“Pitching means drinking the product?”
“Of course. I can’t pitch for something that isn’t wholly and completely familiar to me.”
Molly grinned. “We should all be grateful he’s not pitching for cough syrup.”
“I pick my accounts carefully.” Gabe started unbuttoning his shirt. “I need a quick shower. Talk amongst yourselves.”
He walked back into the room ten minutes later, as Mark was serving the risotto and Molly was laying the table. Valentine lay with his nose on his paws, watching her protectively.
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, that dog would make a wonderful nanny when you have kids.” Gabe was wearing a clean shirt and jeans. His feet were bare. “So why are you hanging out with us and not this hot, charming guy you met in the park?”
Molly carried plates through from the kitchen. “I like hanging out with you.”
“Because we’re comfortable and safe.”
“Because you’re friends.” These days she chose her friends very, very carefully. Life had made her cautious.
Mark sat down at the table. “What does Mr. Hot Guy in the Park do? Choice of career tells you a lot about a person.”
Gabe frowned. “I disagree.”
“People choose to become doctors because they’re caring.”
“Not always. There’s also the money and the status. And the doctor in the book I’m reading right now is a serial killer. He went into medicine because he likes dead bodies.”
Molly pulled a face. “You need to change your reading.”
“I can’t. I’m addicted to Lucas Blade. Whatever he writes, I read.”
“Well, Man in the Park isn’t a doctor. He’s a lawyer.”
“So he’s smart and good with words. I’m liking him already. And how many times have you met?”
“Once or twice.” Molly felt her cheeks heat. “Maybe more.?
??
“How many times more?”
“He’s been there every morning for the past couple of weeks.”
“Whoa.” Gabe’s eyes widened. “This is a serious, long-term relationship.”
“We sat on a park bench. We were in public the whole time. Our dogs are friends.”
“So you’re chatting with him so Valentine can have some guy time?”
“That’s part of it. It’s like a doggy playdate.”
“Honey, you’re not fooling anyone. You’re interested in this guy, I can tell. So why didn’t you say yes to dinner?”
Molly squirmed. “Because he’s too—” She bit her lip and Gabe raised an eyebrow.
“Too?”
“I don’t know. He’s too—everything. Too good-looking, too charming.”
“No man can be ‘too’ anything for you.” Gabe sat back in his chair. “You, Molly Parker, deserve the very best of everything. Including champagne. Speaking of which…” He stood up, retrieved the bottle from the fridge and eased the cork out with a satisfying pop.