Page 8 of Blood and Buttercups

“I don’t know much about wine,” I admit. “I usually order soda when I go out. If I’m feeling extravagant, I get a refill.”

He laughs, looking genuinely amused.

I glance around. “I’ll be honest. I’m feeling a little out of my league.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Though he sounds sincere enough, the compliment makes me uncomfortable.

“You have to tell me your story.” I fold my napkin in my lap and lower my voice. “Are you a crime boss? A black-market entrepreneur?”

He smiles. “I told you; I have no interest in your kidneys.”

“Well, that only leaves one thing then.”

He laughs, sitting back. “And what would that be?”

“You must be a vampire lord.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You just went young adult novel on me.”

“So that’s a no?” I make a disappointed noise. “Well, there goes that.”

“My family is in real estate. I tried my hand at it, and I ended up doing well. I have multiple properties located across the city. This building just happens to be one of them.”

“Building?” I exclaim. “I thought it was just the restaurant.”

He smiles as he takes another sip of his wine.

“Exactly how old are you?” I ask.

“Twenty-nine.”

He’s only a year older than me, and he has all this? Apparently, I didn’t pay enough attention to my high school counselor when she droned on about goal setting.

“What first brought you to the farmer’s market?” I ask. “I’m thinking it’s not your usual scene.”

“You know the Lexington building near the Columbine Meadows Art Gallery?”

“Yes…”

“I bought it last year. I was meeting with my contractors about a few remodels, and I happened to see you at your flower stand. I wanted to meet you. Once I worked up the courage, I found you to be as charming on the inside as the outside.”

“Ohhh,” I say, drawing out the word with a smile. “So, you’re a stalker.”

He laughs, shaking his head like I’m amusing.

Not long later, the food arrives, and we slip into a conversation that’s only mildly awkward. I focus on the meal, glad to have something to occupy at least half of my attention.

I take the last bite of my salmon, momentarily closing my eyes to savor it. Never again will I eat something this decadent.

“Thank you for dinner,” I say after we finish.

“It was my pleasure.”

“Will I see you again next Friday at the market?” I smile. “Or have I lost my shine now?”

“You still have plenty of shine left, Piper. And, yes, I will see you next Friday.”

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