Into The Fire - E. L. Todd Page 0,109
to fall back on.”
Hawke nodded in interest. “You have a good head on your shoulders. And if all your pastries are as good as the one I tried, it’ll definitely work out.”
“Thanks.” Some people thought my dream was stupid. It was nice to hear some encouragement once in a while. “What do you do?”
“I’m an intern.” He released a sigh like he didn’t like saying the truth out loud. “I work for an investment company. Basically, we manage all of their investments but we don’t actually make any decisions. We’re advisors more than anything else.”
“That’s cool.”
“The internship doesn’t pay much so I’m excited to do my time and move on.”
“They’ll probably offer you a full-time position when you’re finished.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound enthused about that idea. Maybe he didn’t like the company he worked for.
“My brother wants to be a stock broker. You guys would have a lot in common.”
“I’m sure we would.” When the waiter returned with the wine, he sipped it and returned it to the table.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I just turned twenty six.”
“Oh. Happy belated birthday.”
“Thank you,” he said with a nod.
“Where did you go to school?”
“South Carolina,” he answered. “I just finished my master’s last spring so now I’m finally in the real world.”
I did the math in my head and realized we were four years apart. That sounded like a lot, but I didn’t see what the big deal was. It wasn’t like I was eighteen and he was twenty-two. “Congratulations. It sounds like you have a lot to be proud of.”
He drank his wine again. “I suppose.”
I noticed he didn’t like to talk about himself much, at least professionally. Maybe he was just humble. It was nice to meet a guy like that for once. “Do you like sports?”
“I’m a big sports fan—mainly baseball.”
“Cool. Who’s your favorite team?”
“The Yankees.”
I cringed. “I don’t think this is going to work out…”
He narrowed his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you’re a Giants fan.”
I shrugged in guilt.
He shook his head in disappointment. “Well, the rest of this date is going to be awkward…”
“Maybe we should just end it now.”
“Maybe you’re right.” The affection in his eyes told me he was kidding. “But I really like you so…I’ll see it through.”
“I guess I can put this aside…for now.”
He released an exaggerated sigh. “Crisis averted.”
The waiter brought our plates then set them in front of us. I ordered the lasagna and he had the chicken parmigana.
“That looks good.” He eyed my plate.
I took a bite. “It is good.”
He grabbed his fork then immediately dug into my food. He looked me in the eye as he did it, giving me a playful look. “You’re right. Maybe I should have ordered that.”
I stuck my fork into his food and did the same thing. “Yours is good too.”
“I have an idea.” He pulled my plate closer to him. “Let’s split our plates.” He gave me half of his dinner then took half of mine. Then he pushed the plate back to me. “Problem solved.”
“Everyone wins.”
He ate slowly and didn’t inhale his food like most men I knew. He took breaks and sipped his wine.
“How was your day?” I asked.
“Good. But I kept getting distracted thinking about this date.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” The sincerity was in his eyes. “I was surprised when you asked me out.”
“You’ve never been asked out by a girl?”
He chuckled while looking down at his food. “No, I have. I just didn’t expect you to ask me out.”
“Why not?”
“Not sure,” he said. “I just didn’t expect it.”
I wondered if he got hit on all the time. With his looks and success, he must.
“I’m glad you did,” he said. “It’s sexy when a girl makes a move. It shows confidence—and confidence is a quality I look for.”
“It’s a little unorthodox but I’ve never been traditional.”
“And I like that.” He drank his wine as he looked at me.
He stared at me a lot but I liked it. He gave me his full attention and didn’t play games.
“I’m surprised you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“What makes you think I would?” he asked.
“You’re easy on the eyes and charming.”
“And easily bored.” He ate quietly and didn’t say anything more about the subject. Perhaps he had a bad breakup recently and didn’t want to talk about it. Or maybe he just didn’t have anything to say. “Where did you learn to bake?”
“My Yaya.”
He stilled. “Your what? Sorry?”
“My yaya,” I said with a laugh. “It means grandmother in Greek.”
“Oh.” He nodded his head in