I had something more romantic in mind.”
“Really? Romantic?” She sat back and regarded him. “What passes for romantic with you, Arnie?”
He crossed his fingers beneath the table and set a scene he hoped would tempt her.
“Sweeping you away to my private bungalow where a top-notch chef is waiting with a champagne welcome and a candlelight dinner.”
She blinked at his words. “You have a private bungalow?”
“No, the hotel does. It’s a freestanding gem hidden in a lush jungle-like setting. It’s got a private patio and spa.”
“Spa?”
Ha! He had her!
“Yep. Plunge pool with whirlpool jets. And a fabulous outdoor fireplace.”
“Boy.” She chuckled. “That’s a tough one.”
“Rapunzel and Flynn Rider,” the barista hollered over the din.
Summer laughed. “I hope Flynn Rider is you.”
Arnie grinned. “I debated going by Eugene Fitzherbert, but thought it would give away the ridiculous wealth of Disney fan knowledge I have up here.” He pointed at his temple and hurried to the counter for their drinks.
“So far, so good,” he muttered under his breath on his return trip to their table.
Summer was an island of calm in the midst of a space teeming with other people’s energy. He felt the pull between them and let the heated tingles in his lower belly draw him forward.
When he put her drink container on the table and slid it to her, he wasn’t sure if she was happier to see him or the hot chocolate latte.
“Three pumps,” she announced as she inspected the order sticker for accuracy. “Says it right here.” She sniffed the drink slot in the lid, and said, “Well, we’re about to find out. Cheers!”
Her first sip was tentative. He watched her face as she tested the concoction. The second sip was longer. She looked like a wine enthusiast at a tasting.
Arnie took a mouthful of his drink. “What’s the verdict, Rapunzel?”
She set the drink down and stared at it for a moment. “It’s not perfect, but it’s also not a fail, so I vote to acquit.”
“I find it amusing—how specific people are with a drink order,” he told her. “Yet those same people couldn’t describe the details of their kitchen from memory.”
“What an interesting observation. Thought-provoking.”
He acted nonchalant about it but admitted scrutinizing people’s quirks and traits was an occupational habit.
“Observation specialist. It’s in my job description.”
“You watch people for a living?”
“Something like that.” He took another sip. “Uh, but not in a creepy way.”
She laughed at his remark. “I don’t find you creepy at all, and we’ve previously touched on my somewhat creepy fascination with narrating the pretend lives of total strangers. Sounds like we’re even.”
He let a few moments pass in silence before asking the million-dollar question. “Have I persuaded you to have dinner with me?”
“I don’t know what this says about me, but no persuading is necessary.” She laid her hand, palm down, over her heart, and then touched her temple. “All-access pass.”
The weight of what she admitted sat heavily on his emotions. Her willingness to show vulnerability and the amount of trust it took was deeply humbling. If he fucked this up, his life would never be the same.
With the rest of their evening settled, Arnie relaxed and enjoyed Summer’s company.
“You look very pretty.” He gestured to her dress and winked. “The boho style suits you.”
Her brows shot up. “Do you read Glamour magazine? How else would you know this outfit is from the boho rack?”
With no reason not to tell her more about his real life, he gave a grin and went about impressing her with his fashion knowledge.
“Well, there’s a simple explanation. I have the good fortune to be work colleagues with a couple of women who march to very different drummers. Wigs, remember? Any man in my position, any smart man,” he added sarcastically, “would capitalize on the insider view and learn as much as possible.”
“Shrewd.” She giggled. “I like how your mind works.”
He basked in her snarky praise and kept rolling while carefully eyeing her outfit. “You’re wearing a boho-style burgundy floral dress with a square neck, high waist, and flouncy sleeves. It suits you.”
“Dolly Parton boobs and skinny legs make dressing a challenge.”
Arnie reached for a napkin when he almost spit out the coffee in his mouth at her description. “Dolly’s tits are man-made.” He leered at her bodacious rack and winked. “Can’t hold a candle to the real thing.”
“You bit me,” she announced without a lead-in.
Startled, he frowned, and muttered, “Uh.”
She looked around and discreetly pulled down the dress’s neckline to show him a mark left on her