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“Hey.” I wrinkle my nose. “That’s not what I want.”
“Sorry, angel,” he says, giving me a small smile. “She’ll also have extra marshmallows in her hot chocolate,” he annoyingly tells the waitress without even consulting with me. Even though he’s right, it still gets on my nerves. What the heck? How does he even know this stuff about me? The server scribbles it down on her pad before taking off to get our drinks.
“How did you know what I wanted if you didn't even know I lived across the street from you?” I narrow my eyes at him, trying to mask the small trace of hurt I feel about it. I’ve noticed him and his handsome face. Wait. Did he just call me angel? My cheeks warm a touch at his term of endearment.
“I’m good at reading people.” He shrugs.
I don’t know what to do with that. Good at reading them but doesn't know they live across the street from him? Whatever. He keeps looking at me as the server sets down our drinks. Something about his stare sends heat cascading through me, flickering down like the icicle lights.
“Are you ready to order?” the server asks.
Crap, I haven't looked at the menu yet. I cover. “I’d like all the icicle lights in his car.”
“Angel, you can’t eat those.” He laughs like I’m making a joke. “She’ll have the eggs Benedict but instead of Canadian bacon, make it real bacon and extra crispy.”
The server looks at me.
I nod because that actually sounds really good. I love eggs Benedict. It’s the one thing that I haven't mastered in the kitchen, no matter how many times I’ve tried.
“And for you, sir?”
“The lumberjack. I’m sure my angel will want to steal some of my pancakes.” He hands the server our menus, after ordering for us like a couple that has been together for years. What game is he playing? How did he know I love pancakes? I guess everyone loves pancakes so it’s not that odd that he’d get that right. Some things aren’t adding up, but I’ll play along with his little game. The server moves away from the table, and we sit in silence for a few moments. He looks as though he’s taking me in, which causes me to get nervous again. I fight not to fidget in my seat.
“Let’s cut the crap,” I blurt out because the silence is too much to bear. I narrow my eyes at him. “What do I have to do to get my hands on those lights? Name your price.”
He smiles again. I want to smack that expression off his face. I strum my fingers on the table, waiting for his response. He seems to be putting a lot of thought into his answer. I lift an eyebrow at him to let him know that I’m impatiently waiting.
“How about we get to know each other a little better? Let’s say over the next two weeks that I’ll give you a few boxes every time we do something together.” My face drops when I realize what he’s suggesting.
“But then my house won’t be done for two weeks.” I look down at my hands in my lap, my fingers wringing together.
“You win.” He sighs.
My head snaps up.
“I’ll loan you the lights.”
“Loan them to me?” Hope blooms in my chest.
“Yes, loan them. Just stop making that sad face.” He reaches over the table and brushes his thumb across my bottom lip.
I sit there shocked by the action.
“Your pout is adorable but it’s also effective.”
I want to tell him I wasn't pouting but maybe I was. “I’ll help you put the lights up, but if you miss one day over the next two weeks, I’ll be coming over to take them back.”
“Every day?” I exclaim.
Everyone in the restaurant turns to look our way.
I slip down in my seat and put a hand to my face to hide from the attention. “You didn't even know I lived across the street. Now you want to hang out with me?” Damn it. Why can’t I let that go? I want people to not notice me, but not too much. Is that so hard?
“Deal?” he asks, ignoring my question.
The server comes back, setting our food down and asking if we want anything else. I shake my head no.
“Angel?”
