“I’m taking you out to dinner.”
Dinner? Her heart sped forward and her stomach felt fluttery. Had that just happened? Had she misheard? No. Definitely not. He’d asked her to dinner.
So it wasn’t just her who was feeling the chemistry. He was too.
She couldn’t believe this was happening. He’d actually asked her out. On a date. A proper date. Not one randomly assigned by some app.
A man she really liked, who liked her back and wanted to spend time with her.
She had a feeling that a date with him would be unlike any of her other dates. No sitting across from him trying to haul up her sinking heart while she pinned a fake smile on her face and tried to pretend she was interested in a monologue.
Ethan was a great listener. And she felt relaxed with him.
It promised to be an amazing evening. Possibly the first truly excellent first date of her life.
“Thanks,” she croaked. “I’d like that.”
He smiled. “It’s the least I can do after you moved in here to help.”
She went from elation to disappointment in less time than it took Madi to devour a dog treat. So it wasn’t a proper date.
It was a thank-you.
Why was she such a ridiculous optimist? She needed to keep hope locked in a cupboard somewhere instead of letting it soar uncontrolled into the stratosphere.
In the meantime, she needed to hope that all her fantasies hadn’t played out across her face.
“You’re paying me for that. Big-time.”
“I know, but you and I both know it’s not about the money.” He slid the mugs into the dishwasher. “We are going to dinner, and you are going to relax and talk and build your confidence. And if you stammer, who cares?”
She would care. She would care a great deal.
“So what you’re suggesting is a kind of dating master class.” Not even a thank-you. It was more of a training session. Great. It was becoming harder and harder to keep the smile on her face.
“If you want to call it that. You helped me out. I want to help you out.”
Hope shriveled and died, probably never to be resurrected.
The chemistry she’d imagined had been on her side alone. It wasn’t that he was overwhelmed by the sight of her in her butterfly pajamas. It wasn’t that he wanted to rip them off and have wild sex with her on every available surface. She wasn’t that sort of woman. No, she was the sort of woman men wanted to help. Not the sort they wanted to help themselves to.
Ethan was a doctor. He wanted to fix her.
Her confidence deflated like a giant balloon.
“I don’t need training,” she said, “because I’m not going on any more dates for a while.”
“But you never know when you might need those skills. And I’d like to buy you dinner. As a thank-you.”
A thank-you. She would have rather he’d sent her a card.
“I don’t need thanks.”
“I’m working tomorrow, so it will have to be Friday.”
“We can’t leave Madi.”
“There’s a great Italian place a block away. We’ll be gone for two hours. Three at most.”