Page 116 of How to Honeymoon Alone
He looks up. “Good morning, Eden.”
I shift from one foot to another, debating setting my glass of juice down on the table.
“Join me?” he asks.
I slowly pull out the chair. “Yeah, thanks. I’m not used to seeing you here.”
“I decided to check out the buffet,” he says.
I look meaningfully at the lack of a plate before him.
He chuckles. “I had pancakes a while ago.”
“You’ve been waiting for me?”
“I might’ve been,” he admits and puts down the tablet. I catch the headline. He’s reading the Chicago news. “You’re up later than usual today.”
“Yeah, I wanted to sleep in.”
He nods. Color rises up his cheeks, but the eyes on mine are as steady as always. “Right. I’ll come with you, I want another cup.”
We fill up our plates. Mine with pancakes, fruit, a piece of toast, and a little bowl of acai and granola. His, another large cup of coffee and a croissant.
Nerves turn over in my stomach as we sit back down. He’s the one who broaches the topic, leaning back in the chair.
“About yesterday,” he says.
I shake my head. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have answered your phone like that. It was crossing a line. But I’m glad you explained the situation afterward. Thanks for that. For clarifying, I mean.”
“Mm-hmm,” he says. He hasn’t shaved today, either, and the beard is growing in, accentuating his sharp jaw. “Eden, I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you.”
“No, I get that.”
“She’s the last person I want to talk about while I’m here,” he says. “Especially with you.”
“Especially with me?”
“Yes. An attractive woman, fun conversations, and a paradise island. Why would I want to bring up my ex?”
I grimace. “I’ve spoken a lot about mine.”
“Yeah, but I enjoy hearing you talk.” He stretches his neck, like he’s shared too much. “Anyway. She’s not my fiancée anymore, Eden. I’m not like your ex.”
“No, I know,” I say, nodding again. “I realized that.”
“Just wanted to make that clear.”
“Mm-hmm.” I take a sip of my juice. “Got it. And you’re not, by the way. You’re super different.”
“Super different?”
“Yes. Well, so far, at least. I don’t know what you’re like outside of fancy resorts and catamaran cruises, you know.”
He snorts and reaches for his croissant. The sleeves of his button-down are rolled up, the linen fabric slightly rumpled. Combined with the thickening facial hair and the unstyled strands, he looks even more handsome. Manly and relaxed.
I attack my pancakes to keep from attacking him.
“Perhaps I’m different back home,” he says. “But aren’t you?”
