Starlight (The Morgans of New York)

His gaze lingers on my face before it falls to the paper menu that was on the table when we sat down.

This isn’t the type of place that has a dedicated employee at the door waiting to seat people who arrive. There is no reservation system in sight, and you have to whistle to grab the attention of the woman who has been handling the server duties for as long as I can remember.

“The Cheddar Grill,” Berk reads the top of the menu. “I can’t believe there’s a restaurant that only serves grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“And fries, onion rings, and one of the very best cocktails in the state,” I say boldly.

His eyes dart up to meet mine. “I take it you’re having an Astrid Rehn special tonight? Lemonade with a couple of ounces of gin in it?”

I motion to the space between us. “We are having that. We’re going to share one.”

He leans back in the wobbly plastic chair he’s sitting in. “I’m game. I want you to order dinner for me.”

“Me?” I dart a finger into the middle of my chest.

“You’re the regular,” he points out. “Order me your favorite. I know I’ll like it.”

“You’ll love it,” I say with enthusiasm. “It’s a five cheese special with fries on the side.”

He unbuttons his suit coat. “I will need to find a few extra hours to work out this week.”

Resting my elbow on the table, I smile. “Something tells me you’re already in tip-top shape.”

That sends his hand down to pat his stomach. It’s hidden under his white button-down shirt. “I am now, but this five cheese special thing sounds like trouble for my abs.”

“We’ll work off some of the calories when we walk back to my apartment for dessert later.”

His dark brows perk. “Tell me what dessert is, Astrid.”

I lean closer and lower my voice so no one sitting near us can hear me. “Does it matter, Berk?”

With a sinfully sexy smile sitting on his lips, he runs a fingertip over my chin. “Fuck, no.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Astrid

“Can I ask you something, Astrid?”

I glance up to find Berk taking a sip from our shared drink. “Are you going to ask me for forgiveness?”

He tries to control the budding smile coasting over his lips, but he fails. Hard. “Forgiveness? For what?”

I tilt my chin down and point an accusatory finger at him. “You liked that drink. You had more than half of it.”

His gaze darts to the almost empty tumbler that we’ve been sipping from. We had a steady rhythm of each of us taking a drink in turn until I reached for the glass at the same time as he did. His fingers lingered on mine, and we sat like that, touching hands and staring at each other without any words spoken.

The waitress broke the moment when she approached our table to ask how our food was.

“I was thirsty,” he says with a glint in his eye.

I gesture toward the full glass of water sitting next to his plate. “You haven’t touched that at all.”

He picks it up and swallows half of it in one gulp before he places it right back where he found it. “That was an oversight.”

“Admit it.” I sigh. “You kind of like lemonade and gin.”

“I kind of like you,” he counters. “I’m open to trying new things.”

Shaking my head, I chuckle. “Do you like it or not?”

“I’m undecided.” He picks up a fry. “I will admit that the food is amazing. I’m going to need to bring Stevie here. She likes grilled cheese sandwiches almost as much as she likes dessert.”

The urge to ask what else she likes is there, but I push past it.

Suddenly, he drags his chair back from the table. “I need to make a call. It’s coming up on my daughter’s bedtime.”

I nod silently and offer a smile.

“I won’t be long.” He moves to stand. “If you happen to order another drink, I might be inclined to share it with you too.”

I steal a fry from his plate and take a bite of it. “I should have had fries instead of a salad.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Help yourself to mine. I’m open to sharing everything with you.”

I watch him walk away so he can call his daughter from outside the restaurant.

We may never share every part of our lives with each other, but I know that I want to share my bed with him tonight.

An hour later, we’re on our way to my apartment hand-in-hand.

I glance up at Berk. “Earlier, you said you wanted to ask me something. What was it?”

He slows his pace, so I do as well.

“What’s your end goal, Astrid?”

My end goal? Is he asking me where I see my life going? Does he want to know how I envision my future?

It’s the last question I expected to pop out of his mouth, so I stick a sweet smile on and tilt my head. “My end goal for tonight?”