"Oh, wow. This is... this is heavenly."
When they smiled, their faces lighting up, I glanced between them, spotting the family resemblances they'd clearly both inherited from their father—strong features, dark hair, eyes full of mischief.
"I was in the kitchen all day," Archie said.
Um, wasn't he in school? Deciding not to call him out, I nodded. "I can tell. Seriously, this food is delicious."
Tristan cleared his throat, and Archie took the hint. "I'm glad you like it. I'll leave you two to your, uh, date."
"Thank you, Archie. Nice to meet you, by the way."
Not replying, he rushed back to the door and disappeared, and I looked to Tristan. "I hope I didn't scare him off?"
"No. Not at all. He's just really awkward sometimes and doesn't know what to say in social situations. He's a work in progress."
"Aren't we all?" I suggested. I wanted to add that some people needed more work than others, but I resisted.
"I suppose so."
We both eyed our plates and began to eat, the food too delicious to waste, especially because a world-class chef who was probably hiding out in Tristan's kitchen had clearly made this meal. But I needed to go along with the ruse and play nice.
"So I knowyou'rethe one who made dinner," I said sweetly. "Where'd you learn to cook like this?"
Answer that, jerk.
His eyes went to the scenery for a moment, the city's lights alive in the night, the always present hum of traffic the only sound. While I waited, I studied him, wondering what on earth he could say to that.
"I spent a lot of time in the kitchen growing up. We had a private chef and she was more like a mom to me than my own mother."
Oh. Wow. Um, okay. Not at all what I'd been expecting. "Ah, I see. I'm sorry to hear that."
He shrugged. "It is what it is. And I learned to cook in the meantime."
There was no way in hell Tristan Hawthorne had cooked this meal. No way. I just wasn't buying it despite his sad sob story.
He expected me to believe that while he was in school and dreaming up fat cow schemes, he was also whipping up gourmet meals?
Nope. I was in no way that gullible.
Time to change the subject before I imploded completely.
"So how was your trip this week?"
He stared at me a beat before answering, and I wondered what was going on behind his blank expression. The man for sure had a poker face. Or maybe it was just weird for him to eat dinner across from a masked date.
Tristan exhaled heavily, shaking his head. "Honestly? My trip sucked. I have no idea what happened, but it felt like some kind of divine punishment."
I took a slow sip of wine, feigning innocence, the taste of victory sweet on my tongue. "Oh?"
"Oh," he confirmed. "So my dad sent me to LA to wine and dine some West Coast investors—big shots who could back ournext project in New York. These people in LA are a trip, I've got to say."
"Really? How so?"
"They pretend to be all about sustainability, when in reality, they throw up the ugliest glass towers you've ever seen."
That was actually genuinely funny.I bit my lip to keep from smiling.
"Anyway," he continued, rubbing a hand over his face, "when the meeting ended, I was supposed to have a car waiting to take me back to my hotel in Beverly Hills. Except, surprise, there was no car."
