I bite the corner of my bottom lip. “He didn’t.”
His brow furrows. “You lost me.”
“He thought she was someone else.” I glance at the tattoo on my wrist. “Apparently, a woman who won a baking competition show around that time looked like my mom, and the man was convinced that he was talking to the champion.”
Berk taps his finger on the table. “How did your mom handle that?”
“Like a pro.” I chuckle. “He kept asking her what the secret ingredient in her cherry pie was, so she told him it was gin and a splash of freshly squeezed lemon juice.”
His gaze drops to my wrist. “Becky Byrd knew how to make an impact on people, didn’t she?”
“Everyone she met.”
“Just like her daughter.” He looks into my eyes. “You had your first drink with her. It was a London lemonade.”
Surprised that he pieced that together, I smile. “I did.”
He clears his throat. “Maybe I should try one again the next time I hear Sweet Night Sky.”
“You should,” I say quietly. “I think you’ll like it.”
He catches my hand in his again. “I think I will, too, if I’m sharing it with you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Astrid
“Do you always order this many desserts when you go out for dinner?”
“My daughter does.” Berk laughs. “Stevie always asks to see the dessert menu before we order dinner. We bail on the place if it’s not up to her standards.”
“I like her,” I blurt out without thinking.
I can’t like her. I don’t know her and never will.
This dinner is a prelude to a fuck. That’s all it is.
It’s also likely the only meal we’ll ever have together because I have no intention of spending the night with him so we can share an awkward conversation over room service breakfast tomorrow.
He hasn’t come right out and said that we’re going up to a hotel room after dinner, but when his phone chimed earlier, he reached into the pocket of his jacket.
With a gentle tug of his hand, the phone appeared along with a key card for the hotel that this restaurant is in.
He scooped that up quickly without a word to me.
I know where this is headed.
“Everyone likes Stevie,” he says quietly. “She’s a good kid. Kind, funny, and she always speaks her mind.”
“Those are the best qualities to have.”
“She’s amazing.” His gaze wanders to something behind me. “We’re going to shut this place down.”
I glance around and suddenly realize that the restaurant is almost vacant. The only other diners are clear across the big open space on their feet about to leave.
“What time is it?” I ask, convinced that it can’t be that late.
We did fall into an effortless conversation about the merits of busking in this city. I told him a few stories about some of my most memorable experiences, including when a man dropped to one knee and proposed to his girlfriend as I sang her favorite song at his request.
Another story that Berk listened to with a smile on his face involved an older man and his grandchildren. They broke out in dance in front of me and kept at it through a set of six upbeat tunes.
He tipped me five hundred dollars and asked me to autograph the hat on his head. It was one of the best Saturday mornings of my life.
Berk glances at his watch. “It’s almost one.”
“One?” I repeat. “How?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Time flies when you’re with exquisite company.”
I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that we met up almost four hours ago.
This dinner has been fun and easy. There hasn’t been a moment of awkward silence. We drifted from course to course through conversations about my music, his work, and the city we both call home.
Berk raises his hand to beckon the server over to our table. “I’m going to settle up unless there’s something else you’d like. Maybe a quick London Lemonade?”
I catch the hint of amusement in his tone, so I smile. “I’m good.”
“Me too,” he whispers. “This has been a pleasure, Astrid.”
The real pleasure is yet to come, and I, for one, can’t wait to get up to his hotel room.
Not wanting to seem too eager, I hold that in and sigh. “For me too, Berk. Thank you for dinner.”
He turns his attention to the server as I smooth my hands over the skirt of my dress. Sucking in a deep breath, I silently tell myself to enjoy every moment of what’s to come.
The server glances down at the credit card Berk hands him. “The hotel has a fleet of cars, Mr. Morgan. We have access to them for our guests in the event they need a ride home. Seeing as how late it is, would you like me to call one of our drivers to meet you out front?”
Berk glances at me, swallows hard, and then looks up at the server. “Yes. Thank you. That would be great.”