“I’m sorry. I’m talking about work too much, aren’t I?” she asks.
“I’m the one who asked. I mean, I want to get to know you, and your job is a big part of that, but tell me who you are outside of work. That’s what I really want to hear,” I prompt.
She blows out a breath. “There’s not a lot to tell. I have a great little apartment off the Strip. I go to the gym twice a week. I keep saying that I’m going to start going every other day, but I’m just lying to myself.”
“Ah, see, I knew if I prodded long enough, I’d find something we had in common. I, too, am a gym poser.”
That wins me a smile.
Our entrées arrive, and our dinner conversation turns to places we’ve traveled and places we’d like to travel to someday.
I find out she’s a dog lover, but because of the restrictions at her apartment building, she can’t get a puppy. Which is probably a good thing with the hours she works.
By the time the dessert menu hits the table, I feel like I’ve gained some insight into her.
She thinks she’s not a fan of love, yet everything about her screams romance.
She picks up the menu.
“Do you want to split something?” she asks.
“I have a better idea,” I say and gesture for the check.
Bran
“Prepare yourself. You’re about to have one of Lake Mistletoe’s most legendary treats,” I tell her as I pull the tin from the pantry.
“Popcorn? That’s the legendary treat you lured me to your house for?” she asks.
“Not just any popcorn. It’s Mrs. Sugarplum’s Gourmet Popcorn,” I tell her.
I reach over her head and grab two bowls. Then, I pop the top of the tin to reveal the contents.
White cheddar cheese, dill pickle, maple caramel, and white and dark chocolate swirl drizzle.
I start adding a scoop of each to the bowls.
“You aren’t mixing those, are you?” she asks.
“Yeah, duh,” I reply.
She snatches one of the bowls and holds it behind her back. “I’ll keep mine separate, thank you. I’m not a savage.”
I lean into her and mutter, “Nope, you’re just … blah.”
She gasps. “Take that back. I’m not blah.”
I reach around her and wrench the bowl from her grip. Then, I slide the other bowl of mixed flavors in front of her and dust the top with red and green sprinkles for good measure.
“Prove it,” I challenge.
“Okay, so tell me, what is the most ridiculous wedding you’ve ever thrown?” I ask.
“I thought I was talking too much about work.”
“Come on. I want to know.”
“Hmm, let’s see. I planned a lavish, insanely expensive wedding for a billionaire’s dog once,” she says before tossing a piece of popcorn in her mouth.