“Ugh. I hope you had a warranty. Morgan had to replace her iPhone after her toddler broke it, and it cost six hundred dollars outside of a plan.” She looked up at him. “Want me to ask around if someone has an old one they’re not using?”
“No.” Smiling, he ran a finger down her cheek. “That’s sweet, but I’ll be fine. I got an end-of-the-year bonus from work, so I’ll just use that.”
She nodded, getting lost in the way he looked at her, like she was his next meal. His finger left a trail of heat down her cheek. Pictures of the last time he’d touched her flashed through her mind, sending tingles down her spine and to naughty places. Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry for food anymore.
“Are you okay now?” he asked, concern on his face. “I didn’t mean to make you worry so much. And I do love your hair. I was just surprised you didn’t tell me. I’m not the kind of Dom to dictate what color my sub’s hair is.”
“It’s not your fault.” Now she felt guilty for assuming the worst. “Work has been tiring, so I’m not exactly at my most stable right now.” Chuckling humorlessly, she added, “I guess it’s good you see just how crazy I can be.”
He pushed away from the wall, turned back to the street, and took her hand. “Everyone is crazy now and then. Come on. Food will make everything better.”
“That really sucks about your phone.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll pay for lunch today.”
“Not a chance.”
By the tone of his voice, she knew there was no point in arguing. “Stubborn.”
“Yup.” He held open the door, and the smell of fresh sauce filled the air.
Her stomach growled. “Mmm. I wasn’t hungry a minute ago, but now . . .”
He laughed. “Me too. Come on. I know the owner. There’s a special table in the back we can sit at. Marcelo!”
Someone from the kitchen peeked out and waved. “Hey, Ambrose! Table’s free if you want it.”
“Excellent. Thank you!”
“Hey, tell your mom thanks for the polenta bread recipe.”
“Will do.” He pulled her through the busy but small restaurant, then around the corner, where it split off to the kitchen and bathrooms. There, by the window, one little table sat in a private nook.
Wow. Star treatment for Ambrose. She was surprised, and maybe impressed. With a hand on her lower back, he guided her to one side and held her chair for her. After she sat down, he took the seat on the other side.
He gazed at her a moment, wearing a lopsided smile. Then he seemed to snap to attention. “Is this okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask.”
“It’s fine.” She laughed nervously. How could this be more awkward than everything else they’d done? “Um.” She fiddled with the menu on the table. “You have a lot of friends.”
He shrugged. “I like to eat. You get to know people that way.” He took the menu out of her hands and shook his head. “My parents own a
bakery, remember? So they know all the foodies in town too.”
Frowning, she looked at the menu he’d stolen away. “But . . .”
“The good stuff isn’t on the menu, gorgeous. Trust me.” He winked.
At first it seemed like he was being controlling, insisting he order for her, but now she realized this was his version of fun. With a smile, she sat back and relaxed, letting worry go for once, and trusted him.
There didn’t seem to be a waiter serving their table, so Ambrose went to the kitchen and spoke directly with the chef. She tried to tell him this was lunch and she wouldn’t eat that much, but he seemed to be on a mission. Considering the size of him, he’d probably eat what she didn’t anyway.
He turned from the kitchen and asked, “Red wine or white?”
“Actually, coffee, please.”
After a curt nod, he spoke to the chef for another minute then turned back to the table, grinning like a kid in a candy shop. It was fucking adorable. Here was Ambrose, in his element.
“You really like food, huh?”
“Yes.” His forehead creased, the grin fading away. “Is . . . that bad? Anytime I date a girl who only eats salad or whose idea of eating out is Taco Bell, things never seem to last long.”