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Part of her was enjoying the display, though. He looked boyishly handsome when he laughed, young and ever so slightly innocent. She’d noticed it earlier when he was telling that god-awful anecdote about his manager. He had an amazing laugh, warm and carefree, and she felt privileged to hear it when she knew that few others did.
Still, it would be nice to be let in on the joke. He reached for a napkin and wiped the corners of his eyes, finally seeming get himself under some semblance of control.
“I’m sorry,” he said, still trying to keep the chuckles at bay. “It’s just . . . the look on your face made it even worse.”
“What set you off?” she asked.
“Tanya—what she said in defense of her cheating—she said trying to keep her in a committed relationship was like caging a mermaid. When she was meant to swim free and frolic with dolphins.”
Daff blinked and then pressed her lips together.
“As mermaids do,” she said with a somber nod.
“Wild and free. With the dolphins.”
“A mermaid?”
“Yep. A freaking mermaid.”
“I mean . . . she knows mermaids aren’t real, right?” He grinned at the question, stifling another chuckle.
“Who knows? Although, since mermaids don’t have sexual organs and she was fucking everything with a dick, I don’t know why she’d go there.”
“Why were you with her so long? I’ve had a few conversations with her in the past and . . . she’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.”
“Like I said before, habit. She was a warm body to come home to. She was sweet and affectionate. And I liked that she made no demands. She seemed happy enough in the relationship.”
“Were you hurt? By her infidelity?”
“I think you mean infidelities,” he corrected, a shadow crossing his expression. “I felt betrayed, obviously. And humiliated.”
The last was conceded almost reluctantly, and he looked like he immediately wished the words back. Before he could say anything more, the waiter returned with their first course and Daff was suitably distracted by the beautifully arranged sliver of yellowtail, accompanied by a swirl of lemon jus and fennel foam.
She looked up to share her delighted smile with Spencer and caught him glaring at the plate in front of him.
“Should have eaten before this,” she heard him mutter beneath his breath, and her smile widened. He was entertaining as hell. Something she hadn’t expected at all. His sense of humor was odd, but it was gratifying to know that he had one. No matter how offbeat it was. She was already borderline addicted to the sound of his laughter, and she could watch him smile all night.
He was ridiculously attractive, and she was trying her level best not to succumb to that attraction. She did stupid things when she liked a guy, and for the first time in years she found herself without a significant other. It was revelatory. She liked herself more when she wasn’t trying to impress some man. It was like unearthing a whole new Daffodil McGregor, and she found that she liked the person she was discovering beneath the layers of pretense that she hadn’t even known were there.
An attraction to Spencer Carlisle might halt that discovery process entirely.
Put it out of your head, Daff, she admonished herself severely. It’s not going to happen.
She lifted her fork and noticed that Spencer mirrored her movement. He’d done that earlier as well, with the amuse-bouche, and she clued in to the fact that he wasn’t as familiar with the place settings as she was. She found it curious that he’d chosen to come here, despite the fact that it appeared to be outside his comfort zone.
“Why did you choose this place?” she asked, and his fork halted halfway to his mouth.
“Don’t you like it?”
“It’s beautiful, and the food’s fantastic. I was just curious. You said you’ve been meaning to try it for a while. It just isn’t the type of place I pictured you liking.”
“Why not? Because I’m a Carlisle? Because I once did whatever it took to survive and grew up in a dilapidated old house with broken windows and no heating?”
Jesus, Daff hadn’t known that his childhood was that dire. She’d heard snippets from Daisy, but to hear it from Spencer himself was . . . sad.
“No.” She finally found her voice and responded to his defensive questions. “Because you seem like a down-to-earth, meat and potatoes guy like—”
“Like who? My deadbeat alcoholic father?” He bristled, and she rolled her eyes.
“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but I barely remember your father. I was going to say, like my dad. But you’re acting like a hormonal chick, so I take back that particular compliment. My dad is awesome, and you’re being less than awesome right now.”
He paused, his face clearing as he lowered his fork back down to his plate.
