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“Darnit.” He snaps his fingers dramatically. “We don’t have crème brûlée until the fall menu starts. We do, however, have a panna cotta that will rock your socks.”
“I can’t agree to marriage without crème brûlée,” I tell him primly. “So, no proposing today.”
“Deal,” he says. When the waiter comes over, he orders two goat cheese and mango salads, two patty melts, and two glasses of champagne. He looks over at me to confirm. “Is champagne okay or would you rather have iced tea?”
“Wow, that’s a tough decision.” I make a show of tipping my head from side to side like I’m in deep thought. “Iced tea or champagne …”
Tim hands the waiter our menus. “We’ll go with the champagne.”
I laugh easily. Tim is a lot of fun to spend time with. There’s no weird tension, and I’m willing to bet that if I kissed him, he wouldn’t tell me he wasn’t interested in me. Although, at this point in our friendship I can’t quite imagine kissing him yet. I have to force myself not to wonder why I locked lips with Jamie before even going on one date.
Tim and I have a delightful lunch—and he’s right about the Premier Club’s patty melt. The rye bread is thick and the Thousand Island dressing is out of this world. But it’s the mound of caramelized onions that totally blisses me out. “Do you eat like this every day?” I want to know.
“Not if I want to fit into my clothes,” he laughs. “I eat here twice a week. The rest of the time I have cottage cheese and whatever berry is in season.”
My grimace causes him to add, “You can try that after we’re married. Cottage cheese is no way to court a lady.”
“Court a lady?” I giggle. “What century is this again?”
“Hey, I’m pulling out all the stops.”
“You certainly are,” I tell him. “And you’re doing a fine job. What do you say you leave me in charge of our next date?”
“A third date plan before the panna cotta? You’re on.”
As soon as we’re done eating, Tim asks, “How about a tour?”
“I hope you’re not talking eighteen holes.” I lift up a foot. “If so, I wore the wrong shoes.”
“No golf today. I thought I’d show you the tennis courts and swimming pool.”
“I didn’t bring my suit.” I fake pout.
“Maybe swimming will be our fourth date.”
It’s refreshing to have a man freely show his interest. Jamie pops into my brain and I shove him right out. “That’s if you still want to see me after our third date.”
“Are we going skydiving?” he wants to know.
“No.”
“Rock climbing without the proper safety gear?”
“Um, no.”
“Walking across hot coals barefoot?”
“What kind of dates are you used to going on?” I ask.
“Dating in L.A. is kind of like getting to know someone in Dante’s third ring of hell. Everyone wants to do whatever the latest craze is, no matter how stupid.”
I release a long breath. “Thank God you’ve come home.”
Tim reaches over and easily slides his hand into mine as he leads me out of the restaurant. “Come on, we’ll start with the pool. We can come back for dessert later, if you want.”
I’m starting to think he really is from another time. Guys don’t seem to be into sweet displays of affection these days.
Tim leads me out of the dining room toward the french doors. Once we’re outside, we cross a white path surrounded by large bunches of black-eyed Susans. As the pool comes into view, I say, “It doesn’t seem very busy today.”
