Chapter Seven
By the time their meals arrived, they’d covered several standard first date topics.
But this wasn’t a first date…she hoped she’d made that clear.
Why did it still feel like one?
They had similar taste in music, both enjoying indie and folk rock. At first Andrew didn’t seem to believe she didn’t like country music, but she’d insisted not everyone from Oklahoma listened to honky-tonk.
Neither had much time to read outside of work or school, but when they did, Andrew said he chose crime thrillers by authors like John Grisham and James Patterson. Lauren admitted she preferred romance novels.
“Like the kind with half-dressed men on the cover?” Andrew asked, a wide grin on his face.
“Don’t you know you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover?”
“That’s a yes.”
She speared an asparagus stalk with her fork. “Have you traveled much?”
“A little. We took a family vacation to Hawaii when I was thirteen, and I went to London with some buddies over one spring break in college. Other than that, just places around the US. What about you?”
“If it doesn’t border Oklahoma, I haven’t been there.”
“Really? Do you enjoy travelling?”
“I love it. I’d jump at the chance to see new places.”
“Was your family not big on it?”
Lauren took a sip of wine while she considered how to answer. “My parents divorced when I was young. My mom travels a lot, but I grew up with my dad. He doesn’t drift far from home.” She set her glass down. “But when I’m finished with residency and get a job, I’ll go places.”
“I hear that. It feels impossible to do anything fun while I’m in school.”
“The end is in sight for both of us.” Lauren leaned back and regarded her companion—not her date—admiring the way his chest filled out his dress shirt and the way his jaw flexed as he chewed. Good grief, get a hold of yourself, woman. “So. Tell me three unique things about Andrew Bishop.”
Appearing surprised, Andrew said, “Like what?”
“Anything. What makes you different from the guy at the next table over? From my ex-boyfriend? From Logan?” She winked, and he grinned. “The stranger the better.”
Andrew rubbed his chin. “Wow. Uh…okay, here’s one. I hate pickles.”
“I ask you for a unique fact about yourself and you’re giving me pickles?”
“What? My sisters love them. They think it’s weird that I hate them,” he said before taking a bite of steak.
Her expression went flat. “Come on, you can do better than that. Hating pickles is no big dill.”
His face was blank for a beat before he laughed, a rich, throaty sound.
She smiled wide, unable to help herself. “That’s one of mine. I’m a master of puns.”
“Oh, I remember. Im-port-ant?” He shook his head. “What else have you got?”
“I asked you first.” She looked down and focused on cutting a piece of chicken, like she had all the time in the world.
“Okay.” He took another bite and leaned back in his chair, chewing and swallowing before he spoke again. “My favorite color is pink.”
“Is not.”