Page 28 of Something Borrowed, Something You

“That’s very nice of you. Maybe I’ll take you up on the shower if you really don’t mind. And then I can find a hotel after we visit the hospital.”

“After dinner, you mean?”

“Dinner?”

“My birthday dinner. You agreed to have dinner with me.”

“God. I totally forgot. It seems like that conversation was a week ago instead of this morning. It’s still your birthday?”

“Yep. But I’m passing the torch to baby Caroline after today. Thirty is the last one I celebrate. After this, it’s all hers. So you’re going to help me celebrate the very last one I get.”

“That’s a lot of pressure. Now I feel like I’m going to have put on a dress and be entertaining and witty.”

Hunter winked. “Feel free to make that dress cut low in the front and showing off a lot of leg.”

“You look beautiful, Natalia.”

After we visited the hospital, Hunter had dropped me off at a hotel so I could check in and get ready for dinner.

“Thank you.” It was the second time he’d complimented me since he’d picked me up. Even though he liked to tease me about sex—some of which was not really teasing—I was somehow certain his praise was sincere tonight. “You don’t look bad yourself for a man in his thirties.”

“Take it easy. I’m about eight hours into my thirties.”

The waitress came to our table. “Can I start you off with something to drink? Tonight’s special drink is a coconut margarita. It has fresh cream of coconut, lime juice, Cointreau, and Patrón tequila. The glass is lined with salted, toasted coconut.”

“Mmm. That sounds delicious. I’ll try one of those,” I said.

Hunter ordered a Coke.

“What? It’s your birthday. Your last birthday. Aren’t you going to join me for a drink?”

“I’m driving, and I have a six a.m. flight.”

I turned to the waitress. “Can you make a virgin coconut margarita?”

“Sure can.”

“He’ll have one of those. And put an umbrella or something in it. It’s his thirtieth birthday.”

She smiled and looked to Hunter for approval to change his order.

He chuckled. “That’s fine. Thanks.”

After she walked away, I looked around at the rooftop Mexican restaurant. The view of a twinkling L.A. was breathtaking.

“This place is great. Do you come here often?”

“First time.”

“Really? I would think this place would be in your dating arsenal—impressive restaurant with a view and a long drink menu on top of a hotel. It’s like a playboy’s one-stop-shopping dream. Couple of drinks… grab a room…”

“I prefer to keep a mattress in the bed of my pickup. It’s cheaper and easier to dump them off when I’m done.”

I laughed. “Smart.”

“You know I’m not really a whore.”

The waitress delivered our drinks, so I sipped mine. It was the most delicious drink I’d ever tasted—like a melted, toasted coconut ice cream bar.

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