Page 15 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

At that exact moment, Sumner looked over his shoulder and found me staring. “Are—are you checking out my butt?”

“Would you be offended if I said yes?”

He immediately fell back the half-step to match my pace, refusing to be a step ahead anymore. He put his hands behind his back. “I’m not sure this is going to work if you’re going to look at my butt.”

“You can look at mine if you’d like.”

Sumner choked a little on the breath he drew in, the tips of his ears growing red. He seemed to blush quite easily.

“If you must know, I’m not looking for me.” I blinked at him, trying to convey my lack of interest—trying tofeignmy lack of interest. “Someone even asked me to send a picture. Be grateful I’m just looking.”

“Someone.” He didn’t ask who it was, but just kept his hands behind his back. We walked side by side on the cracked sidewalk. His shoulder brushed the edge of my jacket with each movement. “So, youdohave friends?”

“She’s more of a frenemy.” Nancy would’ve concurred with the term.

The tall building Pierre’s sat atop of came into view, and my heart warmed at the sight.

Sumner halted in the middle of the sidewalk. “Can we eat here?” He looked through a window set into a brick building at our left.

I didn’t even look at the restaurant’s sign. “No.”

“Let’s go to your fancy place when I’m dressed right for it,” he pressed, eyes light as he looked at me. Now that I thought it once, I couldn’t get it out of my head—the only term that came to mind was that it was very much sopuppy-like. “Come on, doesn’t diner food sound really good right about now?”

It absolutely did not. Did diner food ever soundgood? Now I did look up at the signage, andO’Hare’sgreeted me in lettering that was barely legible. Sumner didn’t know how much of a downgrade it was, ditching Pierre’s in favor of a dingy hole-in-the-wall diner where everything probably tasted of grease.

Being alone is a choice, Nancy had said.

Clearly, because if I’d been alone, I would’ve gone to the rooftop restaurant and enjoyed my avocado toast.

Apparently, though, being alonewasn’ta choice, because before I could refuse a second time, Sumner snagged my wrist and tugged my unwilling feet toward the diner’s door.

“It’ll be good,” Sumner tried to assure as he wrenched the fingerprinted glass door open.

And I wasn’t buying it. “It’ll taste like heartburn.”

While people would’ve stared at Sumner as he entered at Pierre’s wondering if he was the help, this crowd of people gawked atmeas we walked in. Some patrons even stopped mid-bite to gape at the overdressed woman who sauntered into the space.

“Sit wherever,” came a disembodied voice from somewhere in the diner, but I was too distracted with the actual prospect. Sit… where? Some tables weren’teven bussed free of dishes, while others had crumbs from leftover customers dotting the surface.

“Let’s take the booth,” Sumner said as he walked toward the table near the window, leaving me to stare with mild horror after him.

My two decades of pushing through to do something when I didn’t want to kicked in, forcing my steps toward him. I stared at the cracked red booth seat for a long moment, ultimately pulling the handkerchief out of my pocket to drape on its surface before sitting. Sumner watched in a way that appeared as if he were fighting a smile.

“Note to self,” I said, staring at a splatter of what looked like gravy dried to the table’s surface. “Do not let Sumner Pennington pick eating establishments.”

“I’ll admit, the atmosphere’s probably different from what you’re used to.” Sumner laughed as he reached for the menus tucked at the end of the table, and he pried them apart with a sticking sound. “But it’s cool to try new places sometimes.”

“Nice? I wouldn’t be surprised to find a cockroach underneath the table.”

A woman in jeans came over to take our drink order. Sumner laid his menu on the table and looked it over while I looked at him. I’d long since grown used to my own company, enjoying meals in solitude. Sumner must’ve felt my eyes on him and looked up, doing a double take at my stare. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that if I end up with food poisoning, it’s your fault.”

“Well,I’mthinking about eggs. And bacon—lots of bacon.”

“AndI’mthinking about my avocado toast with smoked salmon.” I gave him a flat stare. “If I can’t have what I want, neither can you.”

He took my stubbornness in stride. “Fine, pick the worst item on the menu, and I’ll have that for breakfast.”

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