some of them are in New York, so I see those guys in person.”
“That’s great.”
It’s nice to know he has something like a family. Also, the green-monster part of me is glad he has someone to socialize with besides the gorgeous ballerinas.
“What about you?” He picks up his last piece of sushi. “I imagine you see your sisters a lot?”
“Some more than others.” I start shoving the rest of my food into my mouth at a fast pace. “How cold does Moscow get in the winter?”
“Colder than New York but not as cold as Alaska.” He pushes his plate away. “What do you do for work?”
I nearly choke on my un-swallowed food. “This and that,” I mumble. “I’m kind of in-between jobs at the moment.”
Does he look happy at my unemployed status? Odd, but better than, “Are you sure you don’t write about masturbation for a living?”
“So.” I gesture at the empty plates in front of us. “Ready to talk business?”
He lifts a dark eyebrow. “No dessert?”
Skunk. He’s right. The green tea crepe cake is my favorite dish here, but then again, I really, really want to know what our business is.
“I don’t want dessert.” If I were Pinocchio, my nose would stab Art in the face.
“You sure?”
Damn him. His deep voice is as seductive as that green tea crepe cake. His thick eyelashes too.
I force a nod.
“Fine,” he says. “The reason I asked you to dinner is because I want you to—”
The waitress slides the paper door open.
Art stops speaking so suddenly you’d think he was about to reveal Russian nuclear launch codes.
I glare at her. Not only is this the second time she’s interrupted him telling me what this not-a-date is about, but it smells like she’s put on more stinkfume.
The waitress seems to get that she’s not welcome. Swiftly grabbing everything off the table, she scurries away.
“You were saying?” I say as soon as the door is closed again. “You asked me here because…?”
Art takes a deep breath. “Because I want you to marry me.”
