Page 15 of Peak of Love
“That sounds yummy!” Celina piped. Then, she abruptly straightened up. She cleared her throat before saying, “Lovely. I’ll have the mimosa, please.” And under her breath, Dane heard her murmur, “and keep it coming, Chuck.”
When both their drinks were served, he scrutinized Celina’s face, which was contorted in a scrunched grimace. How she made it look endearing was a mystery.
“You good?” he asked.
Her sigh was as sweet as it was heavy. “I’m trying to start a conversation that doesn’t include the fact that I miss my boys.”
A sharp twist in his gut, Dane relented. “I miss them too.”
She guffawed. “You’re no help at all.” Then her eyes sparkled. “Let me just ask for a few selfies and we’re good. You need to see Jonas’s hair in the morning. It’s adorable. And now that Jerome is growing so much faster than his brother, he measures himself every weekend.” She texted something quickly before putting her phone down.
“OK, I’m ready. Now what?”
He shrugged. “What do you want to know about your date? That’s never a bad way to start. Get the guy to talk about himself.”
He spoke dryly, more interested in Jonas’s hair and Jerome’s height than this nugget of advice about the narcissistic tendencies of most men. Although he knew perfectly well this strategy had worked on him in the past.
Her eyes narrowed to sharp concentration. “This house… it’s not like the usual commercial properties or the condo developments you’ve got up and down the coast. Don’t get me wrong. It’s spectacular. It’s also different.”
“Yeah,” he choked, not surprised that she clung to the one thing he couldn’t even explain to himself. He never wanted a typical homestead, associating the suburban life with growing families and stable lives. Dane—unattached and unpredictable—opted to occupy multiple residences in the cities he happened to be contracted in. He had an apartment in Vancouver, a townhouse in Seattle, and a condo in Portland.
“It’s an excellent investment,” he stated, quelling his wayward thoughts.Seeing you in the house felt good. It felt right.
“It’s a dream vacation home for a large family. Does this mean you’re—”
“I’m not even dating anyone, Celina.”
“And why is that, exactly?”
The food arrived on shareable plates, giving him an excuse to ignore her question. Under his breath, he thanked the eggs lorraine and the variety of quiches. If those didn’t work, there were herby focaccias, fruity waffles, and a layered roasted vegetable dish that went perfectly with the kind of bacon guaranteed to distract the woman in front of him. Or, and this was perhaps the most likely, Dane suspected Celina let him off the hook.
Her phone pinged, and she showed him a series of selfies of their favorite ten-year-old boys with hair standing straight up. “God, they grow up fast,” he declared, amazed as always.
“You’re telling me,” she cooed. “Hey, they’re asking for a selfie, too.” Before he was ready, she lifted her phone and leaned into the table to take a picture of them together. When she sat back, he burst out laughing. Celina got crumbs on her shirt and maple syrup at the ends of her hair.
“Oh shit,” she burst, touching her hair and brushing her sweater. Laughing along with him, she announced, “I am such a klutz.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a crinkly object.
“Are those baby wipes?” he asked incredulously.
“Never leave home without them,” Celina declared, efficiently wiping her hands and patting away her mess. He got distracted when she ran it across the top of her chest, leaving a clean sheen.
“So, I take it this isn’t first date behavior?” she asked resignedly.
He looked at her flushed face and realized he was done trying to impose a dating expectation that was as boring as it was predictable. “No, it isn’t. It’s better.”
“You’re messing with me now.” She looked away and bit her lower lip.
He reached out and grabbed her hand to offer reassurance. Dane ignored the zing in his blood from their point of contact. “I’m not messing with you. It’s unusual, but that’s you. Don’t change a fucking thing, Celina. If your date can’t see how incredible you are—kid selfies and baby wipes included—he doesn’t deserve to date you.”
She blinked slowly before the sweetest, widest grin lit up the room. “You are really good at this.”
Shaking his head, Dane suppressed his need to lick the smear of syrup at her right collarbone. The memory of her neck against his tongue last night turned his semi-erection into a rod. “It’s not a line. It’s the truth.”
“To the truth,” she toasted, lifting what was probably her third mimosa. He had been nursing his first one yet made eye contact with the waiter any time she neared the end of her flute. After all, she asked to “keep it coming,” didn’t she?
“The truth,” he echoed, despite the glaring certainty that he was deceiving himself.
She was laughing so hard, her snort brought up a bit of the mimosa. Gah, it was ridiculous. She hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. Leave it to Dane to hash out all the old shenanigans, leaving her in stitches.
