Page 24 of Pucks and Likes

“I don’t drink anymore,” she says, cutting me off, and I bring in my brows. “Just a blackberry lemonade for me.”

The waiter looks at me, and I nod. “Same for me.”

Without looking at me, her eyes on the menu, she says, “You can still drink.”

“Not if you aren’t.” I wait for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t say anything else, I ask, “When did you stop drinking?”

She shrugs. “Just lost the taste for it,” she says as she holds the menu right in front of her face.

I reach out, lowering it.

Her eyes cut to mine from under her lashes, and I say, “Don’t hide from me.”

She shifts her eyes back to the menu without comment, and I watch as she reads it. Her eyes move quickly over all the choices. I don’t need to look at the menu. I get the same thing every time.

“Are you getting the mushroom risotto?”

“I am.” I cover my mouth to hide my grin. “You’re welcome to have some.”

She nods as she brings her top lip between her teeth. “I’ll get the chicken piccata.”

“Would you want to share a caprese?”

“Do I love food?”

I grin at her direct gaze, the shy little smirk she is holding back. “I know you do.”

“Then order the caprese.”

“I will for a kiss,” I challenge, and she snorts.

“I’ll order my own damn caprese,” she throws back with smug satisfaction, like I knew she would.

I love that sass.

“And then kiss me just the same?”

She holds my gaze, keeping the menu between us like a shield. “Let’s get through this dinner and see if you even want to kiss me after.”

Her voice is quiet, shy, and I don’t understand. Unable to resist and hating the nervousness in her expression, I let my eyes drop to her lips, taking in their glossy, inviting presence before meeting her gaze once more. “There isn’t a moment when I don’t want to kiss you, mami.”

Her lips part as she clutches the menu. We stare at each other, neither of us saying a single word until the waiter comes over to set down our drinks. She tears her gaze from mine, letting out a long breath before she orders the caprese and the piccata. I don’t look away from her beautiful, flushed face as I order, and I love how her eyes glow. He takes our menus with a thanks, and I lean back in my chair.

Elliot sits ramrod straight, looking everywhere but at me. Her knee is bouncing, and the pulse in her neck is visibly pounding.

“What’s wrong?” I find myself asking. “Breathe. This isn’t new for us.”

She swallows hard and takes a deep breath before letting it out. Her leg stops, but I can still see her pulse fluttering. “Are you upset about being back?”

“I was, but not anymore.”

Her eyes flash with surprise, but she looks away when the waiter brings out the salad. I love the glint in her eyes as they settle on the mouthwatering food in front of us. We both lean in, grabbing for the same delicious homemade crostini, and our fingers clash. Her eyes shoot up to mine as I tangle my fingers with hers, rubbing my thumb along the inside of her thumb and forefinger. Even with the small touch, I feel her everywhere. Her eyes darken with heat, and I almost yank her to me—the hell with the food and table—but instead, I let go and push the crostini to her. She gives me a little bitty smile as she piles on the caprese.

I do the same. “What have you been up to?”

She takes a bite on purpose and then holds up a finger. I roll my eyes, unsure why she needs time to answer me. It’s a pretty straightforward question. When she swallows, she says, “Just working, hanging out with the girls, and helping with the bookshop—until I got kicked out. I have half a mind to tell Louisa I won’t help when she goes back to Nashville with Ciaran.”

I raise a brow. “She kicked you out? Where are you staying?”

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