Page 63 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
“Yes, thanks, Sam,” Thomas said, pushing his drink out of the way.
Wordlessly, I moved the wine glass and watched as the biggest single serving of cottage pie I’d ever seen was put in front of me and proceeded to assault my senses with a gorgeous mix of hot melted cheese, potato, and meaty gravy.
When I say my stomach rumbled, my stomachrumbled. Like an Earthquake in my belly.
Thomas looked at me, amusement twisting his lips. “You’ve had two glasses of wine. I assumed you hadn’t eaten, and evidently, it was a correct assumption.”
“I was planning on the liquid dinner,” I replied, picking up a fork. “Thank you.”
“Mind the dish. It’s hot.” He smiled, picking up his own knife and fork.
I didn’t know how we’d gone from bickering at each other to eating a peaceful dinner—a slightly drunk one from my side, but still a peaceful dinner all the same. More to the point, how we’d gone from not being able tostopbitching and sniping to not saying a word for the next twenty minutes aside from little, “Ha, ha!” breaths and declarations of, “Ooh, that’s hot!” when we stumbled on particularly hot spots of the food.
It was… nice.
Too nice.
I was far too comfortable sitting opposite him at a pub, eating dinner I wasn’t paying for, like this was some kind of date. After he’d bought me both waffles and hot chocolate at the lights switch on, too.
Ooft.
No.
I was going to have to insist on buying this dinner, if only for myself. I would go down swinging on this one. I simply couldnot allow myself to be in debt to Thomas Castleton on more than one occasion.
Especially since I already had the feeling that he was going to insist upon taking me home again.
Damn. I really should have bought some wine at the shop and got drunk in my bedroom instead.
“That was good,” he said, sitting back on the chair.
I nodded, setting my cutlery in the little dish that had housed the pie. “It was. Thank you.”
“Are you feeling any better?”
“I didn’t realise I was that hungry,” I admitted, eyeing my empty dish. “How much do I owe for mine?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s already paid for.”
I pulled out my purse and slapped a twenty-pound note on the table. “There.”
He put one finger on it and pushed it back towards me. “I said nothing.”
“And I don’t accept it,” I replied. “Just let me pay for my food, at least.”
“By all means, leave it as a tip. The food and service are good enough to warrant it. But I won’t be taking your money, Sylvie.”
“Stop being stubborn,” I said, folding the note twice and shoving it at him. “Take my bloody money.”
“I will not.” He folded his arms. “And you’re a fine one to talk about being stubborn. If anyone needs to stop being stubborn, it’s you.”
“Why? Because I’m happy to pay my way? It’s not the nineteen-thirties anymore. Women can pay for their own food, you know.”
“I’m more than aware of that, but I ordered itforyou, without asking you, therefore it’s on me.” He fixed his firm gazeon me. “I will not take your money. Feel free to keep it to buy me dinner one night.”
I huffed and shoved it back into my purse. “That would involve asking you out for dinner, and given the mixed bag this one has been, I don’t think I want to do that.”
“Then take Beth out.”
