Page 51 of Lovesick
Or maybe I just didn’t like Tyler.
By the time he finished speaking, I’d mostly recovered from the shock of—yet again— a romantic experience not feeling the way it should.
“Well,” I said, “there certainly is plenty of upscale local flavor here, as you said. We’ll sample some tonight at this restaurant.”
We spoke back and forth for several minutes. The arrival of the food interrupted my response to one of his questions—What kinds of social events do you find most prominent here?—and I grabbed my knife to dig into the elk chop.
Soft, but not my flavor.
“Sounds like a charming place overall,” he declared. “I’m considering buying the house.”
“For your parents?”
“Yes.”
“How kind.”
He shrugged. I helped myself to another bite of mashed potatoes so silky I could have worn them. My silence must have gone on a touch too long, because his eyebrows came together like a slinky. “Lizbeth? Did I say something wrong? You can absolutely trust me.”
I cleared my throat as Mark’s voice screamed in my mind,Serial killer.Just in case, I pulled my phone out of my purse and rested it on my lap.
“Just enjoying this delicious food,” I said.
His gaze tapered. “You’re lying.”
I almost choked. “What?”
“Are you uncomfortable?”
We held a long, hard stare for a moment before I said, “Yes. I am uncomfortable.”
He took that in without a change of expression. “I see.”
“I just ... this is a bit much for me. It’s all so ... perfect. On the nose. Like you walked out of a romance novel,” I finished quietly.
Shiny coconuts, but what was I going to tell JJ about this? How would I possibly detail this for the love binder?
Tyler’s gaze widened, though he didn’t seem put out. Just startled. I’d taken him by surprise again. Shouldn’t that feel more satisfying? When I read it, this sort of romance felt powerful. Instead, I just wanted to go.
“Really?” he asked.
“Well ... yes.”
“You’re not a lover of romance?”
“It’s not that. I’m actually very fond of romance.”
The red roses filled the seat next to me with their delicate leaves and intricate veins. Alone, they would have been fine. A first date with a true romantic. But together with all of ... this? This wasn’t romance. This was ... something else.
He grinned anyway, but it seemed tight. He was covering something with his easy amusement. Disappointment, perhaps.
“What a surprise,” he murmured, his fork poised over his plate. “This usually wins over most women.”
“You do this often?”
“Yes.”
He replied with such confidence it took me a moment to respond. “That’s not very promising for us, then,” I said wryly.
