Page 269 of Coach
“I think we should date.”
My fork fell out of my hand, clattering onto the plate. Pancake slathered in syrup made a break for freedom, flying off and landing midway between us. My mind raced, yet no thoughts formed into coherent sentences. All I could do was blink.
Shane cocked his head, the perfect golden retrievermove. His mouth was a thin line, his eyes placid, giving nothing away.
“Date?” I asked, as though he’d spoken in Farsi.
He waved his fork,hispancake still attached. “You know, go out. Do dinner, movies, that sort of thing. Get to know each other.”
“Okay. Yeah. I like that idea.”
“Why do you sound so unsure?” he asked.
I reached up and ran a hand through my hair. He hadn’t had product for me last night, and my fingers got tangled.
“Well, it’s just . . . I don’t know. I guess I thought we were already doing those things,” I said. “I mean, we’ve been out to dinner. You came to trivia night. Those were dates, right?”
Then Shane Douglas did the last thing I ever expected. He reached across the table, cupped my cheek, and held my gaze.
“I like you, Mateo, a lot, more than I’ve liked anyone in a long time. I can’t stop thinking about you, especially when I’m alone in my shop. Every piece of wood reminds me of that sideboard I made for you, makes me wish you were there with me, chattering away about something unimportant but making it sound sexy as hell with your accent.” He stroked my skin with his thumb. I thought I might die right there. “I don’t do feelings very well. You probablynoticed, but I feel things for you, Mateo, and I want to keep feeling those things. Will you date me?”
An irrational part of my brain saw him drop to one knee with his pancake proposal. The whole monologue was so sweet and thoughtful and romantic—andnotthe Shane I knew. And yet, every word he’d spoken, every thought, were words and thoughts I hoped I might one day hear from him.
I just never expected to.
My eyes blinked, and my mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“Can you pass the syrup?” he asked, releasing my face as he shoved a bite into his mouth as though he’d not just pseudo-declared his affection. “Eggs are a little runny. Want me to cook them some more?”
I blinked again.
And stared.
And tried to close my mouth, though nothing seemed to work.
Shane pointed with his fork again. “Need more coffee?”
Finally, my brain and mouth found common ground. I grabbed the syrup bottle and held it out for him.
“No, to coffee. Eggs are fine. Here’s the syrup. Yes to dating.”
He looked up, his fork frozen in midair.
He stared into my eyes, unblinking and silent.
I waited.
Then he nodded once, as though that was settled, and resumed shoveling pancake into his mouth.
Chapter 36
Mateo
By noon, I was seated at our usual corner booth in the back of The Rusty Spoon, a hole-in-the-wall diner with mismatched chairs and the best damn chicken salad in the metro area.
Mike and Sisi flanked me on either side like twin interrogators.
Correction: like nosey, ruthless, impossible-to-distract interrogators.
