Page 91 of Trust My Bodyguard

“Yeah, no. I believe you’ll try. I’m only certain I’ll be laughing as you do.”

I pick up my menu, plotting my game plan. What dosweetpeople do?

“Ever had the creamy wild mushroom soup?” She tilts her head to the side as she reads her menu.

“Yes. It’s delicious. You should have that along with the grilled trout with herbs and a warm apple strudel with vanilla sauce.”

She balks, dropping her menu. “Did you just choose my dinner for me?”

“It’s a good selection.”

“It’s being bossy, Brody. Sweet people don’t do that.”

“This sweet person does.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She glares at me. There’s a spark underneath the apparent anger. She’s asking me to dare her. To do it.

I wave over to the waiter and list her order and mine. The whole time, Ivy glares at me.

After the waiter leaves, I turn back to her, flashing a smile. “How’s that for sweet?”

“You, Brody Hawke, are easily the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.” Yet, there’s no sting behind the words. If I’m not reading too much into it, I can almost hear a playful note in her voice. Like she enjoys me annoying her.

Same.

“Yeah, well. That’s not changing anytime soon. Get used to it.”

“I don’t need to.” She smirks. “Once the case is wrapped up, I’m gone.”

She meant it as a joke, but silence falls between us, and the reality of her words hangs heavy in the air.

What am I doing getting attached to her when she’ll certainly leave? What is she doing looking at me like I have an alternative to the inevitable?

“As long as you are here, you’re going to be treated to it,” I tack on after a while.

I won’t let the date sink to future outcomes we can’t control. We can have this moment and live in it.

“More likemaltreated.” She turns sideways and slaps her hands on the table. “Oh, look, the starter’s here. I don’t have to talk to Mr. Not Sweet But Pretends To Be.”

I wince. “Never name anything again.”

“I’d get a job in the gravestone committee just so I can name yours.” An evil smile glints in her eyes.

“I’ll buy the entire cemetery and make sure you’re laid next to the dumpster with no headstone.”

The waiter pauses and glances between us, a frown lining his forehead. Ivy’s face reddens with barely held-back laughter.

“If anything happens to me,” I tell him seriously, “find this woman.”

She gasps. “Brody!”

“Her name is Doesn’t Know How To Name A Thing. Surname Pain In The Ass.”

While Ivy sputters, looking for a comeback, the waiter shakes his head and lays out our starter. Then he bows and leaves.

“I have a good one!” she nearly yells.

“He’s gone, Ivy.” I glance at the retreating waiter. “Save it for never.”

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