Page 3 of If Tomorrow Never Comes

Well. She’d just told a big fat lie because she’d 100 percent write home about this man.

She blinked, recovering. “I did.”

The man’s expression transformed to something with mock severity, but one corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re wrong.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Sorry?”

“Cheesecake isn’t pie.”

Her spine straightened. “It most certainly is.”

“How do you figure?”

She’d have been thrown off by the conversation if she hadn’t argued it repeatedly with Yuka over the years. “I don’t care if it’s in the name; it’s not a cake. Cakes are bread-like and have batter that rises. Cheesecake is neither of those things.”

“You’re right,” he conceded, but before she could sayI know, he added, “It’s not pieorcake.”

She opened her mouth, then paused for a second. “What is it, then?”

“A tart.”

“A what?”

“Tart.” He grinned then, transforming his face into something even more beautiful, which was really saying something. He seemed pleasedwith himself in a way that, strangely, didn’t seem arrogant. He just looked ... happy.

Elliott couldn’t help but smile, but narrowed her eyes and crossed her legs. His eyes dropped briefly as she did. “Do tell. How did you come to that conclusion?”

She tilted her head as she half listened to his monologue about pastry shells, custard, and a lack of pastry layering on top, inconveniently cataloging details of this man to memory. He looked to be around thirty, give or take a few years. His hair was slightly disheveled in that I-know-it-looks-good-and-I-don’t-care-enough-to-fix-it kind of way, and on closer inspection, his eyes were a muted green, like the needles on the pine trees at her parents’ house. Hazel, maybe? His nose was straight and speckled with a few tiny freckles, and his cheekbones sloped to an angular, defined jaw. A tiny dimple dented his skin on the left side of his mouth as he smiled and took a pull from his beer, waiting for her response.

For a second she thought he might have bested her, which she’d never admit, but then something came to her. “What about pecan pie? It doesn’t have a pastry layer on top. No one questions its identity as pie.”

“Ah, but pecan pie isn’t filled with custard.”

“What about pumpkin?”

His expression faltered for a second. “Pumpkin pie may be in question, you’re right. Maybe it’s a tart, too.”

She cocked a brow. “Or they’re both pies, like I said.”But none of them are cakes,she wanted to tell Yuka.

Also, who was she right now? Elliott wasn’t shy, per se, but she wasn’t normally the type to kick off an argument with a complete stranger. Yet here she was, and thoroughly enjoying herself, too.

“Jamie, are you mansplaining cheesecake to your date?”

Elliott startled at the boom of the bartender’s voice. His eyes were on the stranger beside her, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

Her seatmate darted a glance at her. “Damn, Gus. She’s not, um—”

“He ... Jamie?” She paused in question; was that what the bartender called him? Gus nodded. “Wasmansplaining. But we’re not on a date.”

Gus blinked at her, then frowned at Jamie. “When we talked earlier, I thought you said ...?”

Jamie’s neck flushed. “This isn’t her. I think I got stood up.” He checked his watch. “Twenty-five minutes is late enough to call it, yeah?”

Elliott winced and Gus nodded sagely. “Probably. Sorry, man.”

Jamie shrugged, draining the final drops of his beer. “It’s fine.” He slid his bottle forward. “Give me another on the house, will you? Now that you’ve embarrassed me in front of a pretty woman.”

Smirking, Gus took the bottle. “I think you were embarrassing yourself, but okay.”

---