Sweetest in the Gale - Olivia Dade Page 0,47
been able to go to dinner tonight, where would you have taken me?” she clarified. “Where are you taking me tomorrow, for that matter?”
Oh. Oh, yes. Dinner.
“Um…” The afternoon sunlight was in her eyes, so he moved slightly to the side, until his shadow blocked the blinding rays. “Your choice.”
Whatever she wanted, he could accommodate. Normally, he selected restaurants after careful study of both online reviews and sanitation grades, but a polite coworker bowed to the preferences of others.
Mischief sparked in her expression. “Uh-uh. I don’t think so. You’re not spoiling my fun, Mr. Burnham.”
When she said his last name like that, it didn’t sound distant or formal at all.
Instead, it was a tease. A dart of affection aimed right between his ribs, where it lodged and stung.
“Your—” He licked his lips. “Your fun?”
She rested that generous, gorgeous butt against the side of her car and tilted her chin in challenge. “I’m curious where you like to eat. More than that, I’m curious where you think I’d like to eat.”
His mouth opened, then closed.
He didn’t go out for dinner much, so his favorite restaurants offered both takeout and faultless inspection records. Which now seemed inadequate, not to mention boring as fuck.
No, he’d do better to focus on where she might like to eat. Places that would please her.
But how could he possibly predict something like that? How could he solve a problem with so many unknown variables? They’d known each other less than two weeks, so how could he even try to guess what she’d want?
“Let’s hear who you are and what you think of me, as expressed in restaurant form.” She was grinning at him now, amused by his discomfiture. “C’mon. Out with it.”
He couldn’t help a tiny snort. “No pressure there.”
What did he know about her, really? Other than how velvety her skin looked beneath the fluorescent lights, and how warmly she responded to student questions, and how focused and creative and patient she must be to create those bloody, bloody—
Wait. He had it.
At the sudden epiphany, a smug smile spread across his face.
For once, he’d put together clues and solved a mystery, and it tasted like victory. A small one, as always, but delicious nevertheless.
Delicious and morbid. So very morbid.
“Well…” His chest had puffed out a tad, and he didn’t even care. “If you wouldn’t mind driving into Richmond, there’s a place you’d love.”
He’d read about it months ago and cringed at the very thought of eating there. But, if his memory was correct, the review had praised the food and the restaurant’s wholehearted commitment to its theme. Its terrible theme.
“Really?” Those reddish-gold brows arched again. “Tell me more.”
Oh, this was going to feel great. “It’s called That Good Night. It’s only open for dinner.”
“That Good Night.” Her lips pressed together as she thought. “As in, do not go gentle into?”
He dipped his chin. “Exactly.”
“So.” She was gazing up at him, hair aglow in the sun, with such rampant curiosity and warmth. “The restaurant’s name refers to death?”
“It’s a former mortuary,” he told her. “If I’m remembering correctly, the knives are actually scalpels, the water comes in formaldehyde bottles, and they serve their food in little coffins. The whole restaurant is death-themed.”
“That’s…” Her whisper was barely audible, and her eyes were wide. “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard. Yes. Yes, I’d love to go there tomorrow.”
He resisted buffing his nails against his cotton button-down, but it was a close call. “Good. I’ll make reservations.”
“I really need to go, but—” Somehow, she was only inches away now, so close the heat from her body taunted him. “Where would you have picked? For yourself, I mean?”
Since she was still leaning against her car, he must have moved forward without conscious volition. As if he were a compass needle seeking true north, or a man irresistibly drawn to temptation and trouble.
Which he wasn’t. He never had been, not once in over four decades.
“When I invite someone for dinner, it’s about that person. Not me.” It wasn’t a real answer, but it wasn’t a lie either. “Even in a professional context.”
He didn’t feel like a professional, though. In such close proximity to her, he felt like nothing more than a mammal in rut.
“Oh, I think your invitation says plenty about you.” She wasn’t smiling anymore. Instead, her gaze was solemn and fixed on him with such clarity, he had to fight a flinch. “More than you probably realize.”
When she got into her car, he stepped safely away and watched