Page 162 of Champagne Fizz

“Yeah, but it does,” he says, cinching that pinky tighter around mine. “I didn’t drop the L-word and not mean it, Kendall. You’re part of this for me.”

I wrap my hand in his and lean forward to kiss his knuckles. “Starting a new business is a big deal.”

“And starting a new relationship’s a big deal too,” he points out. “I feel like I’m out to sea and my boat got flipped upside down. In a good way with you,” he clarifies, “though it was a little rocky for a minute.”

“Nothing a little blow job can’t fix,” I tease, and Simon looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. I blush and lean over to kiss him chastely on the cheek. “Humor helps with these things.”

“Nah…” Simon gives me a mischievous look. “What I heard is blow jobs help with these things.”

I roll my eyes at him.

“Look, I know we’renew,” I say, steering the conversation back to safer shores. “And of course, I want us to work. So if push comes to shove, wedding plannerscanrelocate—”

“I would never ask you to do that,” Simon cuts in.

“Okay,” I nod. “But it’s also not out of the question.”

“Kendall—”

“Talk to Arie first, of course,” I press. “Figure out what you two need. But if that means you’re in Southern California for a while, or even permanently. I can be flexible.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, shaking his head.

“No, this is entirely selfish,” I say, starting a joke. “As you know, I’m really crap at phone sex. So, a long-distance thing—”

“Kendall Hart!” Simon chides. “Did you just make asecondsex joke in the same conversation?”

I shrug. “I’ve been hanging out at Flambé a lot.”

“Too much,” Simon suggests.

“Oh, that’s a problem now?”

“No,” Simon shakes his head in all seriousness. “It’s really not. Thank you for being so understanding, and flexible, and perfect.”

“Ha!” I nudge him in the shoulder. “Now who’s overexaggerating? Perfect is not part of my life, especially with my condition.”

“Perfectly flawed?” Simon offers, looking around the empty restaurant and my piles of boxes before giving me a sexy smile. “Any chance I’m seeing that yellow dress again tonight?”

My stomach flutters, and Lady Lada kicks out a leg, ready for the cha cha.

“Patience, Superman,” I say, slipping out of the booth before our proximity gives Lady Lada the upper hand. “That dress needs to be thoroughly dry cleaned before I—”

“Maybe I like you dirty,” Simon jokes, getting up and following me.

“Oh, I know you like me dirty,” I agree, picking up a candelabra and holding it between us to create some distance. “And even though we’re in Flambé, the sexiest, naughtiest restaurant in all of Waikiki—”

“After hours,” Simon points out, snagging the candelabra from me and twisting me into his arms with a squeal. “I mean, some questionable things do happen during operating hours,” he admits. “Arie’s food can be very inspiring. But no one is here now …”

“Simon Callahan,” I chide, struggling in his arms. “Are you asking for me to bob on your knob again so soon?”

“Did you just minced oath a blow job?” Simon asks, impressed.

“Actually, I think blow job—in and of itself—is a minced oath,” I point out.

“Huh.” Simon’s forehead crinkles, thinking that over and looking all too dashing in those horn-rimmed glasses. “You might be right.”

“Granted, a naughty minced oath,” I say, “which may defeat the purpose.”

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