“So, dive bars it is.”
“For me, a romantic date is a meal of her favorite type of food and then a movie or a museum. It’s not about showing off. It’s showing that you listen to what they want.”
I tilt my head and take him in—handsome, hardworking, considerate. “You’re a good man, Jake Moreau.”
He grins in agreement. “I told you I was hero-worthy.”
My laughter is a little too loud, and it makes the people around us turn their heads. I take a drink in embarrassment.
“I should be taking notes. I always thought men wanted to put their best foot forward on the first date. You know, flashy car, expensive dinner, trendiest after-hours.”
“I love that stuff.” He points to his shirt, which must be designer by the way he’s using it as an example. “There has to be a balance of what you give and take in a relationship.”
“Is this you letting me in on the inner workings of the male brain?”
He laughs deeply. “I’ll let the romance novelist into the secret mind of a man, though I might be breaking some kind of male code out there somewhere.” He winks, and I let out a sharp laugh.
“Don’t worry; your secrets are safe with me.” I pause as I let what he said sink in. “Does it worry you that a woman might only want you for your money?” I immediately don’t like the way the words came out. Based on his designer clothes and expensive car in the parking lot, I guessed he was well off. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I was assuming—”
“You assumed right. The flower business is lucrative, and the building is paid off, so it’s all profit. I keep telling my father he has enough to retire, but working is in his blood. I was raised by an entrepreneur with high morals, who never saw himself as a wealthy man. If I buy fine clothes, I must take care of them. If I invest, I do so in my home. And if I ever marry, I’d do it for life.”
“I wish all men thought that way.”
“Only the good ones.”
I let out a pfft sound and take a swig of my drink.
“Man trouble in the past?” he asks.
I groan. “Let’s just say, I don’t have the best view of the male species.”
“I take that as a personal insult.”
“You should. Your father might have taught you to marry for life, but you’re certainly having fun, mating your way through the dating pool.”
“And you have nothing to say about the women who are sleeping around? That’s a double standard.”
“I’d be hard-pressed to think a woman or two hasn’t been led on and perhaps fallen in love with your good looks and charm.”
“So, you think I’m good-looking?”
“Hardly the point.”
“True, but it’s nice to hear. I thought you were immune to me.” He winks, and I have to look away, so he doesn’t see how the simple act makes me blush.
“I’m immune to men who meander through life like it’s their playground. It’s a sin.”
“You’re forgetting who sinned first. Wasn’t it a woman who led a man to eat the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden?” He acts like bringing up Adam and Eve is the most natural discussion on earth.
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “So, every time you sin, it’s Eve’s fault?”
He laughs, and for some reason, the sound makes butterflies flutter in my stomach.
“What I do is not a sin. Sex between two consenting adults is nothing more than using what God gave us. That would be like saying eating is a sin.”
I let out a hard laugh. “That is called gluttony.”
“Eating too much is a sin. Satisfying the palate is survival.”
“Then, you’re claiming you need sex to survive?” I give him a deadpan stare.
“Pleasure,” he breathes in that low, husky voice. “The human soul needs pleasure or else it will surely die.”
I swallow and then take a heaving breath before grabbing my water. I need hydration. “Not buying it.” I try to sound unaffected.
He leans back as he wraps his fist around his glass. “Fine. If you can’t wax philosophical, then I’ll hit you with the facts. Men can get prostate cancer if they don’t have a release often.”
I rub my lips together, nodding my head and trying not to laugh. “Okay, fine. If science says so, then it has to be correct.”
He winks again as he brings the glass to his lips and drinks.
Leaning back in my seat, I bite my lip as I stare at this beguiling man who has an answer for everything and has bested me at my own game of questions. Not only is he handsome, but he’s also witty as all hell.
“Can I be honest for a moment?” I don’t wait for him to respond as I add, “You’re really cool to hang out with.”
A dimple appears on his cheek as he grins at my comment. “I knew you’d figure it out sooner or later.”
I smile as I finish my cocktail.
The bartender comes back, and we order five appetizers to share—mostly because Jake can’t decide on one, so we get all five. We talk for the next two hours. He’s funny when he tells me about some of the wild orders he’s made at the flower shop, like a John Deere tractor and Elvis Presley for a funeral. He even had a client order a thousand roses for a proposal, only to forget which one he hid the engagement ring in. The man called, furious that the flowers had eaten the ring. Turned out, it was found days later in a shoe.
I tell him about my book signing and the random things fans have asked me to sign. I’ll put my pen to anything, but I draw the line at a dildo. That’s just not cool.
Our conversation carries us back home as we take the scenic route along the canals, feeling the breeze whipping through the buildings.
When we get to our front doors, I chance a glance at Jake, who is staring at me with a smile.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says with a grin.
“And how am I looking at you?”
“Like I drank too much and talked your ear off.”
I laugh out loud. “Not you, me! I feel like I didn’t shut up all night.”
He leans against his door and looks back at me, totally serious. “I could listen to your stories all day.”
With a lick of my lips, I look away and roll my eyes. “Night, Jake.”
I turn my lock, and before I close it, he calls out to me, “Lace?”
“Yes?” I pop my head out my doorway.
“Break a wrist.” He grins as he steps into his apartment.
I laugh at the sentiment. “Thanks.”
After I close my door, I stare at my computer, my fingers itching to touch the keyboard. When I do, this time, the words flow in the best possible way.
Chapter Six
“Help me carry the wood into the house,” my mother says as I exit my car. She’s standing in front of a log splitter, wearing jeans and a T-shirt with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail.
I head over to her pile on the ground, not bothering for our usual hug hello yet since she’s in the midst of cutting logs.
“Look at you, all rugged,” I muse.
She smiles. “I prefer austere. It has a nice ring to it.”