When Taylor gave his drink order, Sam smiled and said, “Same. Extra heavy on the whipped cream, please.”
Once they were alone, he nudged her with his foot under the booth. “Copycat.”
She shrugged. “I’m all right with that.”
He laid his paper napkin on his lap and set his silverware on the placemat carefully. Despite the size of his bank account, he seemed just as at home in a Mom and Pop diner as a five-star restaurant. No matter where they went and what they did, he managed to keep his cool.
“How was work today?” he asked politely, giving her his full attention now that his silverware was in order. “Busy?”
“Very.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I met with someone who is on the verge of losing everything and came up with a feasible solution to save it all with my boss.”
He frowned. “What did you—?”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “I’m not telling secrets to the enemy.”
For a second, he looked offended. “I’m not the enemy.”
She snorted.
He avoided her gaze, straightening his napkin in his lap.
They fell into an awkward silence.
She picked up her napkin and silverware, regretting her words already. Sure, she was a bit biased, considering her past and her profession, but he wasn’t a bad guy. In all honesty, he might be one of the nicest men she knew…
When he wasn’t making her laugh until she cried or being so ridiculous she worried she might cause permanent eye damage from rolling her eyes too much, he was making her scream out his name in bed or saying things that were so beautifully sweet that he literally stole her breath away. He had an annoyingly persistent habit of doing that.
If she wasn’t careful, she might die.
Then again…there were worse ways to go.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asked, breaking the tension.
He lifted his head, pinning her down with one of his intense stares. “Only if I get the same right, of equal or lesser value.”
There he went again, turning a simple conversation into a business deal. “Fair enough,” she allowed.
He inclined his head. “Go on.”
“When did you set your routines? Like…with the food and stuff?” She tapped her fingers on her right thigh. “Was your childhood so set in stone?”
He shook his head. “My mother worked two jobs, sometimes three, and a different person watched us every night until I was old enough to take care of myself. None of them could cook anything besides spaghetti, and we never had anything exciting to eat unless it was the discount meat at the store that was about to expire. Even that was a rare treat saved for special occasions like birthdays or holidays. The pickings were slim and boring, but it was all I had, even through college.”
She swallowed, the contrast between their childhoods slapping her in the face. Up until her senior year in high school, she’d had a personal chef who made her whatever she wanted at any hour of the night, even if Sam woke her up at midnight because she was hungry—something she was ashamed to admit she had done on a frequent basis.
Back then, she’d been spoiled rotten, and it had shown.
“So after college, I had money in my account and endless possibilities at my fingertips. It was—too much for a kid who had never had much of anything in his life at all. Overwhelming, even
.”
Nodding, she leaned closer. “So you came up with a system…”
“And stuck with it.” He shrugged. “It works for me.”
“Yeah. I get that.”
The waiter brought their hot chocolates, and she skimmed the diner as he set them down carefully. There was a family of four a few booths over, and the children stared at their hot chocolates with wistful eyes. Sam had seen it enough to recognize it on sight. She waved at the youngest girl, and the child quickly turned away, picking up her water.