Page 72 of Trying Sophie

“Yeah, that’d be great,” I answered, drinking down the rest of my coffee and setting the mug on the table.

Despite my “no touching” rule, Declan rested his palm against the small of my back as he guided me out of the cafe. Out on the street, he moved to my right and I fell in step next to him.

“I read your blog, you know.”

“You might’ve mentioned that,” I answered, remembering how he’d persuaded me to spend today with him by bringing up my advertisers’ expectations.

“Yeah, I guess I did.” He snickered, then grew serious. “The thing is, I might be one of those people who formed an impression of who you are based on how and what you write.”

Knowing he’d followed my life seemed more relevant now than it had before. Now that he knew I struggled with that side of myself, I wondered who he thought I was, deep down inside.

“Do you mind me asking what your impression of me was?”

I pulled my gloves out of my purse and concentrated on putting them on so I didn’t have to look at him when he answered.

“Cian didn’t tell you?”

My head shot up. “Cian?”

He stopped walking and I slowed my steps and turned to face him. I watched him, trying to understand why he’d asked as he looked everywhere but at me.

“It’s just that Cian and I had a similar conversation. About you,” he added, in case I hadn’t comprehended his meaning.

Well isn’t that interesting?I thought.

“And what, precisely, did this conversation entail?”

Declan dropped his head forward and gripped the back of his neck. Was it strange that after knowing him for such a short amount of time, I could read his body language so well? Much like the shoulder shrug I’d given him shit about a couple of weeks ago, he only did this when he was uncomfortable or embarrassed. He’d done it quite a few times this morning.

“We were … ehm …” He looked to the left of my face, over my shoulder, avoiding eye contact again.

With a self-deprecating laugh to ease some of the tension, I said, “If you don’t spit it out, I’m only going to imagine what you said and I warn you, I have a very active imagination.”

On a dime, his whole demeanor changed. “I do, too.”

A sly grin broke out across his handsome face.

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed. “You really can’t turn it off, can you?”

His laughter mingled with mine. “Sorry. It’s kind of second nature. I really can’t help it.” And then, hopefully, “Some people find it charming.”

“I’m sure they do,” I replied, shifting my feet to try and warm up. The sun was shining for once but it was bitterly cold and windy. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You might have said that a time or two,” he answered. “Let’s get moving to warm you up. We’re almost to our second stop.”

We walked half a block or so in companionable silence, weaving our way through the growing throngs of tourists pouring out onto the streets.

“You never answered my question,” I reminded him as we veered in opposite directions around a middle-aged couple in matching University of Indiana sweatshirts.

“I know,” he smirked when we came back together. “I was hoping you’d forgotten.”

“Well, I haven’t, so you better just tell me or I’m going to keep harassing you. I would tell you how determined I can be when I want something, but I know you’d just turn my statement into some sort of sexual double entendre.”

I pointed my finger and rested it against his shoulder. “Just so you know, I’m onto you.”

He groaned, then laughed which is how I realized I’d gone and done it again. Laughing myself, I shoved him off the curb.

“What?” he asked. “You’re making it too easy. It’s like you’re not even trying.”

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