Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“I might have to make you grill for me sometime anyway.” I offered him what I hoped was a friendly not-flirty grin.
“Sure thing.” He chuckled, and I had to work not to beam too much in celebration. Grilling. Possibly rock crawling. Was it possible to trick someone into dating for real? I was willing to try. And maybe if I tried hard enough, it just might work.
Chapter Thirteen
Harley
This wasn’t a date. At least, I was pretty sure. I’d told Ambrose he could count it on his list of things to tell the niece, but this dinner at a dive of 101 wasn’t a real date. Not that I’d been on many, and the fact that I was a bit iffy about whether this was a date-date was alarming enough.
This was simply me remembering a particular favorite near Santa Rosa, where my family had stopped numerous times on various road trips. The low yellow building with a bright-purple patio had the casual vibe I dug with mismatched wooden chairs and tables, year-round Christmas lights, fake potted plants, and cheery hand-painted walls. I’d brought Ambrose here because it had a patio. Practicality. A patio meant the dog could join us. Not sentiment. And definitely not romance.
“Oh my God. This menu.” If Ambrose made another happy noise, I was gonna need to excuse myself to the restroom. I loved that he was proving not to be a snob when it came to food, but his raving over the place had reached near-orgasmic levels. “I can’t choose what to order.”
“I’m trying to decide how bad to my arteries I want to be,” I countered, pointing at a few different options on the huge menu. “It’s been years, and I still remember the carnitas, along with the breaded tilapia and shrimp dishes. And as a kid, I loved the flautas and tostadas.”
“Tell you what, you get something fried. I’ll get something slightly healthier, like the molcajete mix. And we can share those and maybe some flautas.” Ambrose was clearly more experienced at this dating business than I was. Sharing entrées was very date-like but probably good practice for the wedding. Another practicality.
“Sounds good. How do you feel about spice?” I narrowed my choices to a spicy breaded shrimp dish and a more standard carnitas plate.
“I don’t drink hot sauce like you. The crime you committed on that poor burrito this morning.” Shaking his head, Ambrose made a clucking noise. “But I like spicy food, especially salsa, mole, and a whole host of Asian dishes and curries. You won’t scare me off with some heat. Just make sure I can feel my tongue after.”
“Got it,” I said gruffly. I absolutely did not need to be thinking about Ambrose’s tongue.
“Oops. That sounded bad.” Ambrose legit giggled like he was two decades younger, and hell if I didn’t like the crisp, melodic sound. It felt like a present opening just for me. “Oh, and that’s another tidbit for pulling off the couple ruse. Now I know you like spicy food. What other culinary things should I be aware of?”
I found the way he said culinary adorable, but that wasn’t what he meant, so I took a moment to glance around the half-full patio while thinking. “I’ll drink coffee black if I’m in the field or somewhere I can’t trust the milk. No fake milk for me either.”
“No competition for my coconut creamer. What else?” He leaned forward, eager and open, and hell if I didn’t want to unpack my whole damn brain for him.
“I’ve never met an egg I wouldn’t eat. Pretty hard to make my steak too rare, but I’ve learned to be wary of local water. Bottled only when I travel, if possible. I don’t like yogurt, but I’ll eat anything pickled. And I love all things potato.”
“You’d be fun to cook for,” he said thoughtfully, head tilting like he was mentally weighing menu options.
“You have time for that with your big Hollywood job?”
He made a face. “Nowhere near the time I used to. And I’m sure that level of busyness has something to do with my mental health challenges. You’ve seen my pantry. But between shows, I like to cook. Farmers’ markets are fun. I like produce, especially unusual varieties.”
“As long as there’s a protein, I’ll take whatever vegetable you want to throw at me.” Needing something to do with my hands, I grabbed a chip from the basket the young server set between us. I needed to stop with visions of me grilling steaks and Ambrose doing something exotic to vegetables. I always enjoyed having friends over or going out with buddies, but this urge with Ambrose was different. Cozy. The idea of having a special person, someone to treat right. Weird as fuck how much I seemed to like the images my head kept supplying.