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While she’s napping, I take a quick shower, throw on a pair of jeans and a loose shirt, and pull my hair up in a messy bun. An hour later she’s still fast asleep and my stomach is rumbling. I don’t want to wake her on the off chance she’ll get up ready to party.
Instead, I head down the beach toward the restaurants so I can grab us some food.
There are some nice restaurants along the beach, many of which boast a lovely view of the Mission Mansion in the distance. We’re still quite a ways off financially from being able to buy it if it went on the market, but we’re closer now than we’ve ever been to the one part of our past that I’d love to have back.
I glance at the patio to my left. Couples sit across from each other, hands clasped, wine glasses full, appetizers waiting to be shared, bodies angled toward each other as they engage in private conversation. It’s intimate and romantic, something I haven’t had in such a long time. It’s then I realize I’m back at the scene of my horrendous date with Terry and am once again staring at Pierce. Unless I had far too much sun. In which case, I’m having a hallucination and he’s not actually here.
“Hey.” He lifts a hand in greeting, a small questioning smile on his full lips. He’s dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a crisp white golf shirt. I’m grateful he’s fully clothed this time.
It means my mouth works slightly more efficiently. “I’m really not stalking you, despite how this looks.” Or maybe my mouth is still a problem.
“That’s rather unfortunate. I’m actually quite fond of the idea of you stalking me.” He slips the papers in front of him into a leather messenger bag. “Where’s your sister?”
“Sleeping off the booze she drank this afternoon.”
“Ah.” He nods in understanding. The server drops off a glass of wine and a plate of calamari, the delicious aroma wafts over me, making my mouth water and my stomach rumble.
I take a step back. “I should let you eat.”
“Or you could join me this time.” Pierce pushes out the chair to his right. “The calamari here is fantastic.”
“Oh, uh. Thanks, but—” I take another step back, flustered.
“You don’t like calamari?”
“I like calamari, but I—”
“Still don’t want to have dinner with me?” he asks, head tilted, fingers tapping on the table.
“I was going to pick up some takeout and bring it back to the house.”
“I thought you said Marley was sleeping off her drinks.”
“She is. I’m not really dressed appropriately for this place, though.” I adjust my shirt, drawing attention to my distressed jeans with the strategic tears all the way up my thighs.
“You look perfectly appropriate. Come keep me company.” He taps the chair to his right again, eyebrow raised in challenge. As if this is some kind of dare.
The car situation is sorted out so there’s no chance of blackmail, and he’s been nice about us staying in his rental despite Marley and the hit-and-run. I don’t want to be rude. I can order takeout and sit with him while I wait. It’s not like this is going to turn into a date.
Pierce stands and pulls out the chair kitty-corner to him. He tucks me into the table before taking his seat again. Moving the calamari between us, he hands me a set of silverware and beckons the server over.
“What would you like to drink? My sister usually gets the sauvignon blanc with the calamari.”
“That would be perfect, thank you.” I try to recall what the cost per glass is from the last time I was here.
“We’ll take a bottle, please,” Pierce tells the server who sets a menu on the table and leaves us alone.
He props an elbow on the table and leans in. “You got a little sun today.” I startle when he skims my cheek, and once again, the connection between our eyes and the point of physical contact create a current that steals my breath.
I’m caught, trapped, unable to break eye contact.
The server returns with the wine, snapping the spell. I still haven’t looked at the menu, so I ask for a few more minutes. I have to wonder how long we sat there, staring at each other, or if our server is just very fast.
Pierce takes a sip of his wine and I do the same, flipping open the menu so I have somewhere else to look that isn’t him.
“Did you play football in college?” I blurt the question before I can really consider what I’m asking. It’s a weird lead-in.
“Not college, but I played in high school. Why?”
I lift a shoulder. “You look like the kind of guy who would play. Were you a quarterback?”
“I played offensive line. Think you got me all figured out?” He stabs a piece of calamari with his fork and pops it into his mouth.
I roll my eyes. “No. You just have that look.”
“What look?”
“The jock look. Like you played all the sports and were probably good at them without even having to work at it.”
He laughs. “Well, that’s untrue. I didn’t love playing football, but my father wanted me on the school team so I endured it for a few years. I’m better at golf. What about you? Did you play sports in high school?” He leans back in his chair. “Wait. Let me guess. You were a cheerleader.”
“I don’t think I fit the cheerleader profile.”
“Oh? And what would that be?” He nudges the plate of calamari closer to me, encouraging me to try some.
“Friendly, chipper.” I unfold my napkin and spread it across my lap. I cross one leg over the other, my foot brushing Pierce’s shin.
“You don’t consider yourself friendly?”
“What did you call me before?” I tap my lip. “Prickly.”
“I like your prickly.”
“You’re kind of intense, huh?”
He hitches a shoulder and smiles. “So are you.”
I shove another piece of his calamari in my mouth and browse the menu so I’m ready to order when the server comes back. This place is expensive and not what I would’ve chosen had I not run into Pierce. I settle on pasta—a smart and cost-effective choice.
“So is Amalie your only sibling?” I ask once I’ve placed my order.
“I have a younger brother. What about you?”
“It’s just me and Marley. So you’re the oldest of three?”
“I am. Let me guess, you muscled your way in front of your sister so you could be the first born.”
“Ah.” I hold up a finger. “That’s where you’re wrong. She was first out of the gate. I was behind her by three minutes. She took her sweet old time getting out, so she was born at eleven fifty-eight and I was born at twelve oh one, so technically we don’t even have the same birthday.”
“So you were prickly right from your first breath, then,” he says with a smile.
“Seems that way.”
“Tell me about the date you were on the other night.”
Oh, no way. That was mortifying the first time around; I don’t need to relive it. “There’s not much to tell. You saw how it ended.”
“I assume he’s tried to reschedule, though.”
“How would you know that?”
Pierce crosses one leg over the other, posture deceptively relaxed, but his eyes are sharp. “He’s not an idiot. He knows he’s dating up with you.”
