Page 25 of Sack

“Nope. Because to acknowledge that would be to acknowledge you’re going commando under my sweats.”

“And we don’t want to do that,” she deadpanned.

“No, we don’t.” He was equally as serious.

“Right! Well,” she stood, “I guess I’ll go change and let you take me to dinner.” She quickly skirted around him, ran out the door, and stopped. “Um…”

“Upstairs in my bedroom.”

“Right.”

He watched her run up the stairs. He took a seat on the couch and was still flipping channels, trying to find something to watch when she came back down.

“Let me just grab my bag.” She darted into the office.

“What do you feel like eating?” he asked when she returned.

She shrugged. “I’m not picky.”

“Chinese? I know of a great place on Burnside and 8th.”

“Sounds good.” She made a beeline for the front door.

“The garage is this way.”

“My car’s out front.”

Shit. He forgot she drove there. “We’ll meet at your place, then go out from there.”

“That’s a waste of time and out of your way. I’ll just meet you.”

“I’d like to be able to take you home.”

Her head tilted. “This isn’t a date.”

His teeth ground. “Humor me.”

She stared at him a beat, trying to dissect his reasonings. He could tell her he wanted to watch her walk into her house to know she was locked in and safe for the night. But she’d want to know why, and that he didn’t have an answer for.

She shrugged. “Fine, but we’ll go somewhere closer to my house. We have some great Chinese restaurants in my neighborhood.”

He agreed with a nod and grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter.

“See you in ten.”

He stared at the closed door after she left. His place felt quiet and surprisingly empty now that she was gone. He shook off the weird feeling, locked the front door, and made his way to his car.

“This place has the best potstickers in all of Portland,” Ivy said as Colt held the door to the Chinese restaurant open for her.

“You’ve eaten in every Chinese restaurant in Portland?”

She looked a little sheepish. “Well, no. But they are good here, and they even have a plaque to back it up.” She pointed to a wall near the hostess stand.

“Ah. Sorry I doubted you.”

“Legend has it, potstickers were invented by a chef in the Imperial Court.” She stopped a moment to think. “I can’t remember the date, but a really long time ago. Anyway, he accidentally burned a batch of dumplings, leaving them on the stove so long the water evaporated. He didn’t have time to make a new batch, so he served them burnt side up and called them a new creation.”

“And people loved them,” Colt guessed.

---