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He picks up his fork. “And…I wondered if I could take you out sometime? Perhaps Friday, if you’re free?” He stabs a piece of chicken and bites it so casually, like he hasn’t just set my entire world on fire.
Am I hallucinating? Did Marcus Andersson just ask me out?
I blink, completely frozen.
And to my surprise – he shifts slightly in his seat and clears his throat. Like he’s waiting.
He raises a brow, a slightly amused expression on his face. “Don’t tell me I’ve misread this and you’re about to tell me you have a boyfriendor something.” His tone is teasing, but there’s the faintest glimmer of tension behind it. Like he’s so used to always hearing yes, that my inability to answer instantly has actually thrown him.
I laugh, a jolt of electricity surging through me. I can’t remember ever feeling such a strong rush of excitement and energy within the space of a few short minutes. At least not when I’ve been sober.
“God, no, nothing like that,” I reassure him. “Sorry. I think I was just… in shock.”
“Oh, so you tried to givemea heart attack in return?” he accuses playfully. “Bold strategy,” he says with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.
“No! I just - ” I cover my face briefly with my hands, laughing. “I was genuinely stunned. I didn’t think you –“
He tilts his head. “Didn’t think I what?”
“That you’d…ask me out,” I say, my cheeks burning. “I mean, not because I wouldn’t want you to, obviously – I just didn’t think…”
He watches me flail with far too much enjoyment. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
My eyes go wide and I pray that the cold outside is a good enough reason for my face to be burning the bright shade of red I’m sure it must be at this point.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not. I like it.” He picks up his coffee, looking far too pleased with himself. “But I’ve got to say, I don’t believe for a second that you don’t get asked out all the time.”
“I don’t,” I say. “Not seriously, anyway.”
He studies me for a second, his eyes sharp and unreadable. “Well, that’s ridiculous.”
I try to focus on my salad, but it’s damn near impossible when he’s sitting there like an actual fantasy come to life, all confidence and charisma with that smile that completely short-circuits my brain.
“Do you have something in mind?” I ask, trying to steady my voice.
“I thought we could go for dinner, a few drinks, somewhere relaxed. Just… get to know each other better.”
I nod, and then grin. “As long as it doesn’t involve any more whiskey!”
He laughs. “Deal. No whiskey. Just us.” His eyes soften on those last two words, my insides tightening into an unrecognisable knot.
I look at him – and the sheer excitement of seeing him again starts to mix with a frustratingneedto remember more of what happened the other night.
I don’t want to admit I can’t remember, but I also suddenly realise that he might be able to fill in some of the gaps.
“Well,” I start, my gaze fixed on my salad as I stab a piece of cucumber with my wooden fork. “At least this time I’ll make sure to remember how I get home.”
His brow lifts just slightly. “You don’t remember?”
I shake my head, my cheeks warming with embarrassment.
“I knew you were wasted, but you didn’t seem out of it or anything.” His voice shifts, a note of concern threading through.
“I’ve been told I hold my own fairly well,” I admit, unsure if he might see that as a good or bad thing.
“Yea, absolutely.” He sounds amused, almost impressed.