Page 33 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

“It’s good?” Blake searches my eyes, seeking approval. Eager to please. Unexpected.

“It is,” I admit. It’s hard to focus on eating when he looks at me like that. “It actually is.”

For a moment, we’re both engrossed in food. Hungrier than I thought, my meal’s disappearing in a hurry and I make myself slow down. Wolfing food down like a man who hasn’t eaten in a week probably sends the wrong message, like I’m getting ready to bolt. I mean, I might, but not yet. I still can’t reconcile the fact that I’m here with Blake in a corner over candlelight. Him, me, and a promenade of legumes between us.

“How was the filming today?” I ask curiously. “I made myself scarce so as not to interfere. Or make some interruption.”

“Good. Rehearsals went as planned, no hiccups. I mean, we’ve rehearsed before but it’s always a bit different when you’re on set and filming.”

“Do you…normally do romantic comedies?”

“I’ll do anything that I can. Rom-coms are fun, though. I had a small part in a superhero film in the winter, another in a historical drama after that. And a rom-com before this one too.”

“Sounds busy.”

“Yes and no. Some parts are bigger than others.”

“What’s the best part about rom-coms, as you say?” I study him, setting down my cutlery in favor of water.

Blake purses his lips slightly. He sips water too. “The kissing.”

I gawp.

He laughs at my expression. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“Now you’re making fun.”

“You give such good reactions, though. But to answer your question… I don’t know, they’re playful.”

“Playful?” I say this like it’s a foreign word that sits awkwardly on my tongue.

His lips quirk, some secret delight. “Mmmhmm. You wanna play with me?”

“Oh—”

Oxygen vacates my lungs in a rush. I’m in a permanent blush by this point and I look anywhere than at him.

“Filthy boy,” he teases. “That wasn’t even what I meant.”

“It…wasn’t?”

“I mean…what do you do for fun, Aubrey?” He savors my name, soft on his tongue. Like something worth lingering over.

It’s entirely unnerving. I avoid his gaze again in favor of chasing a wayward lentil around my plate with my fork, one of the last survivors. Giving up, I set the fork down and twist the unbleached, hemp, bamboo something-or-other—or is it linen?—chic vegan napkin in my hands.

“Fun?” I ask weakly. God, he would have to bring up fun, wouldn’t he?

“How do you relax?”

“Oh. I don’t.”

Blake’s eyebrows shoot up as he frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…I don’t have time. Not with a business,” I say a bit too fast. I stare at the napkin. Maybe it’s linen. I glance up at last and continue to fidget with my napkin. “Not with trying to keep the shop afloat. I work all of the time. There’s always more work to do than there is time, running a shop.”

“No fun ever?”

“Nah. I’ll leave that to the other punters who deal in fun. Fun-free, me.”

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