“You’re such a sweet, little thing, aren’t you?”
Marisol wasn’t used to someone talking to her this way. It made her feel flustered. And special. Definitely special.
“I’m making you feel awkward, huh?” he asked.
“Just not used to people talking to me like this.”
“You don’t like it? Want me to stop?”
“No, I do,” she said hastily.
He leaned in towards her. “Good. Because I like it too.” He glanced back down at her plate. “You need to eat a bit more.”
She took another bite of her burger. She’d never had someone encourage her to eat. Her aunt was always telling her that she ate too much. Of course, she lived on air and alcohol so . . .
“Tell you what, eat three more bites of that burger and I’ll buy you an ice cream sundae. They’re pretty good here.”
Ooh yum.
Although she wasn’t sure what was more delicious. The thought of the sundae, or the way he spoke to her. He reminded her of one of the Daddies in CJ Bennet’s books. And he was a cowboy.
Double delicious.
Chill, girl. You barely know him.
Even though she didn’t intend to order the sundae, she took three hasty bites and he laughed at her. She blushed as she realized what she’d done. Seems her self-control was shot.
“That was cute. Although make sure you chew all that, I don’t want you to choke on such a big mouthful.”
Urgh. That was so not attractive, Marisol. Way to act like a sophisticated grown-up.
As she was chewing, her phone beeped and she pulled it out of her bag. She sighed as she realized it was nearly time to head back. She swallowed and drank down some of her diet coke.
Yum.
“That was my alarm. I have to get back to work,” she explained as she slid the phone away.
“You set an alarm as a reminder?”
“Otherwise I tend to forget. One day, I was three hours late getting back because I got caught up in a book. My aunt was very unhappy with me.”
“She owns the spa, right?”
She nodded as he raised his hand to the waitress to ask for the bill.
“Next time, I’ll get you that sundae.”
She didn’t say anything. She doubted there would be a next time, but it was nice that he was thinking about it. She wished she could offer to pay. It seemed like that would be more polite.
“Next time it’s my turn to pay,” she blurted out as the waitress dropped the bill and moved away to another table.
He turned and gave her a firm look. “Definitely not. Old-fashioned views, remember?”
She bit her lip. It didn’t feel right somehow.
“Tell you what, you can repay me by giving me your phone number.”
“You want my phone number?” Was he serious?