Page 5 of Look My Way
“I see. And what kind of work would that be?” I lower my eyes to the bag as if expecting to find the answers peeking out somewhere.
“I’m a full-time writer.”
My interest in him only grows. It’s not every day you come across someone with a job title like that one. It sounds a hell of a lot more interesting than what I do for a living, although the tools required for my job have come in hand in so many other ways. “What kind of writer? Anything I may have read?”
“Depends. Do you read romantic suspense novels?”
“I could.”
“So, no.” He chuckles.
“I don’t have a whole lot of time to read these days, but I imagine I could find some for the right author.” I waggle my brows, and this time when his lips turn up it comes easy. Okay, make that a possible two new hobbies.
“So . . .” I continue, not wanting to give him a chance to change the subject too soon. “Where would one find your books? Online only? Certain bookstores?”
“Both.” He tugs at his shirt sleeve, nibbling on his lip.
“You going to tell me the name you write under?”
“Maybe.” There’s that genuine smile again. I’ve only witnessed it twice and already see myself growing addicted. Something tells me he doesn’t give them often, and for some reason I’m not okay with that idea.
“So, no,” I say, repeating his earlier words with a grin on my face.
Chuckling, his head lowers, and he sighs. “Wren Michaels. But if you do end up reading something of mine, don’t tell me if you hate it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I narrow in on him. “Is this your way of inviting me to lunch again?”
His cheeks pinken. “I . . . how did you get that from what I said?”
“I mean, how else will I tell you how amazing it is?” I lean in closer, and he blushes again.
And now I’ve found something I like making him do as much as I like getting him to smile. What else will there be?
“I guess you have a point there. What’s the reason for us having lunch together today?”
“It’s my way of thanking you for saving my life. I kind of hoped you’d be here again—in a non-creepy way—so I could repay you by buying you food.”
“In a non-creepy way, huh?” He lets out an awkward laugh. “And that’s not necessary. I happened to be at the right place at the right time is all. I’m not some hero or anything.”
“I politely disagree.”
His eyes hook on mine, lighting up like they did the day he saved me. He’s about to say something when the waitress comes back, placing my drink in front of me. “Can I get you something to drink, hun?”
“Just a water please,” he answers almost too quietly, like he’s afraid of speaking too loudly, and giving himself time to choose each word carefully, like he’s rehearsing his response in his head first.
What has you so afraid, tesoro?
Her eyes go from him to me. “Do you two need some more time to look over the menu?”
“I’m ready if he is,” I quickly say.
“I’ll take my usual.” He hands her his menu, and I finally decide I’m in the mood for chicken tenders, setting my menu on his after telling the waitress. Without pulling out her notepad this time, she scurries off to the back.
“What’s your usual here?” My attention turns back to him.
His fingers tap at the table, and I can tell he wants to look out the window again but is trying really hard to keep his eyes on me. I don’t like that any more than him not having the opportunity to smile more. I want him to look at me because he needs to. Because I’m all he wants to see. Whatever has his mind only partly here has me jealous and it’s crazy. I don’t know this guy, and even though men have always been my preference, I haven’t found one lately that I’ve cared to look at more than twice. Not until him. And oh, do I want to keep looking. It’s hard to care about anything else with him in the room.
“Tuna melt,” he finally says, resting his cheek on his hand, eyes roaming all over the place. Is he having issues with some creep following him around waiting to hurt him like Felice did?
