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She’s smiling big. “Oh, my God. I would love that. But, on one condition.”
I stay quiet and stare at her. I love me a negotiation.
“If you come with me.”
“Sure, that can be arranged. We can make an afternoon out of it,” I say.
What is going on in my brain! Making future non-work-related plans with this woman.
It’s okay, Linc. Calm down.
“Sounds like a date!” she drawls.
The server brings us our steaming plates of food and asks if we need anything else. We both say no.
“This looks and smells delicious!” Quinn says, tucking a napkin into the top of her shirt.
My fork pauses at my mouth and my brow furrows. “What are you doing?”
Her fork also pauses. “Eatin’. What else would I be doing?”
I jut my chin at her napkin-bib. “Is that necessary?”
She looks down and her cheeks flush red. She quickly yanks it off and sets it in her lap. “Sorry. I’m a clumsy eater and Mama always used to tuck the napkin in like that so I wouldn’t ruin my shirts. Bad habit I should probably only do at home, huh?”
I shake my head with a laugh. “You can do whatever you want, but I just never saw anyone do that. Except one time at a barbeque spot I visited on my annual trip to Dallas. Like, everyone there had them tucked in like that. Must be a Southern thing, huh?”
She shakes her head. “Nah, just a barbeque thing. And a habit of mine I need to break.” She laughs a little. “Oh, and I love Dallas. Have you been to the Stockyards? It’s a cool place. Tons of bars and restaurants.”
I nod. “I have heard of them. Roman told me about them. Saw them onBar Rescue.”
“I love that show!” she says excitedly, twirling noodles on her fork.
Of course she does.
“Well, speaking of Dallas… this goes along with the proposal we’re supposed to talk about and keep getting sidetracked from.”
“I’m listening,” she says.
“So every year, we attend the annual National Brews and Beers convention in Dallas. Nathan and Roman cannot attend due to domestic and familial obligations, so that’s why I asked if you could come. Not that I think of you as an afterthought, or even, think of you at all. I mean, not all the time, just sometimes.”
Fuck! What in the hell is wrong with me?
I watch as she chokes on her bite and starts coughing, her eyes turning red and watery. Panicked, I immediately stand and go over to her side of the table. “Hold still, I know the Heimlich maneuver.”
She gently pushes me away, coughing, then grabs her injured shoulder. “I’m not dyin’, silly,” she says, coughing some more, then laughing, “I told you, I’m a clumsy eater. I eat too fast, and then when you said somethin’ so unexpected, it went down the wrong dang pipe. I’m okay.”
Now, the other patrons are staring. I grab her hand, helping her sit and hand her a glass of water. She gulps it down and I look around again. People have mostly gone back to their meals and conversations.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I need to slow down when I eat. Not take such big flippin’ bites.”
“Yes, smaller bites are better for your digestion and overall health, as well,” I comment, taking a sip of my tea.
She looks at me like she wants to say something, but instead, she closes her mouth, then opens it again. “It’s like I know that in my brain, ya know? Then I get to eatin’ and I’m just so hungry I forget.”
I smile again at her. She’s so damn cute. “I understand that. It’s just something you have to train your brain on. Practice makes perfect.”
“Okay, I’ll take small bites and frequent drinks and you finish tellin’ me about this job. Then we’ll talk about Dallas. Sound like a plan, Stan?”
