Page 51 of The Opposite of Romance
I sigh. “It’s a trope. Sandy had this crazy idea of me finding love using romance book tropes. That’s what I’ve been doing. And failing spectacularly at it.”
“Tropes are like themes for books, right?”
“Yeah, you have billionaire tropes, age gap tropes, single dad, morally gray tropes. A ton of them, actually.”
“Yeah? And what trope do I fit?” He glances at me with a cheerful smile, one that looks too good on him.
I narrow my eyes at him, considering. “None of the popular ones, really.”
He presses a hand to his chest. “Ouch. You don’t have to be so mean about it.”
Laughter bubbles out of me, and with each breath, the tension of this evening exits my body. “Wait, do you maybe have a stepsister?”
His eyes are pure shock as he stares at me for a second before turning his gaze back on the road. “Do I even want to know?”
“Well,” I wave him off, “I’m sure you can imagine.”
He shakes his head. “And what about you being hungry on your dates?”
“Long story.” Another sigh escapes me. “What are you…” I say when he takes a right turn where he’s supposed to go left.
“Sorry, I can’t in good conscience let you leave hungry this time.”
He winks, and butterflies erupt in my stomach. He really is too attractive for his own good. Ormyown good.
“You must be hungry, too… We left before you even got your food.”
“I could eat.” He shrugs.
He parks in front of a 50s-style diner, opening my door again. As we enter the place, I realized it’s not 50sstyle. It’s actuallyfromthe 50s. The weathered leather booths, the checkered floors. I feel like I’ve jumped into a time machine.
This isn’t a date, by any stretch of the word. But it’s still nice, the way he left his friends to drive me home, and then brought me here to make sure I get fed.
“This place has the best grilled cheese in the state,” he says it like he’s talking about a Michelin star restaurant, and my lips turn up.
Who doesn’t love a good grilled cheese?
We don’t even open the menus before ordering the sandwiches. The server takes them back to her station, and I turn my gaze back to Logan.
“I know it doesn’t look like much, but you’ll have to trust me on this,” he says.
“Are you kidding me? This place is adorable. I’m trying to memorize the details so I can use it in one of my books.”
“I’m glad I could help. So, what do you do when you’re not writing? Or thinking about writing?”
His question makes me grin. “I read. One way or another, my interests revolve around books. You?”
“Not much of a reader.” He shrugs. “But I get what you’re saying, your work and hobbies being connected. I spend most of my free time doing stuff around the house. There’s always something to be done, something to tinker with. And I enjoy doing it.”
“Do you miss it?” He shoots me a confused look, so I explain, “Working with your hands? If you’re mostly overseeing your employees.”
He’s silent for a second before responding, “I do. I enjoy planning and finishing projects, but sometimes I miss the middle part—actually building something.”
“Oh, so I haven’t inconvenienced you with my project. I’ve helped you do more of what you love?” I joke.
He chuckles. “Yeah, I’m definitely enjoying it.” His eyes stick to mine for a second before the server places a plate in front of me.
We both thank her and dig into the food.
