Page 18 of My Small Town Silver Fox Billionaire

“How do I eat this?”

I chuckle, grabbing the tools.

“Let me show you.”

I explain how to crack it open, starting with the head and then to the base. Unlike the lobsters sold in regular restaurants, these are giant and also are a rarity. We eat, not saying much to one another. After we finish our food, the server takes it.

“And one crème brulee to share,” I whisper. He nods, scurrying off. As he runs away, I look over at Sara.

“You stuck around,” I say.

“Yeah, well, where else could I go?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a little different. Not used to that.”

“You’re not used to people sticking around during dates.”

“It’s different,” I explain. “Most of the time, when they find out that I’m wealthy, they either want to distance themselves or ask me for money.”

Sara wipes her hands and puts the toilette down. “Why would I run away?”

“You’re not . . . mad I didn’t say anything?”

“No way!” she replies. “In fact, I figure you must have worked very hard for it. So that’s cool!”

It’s . . . cool? This is an interesting development.

“You’d be surprised at how many women get upset when they learn that I have wealth.”

“Why would I be upset, though?”

I explain that some women might feel intimidated or that they would not feel like an equal partner with a wealthy man. And some feel that they would be bound into social responsibilities that they are not ready for.

“Robert, you obviously made your lot. You’re successful, and I can’t fault you for doing what you do. In fact, who wouldn’t want to be where you are at such a young age,” she says. I stifle a laugh, realizing she may think that it’s pure luck. In reality, it’s the fruits of labor, and betrayal, that drove me to business above all else.

“I’m glad you think so.”

The crème brulee arrives with quite a flourish. The server hands me the spoons, and I give one to Sara, who gazes at the dish and then back at me.

“Wait, are we—”

“Yes. Sharing.”

“Oh. Okay.”

We each dig in, taking a bite of the dish. Our spoons clang together, and I try not to pull away on instinct, but this is a littlebit different from what I even thought would happen. As we eat, I look at Sara, who savors the taste.

Her eyes light up, and she slowly chews it, moaning in approval at the taste.

“Gosh, this is good!”

“Isn’t it? They make it with a special recipe here. I don’t know what it is, obviously, but I adore it,” I say.

“I agree. This may be the best dish I’ve ever had.”

We finish, and I fold the napkin and place it to the side. The server heads over and hands me the check, and I give him my card. He walks off, and Sara watches with wide eyes. “You just give it to him like that.”

“Yeah. Money isn’t an issue here, Sara. I wanted to take you out.”

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