Page 18 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

The visual in my mind brought about instant revulsion, and it must’ve been the same for Sumner. A line formed between his brows as he frowned—the first time I’d ever seen him do so. “Margot,” he all but whispered. “Not that.”

I couldn’t pinpoint what was strange about him saying my name until I realized he dropped themiss. It solidifiedmy decision more, and I fought off a smile. “If you want to be friends, that’s what you have to order.”

Whether he intentionally gave his puppy dog pleading gaze, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t budge underneath it. Instead, it just made me smile, though it was small. Sumner’s eyes, much like they had Saturday night, dropped to my mouth. And, much like Saturday night, something in my stomach tightened in response. “Fine.”

I let him order it with a side of bacon strips and hashbrowns—I wasn’tthattorturous. I ended up ordering a Belgian waffle, though I’m sure it would taste nothing like the waffles from the country of origin. Anything had to be better than what he got, though.

“I have another question,” I said when the waitress went to relay our order, once more leaving us alone. “When I kissed you, why did you just stand there? Why didn’t you push me away?”

Sumner pressed his lips together again, in a way that looked like he tucked them into his mouth as he did so. “We should…” He cleared his throat. “We should probably forget that happened, okay?”

“And why is that?”

“For plenty of reasons. I’m technically your employee now, for one. We can’t really be friends if we’ve kissed, for two. And for three…” Sumner couldn’t quite look me in the eye; instead, it looked as if he focused on my forehead. “It’s never going to happen again.”

“Ooh.” I leaned back further in my seat, and this time, I did stretch my legs out further. I couldn’t find his underneath the table. “Thatsounds like a challenge, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t appear amused. “I don’t want to upset Aaron.”

Any of my own amusement vanished. It was funny how a simple name could do that, as if pulling a drain on a sink and letting all the water out.

“I’d hate for it to create a problem for things,” Sumner went on. “Especially when you only did it to prove a point about something.”

I looked out the window at the street, where a car would pass by here and there. If I leaned closer to the glass, I would’ve been able to see Pierre’s from here, or at least the top of the building it resided in. I wished I had gone there instead. Sumner could eat his beans and toast himself. “Why did you do it?” I repeated as if he hadn’t spoken, my voice flatter than before. “Why didn’t you push me away?”

I half expected him to ignore the question a second time, but, reluctantly, he said, “You act like I had time to. It was like you’d been a little kid stealing a kiss behind a slide or something—I barely had any time to react before you were pulling away. Besides… it wasn’t that much of a hardship. A pretty girl kissing me?—”

“You think I’m pretty?”

I’d let far too much surprise seep into my tone than I intended. Sumner’s word choice just didn’t make sense to me, and I didn’t think it’d been a joke either.Pretty. It wasn’t a word anyone had used to describe me, ever. I didn’t wear enough makeup to be pretty, didn’t wear the right clothes to be pretty. I didn’t style my hair or smile enough. I wore men’s clothes and had a poor personality. I wasn’tpretty.

At first, Sumner almost seemed embarrassed, as if he hadn’t meant for the words to slip through, but that morphed into something different the longer we stared at each other. His gaze bounced over my expression, as if gauging the sincerity of my bewilderment. I wondered if he was taking me in—my suit, my hair, my stature—and was changing his mind.Mmm, she’s right, he probably thought.Pretty isn’t the right word.

“God,” Sumner murmured, something in his eyes shifting. “They ate you right up, didn’t they?”

I frowned, because the words were so quiet that it was almost as if he hadn’t meant for them to come out.

Before I had a chance to say anything, though, the waitress returned and laid down our plates, and all thought of our conversation sprinted away in fear. Sumner’s features matched what my face felt like. “Noway.”

The plate she’d laid in front of him had to be something they scraped up from the floor. Surely it wasn’t something edible. Surely it wasn’t something peoplepaidto eat. There was a piece of bread buried by reddish-tan colored beans, swimming in some sort of red base. It oozed off the sides of the toasted bread, pooling on the plate. She laid the hashbrowns and bacon down beside it, but I couldn’t look away from his main plate.

A part of me wondered if I’d gone too far, but the other part of me was too entertained.

“How’s everything looking for you?” the waitress asked good-naturedly, ignoring Sumner’s outburst.

“Fantastic,” I answered before Sumner could, picking up my silverware. “Thank you so much.”

“It’ssupposedto look like that?” he demanded. Thestench of it hit him then, and he jerked back in his seat, squeezing his nose between his finger and thumb. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

I drew my attention away long enough to look at my waffle, which didn’t look as bad as whatever monstrosity donned his plate. At least mine appeared edible. I’d been to England on multiple occasions, though had never experienced the trauma that was beans on toast.

“The price of our friendship isn’t very appetizing, is it?” I murmured as I applied the butter to my waffle, waiting for the mild nausea from the sight of his plate to pass. “You might be better off remaining my secretary.”

Sumner regarded the plate as if it were stewed garbage, no doubt agreeing with me.

I found myself waiting for him to move before taking a bite myself. He’d picked up his own silverware, but didn’t make any move toward the oozing beans. Disappointment trickled in at his hesitation, but I forced it down. “Order something else,” I said, my tone flattening. “And next time, we’ll go to the place I want?—”

In one sharp movement, Sumner stabbed into the beans on toast, scooped it up onto his fork, and shoved the bite into his mouth. I gasped on instinct, bracing myself for him to choke or gag on the taste that no doubt had to mimic its scent. Sumner chewed fearfully, but slowly the grimace on his face blended into a neutral expression.

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