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“And what’s my favorite?” I ask, knowing he won’t have any idea of what my favorite dish is. I’m curious to find out what his guess is, though.
“Cacio e pepe,” he answers without any kind of afterthought.
My mouth pops open in surprise—because he’s right. That’s by far my favorite dish, but how did he know it? I rack my mind trying to figure out if we talked about our favorite dishes and I just completely forgot about it. We did talk about our favorite type of food—his was also Italian, same as mine. But I really don’t remember either of us specifying what dish we each preferred.
“The chef made cacio e pepe that was to die for. You couldn’t stop raving about it. He even made a caprese salad that was so good you joked with me that you’d fallen in love with him.”
I’m quiet because I love caprese salad—but that guess is easier. Everyone loves it. There’s a reason it’s served at almost every event we attend.
“We had homemade bread and dipped it in olive oil he brought over from Tuscany and paired it with a bottle of wine that was the best you ever had.”
“Maybe I don’t like wine,” I counter, my voice soft. He’s surprised me so much that I can’t put much emotion into my argument.
“That’s a lie,” he states matter-of-factly.
All I can do is watch him carefully, wondering how he seems to know so much about me when I know little to nothing about him at all. Sure, he’s told me all about how he could’ve gone professional if he wanted to with football and how he has a weird obsession with sour candies. He also told me his favoritecolor is black and that his favorite season is fall—although winter is a close second. He loves to snowboard and wants to try out a new mountain this winter in Colorado.
I know all these small tidbits of information he shared with me tonight, but I don’t know things he hasn’t divulged.
And yet…he seems to know little details about me that I never told him. I shake it off, telling myself he’s just got to be incredibly good at guessing. For his job, he has to be good at reading people. Maybe I’m simply an open book, and he reads me easily.
“What else did we do for our date?” My voice comes out far breathier than I intend it to. I hadn’t even realized that I’d sat up in my chair and my body is angled toward his. He has my full, undivided attention. I’m ready to hang on to his every word as I wait to hear more about the beginning of us falling in love.
“After we ate, we said our goodbyes to the chef and had a quiet night in. You were excited to get to know one another out of the public eye. We both knew that us spending time together would catch the attention of the people around us, and at least for the start, we wanted something that was between just the two of us. I opened up a second bottle of wine—Pavillon Blanc, your favorite. And we just talked. We talked about everything we could, enjoying being able to get to know one another without anyone else knowing. It was so good that as you left, you asked about a second date.”
I lean in. “Iasked about the second date?”
He takes a drink of his wine. He’d offered me a glass, but I’d declined. I was already nervous about going over all of the details for the interview tomorrow. I wanted a clear head. “Yes, you did. And I agreed immediately. It was a phenomenal first date.”
“And then I left?”
This makes him smile. “Then you left.”
“What about a firstkiss?” I blurt.
“Kissing on the first date?” he teases, showing off his perfect teeth with a wide smile. “Scandalous.”
I roll my eyes. “I have an ex-boyfriend—not even a boyfriend, really—threatening to release a video of us having sex. A kiss on the first date wouldn’t be the most scandalous thing I’ve ever done.”
His eyes darken as he roughly sets his glass of wine on top of the table. He looks angry, the muscles of his jaw flexing as he clenches it. “He took a private moment of the two of you and did something really fucking shitty. What you did wasn’t scandalous—and I don’t want you to think it is.” His voice is furious, sending shivers down my spine. I wasn’t expecting that tone from him so it takes me by complete surprise.
He’s letting little glimpses of him being protective show…and I like it. A lot.
“Understand?” he asks, his voice still gruff.
All I do is nod because no words come to mind.
Archer leans in, spreading his legs wide so that his knee bumps against mine. I don’t move away from the slight press of our bodies, instead too focused on waiting for what he’s about to say. His eyes flick to my lips for a moment before they meet mine. “For the record, we kissed on the second date. And it was the best kiss you’ve ever had.”
“It was the best kissyouever had,” I correct, trying to tease him to ease the tension in the air around us.
“Yes, it was,” he responds, a cocky smirk on his lips.
For the rest of the night, I find myself laughing far more than I ever thought I would. I’m not quite ready to admit it to myself yet, but I think I really enjoy Archer’s company. It was an easy night with him and far different than I was expecting.
I don’t love how he goes from hot to cold so easily. Hot at the church, cold in the car, and then to this teasing—maybe even flirty—man he was tonight. But it doesn’t bother me enough for me to not have enjoyed the night together.
I climb into the large bed in the guest room he’d pointed meto, reveling in how comfortable the mattress is. Everything about the bed is far more comfortable than I was expecting. As I drift off to sleep, I’m fairly confident that this won’t be as bad as I thought it’d be.
