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I just stare at him.
“It’s a major part of lovemaking,” he says, his tone softening. “Oh Hallie, you’re breaking my heart.”
My face is now burning, and I’m starting to feel like an idiot. Sometimes Zoe has joked about sex and suggested her experience is far wider than mine, but you never know what people really get up to in the privacy of their bedroom. Although Ian and I didn’t experiment much, I’ve always assumed our experience was normal. But Fraser is starting to make me wonder.
“I think we should go,” I mumble, and start walking.
He falls into step beside me, and we don’t talk again until we arrive.
We decide to take a seat in the bar, so we make our way to a table by the window, overlooking the Pacific, and check outthe menu. I study it as if I’m memorizing nuclear codes, trying desperately not to think about what we’ve just discussed.
“Maybe we could share a platter?” Fraser suggests. “The charcuterie board looks good?”
“That sounds great,” I reply, even though I have no idea what he’s just said.
“I’ll order. What would you like to drink?”
“Whisky, double, neat. In fact, just bring the bottle.”
His lips curve up. “I’m happy to oblige.”
“I bet you are.” Although my voice is full of sarcasm, he just laughs. “I’ll have a latte,” I tell him. I need to keep my wits about me. Fraser is screwing with my brain enough as it is; I don’t need alcohol to muddy the waters.
He goes up to the bar, and I watch him talking to the woman, giving his order. Gosh, he looks amazing in his suit. It fits him perfectly; I bet it’s tailor made. He’s so incredibly handsome, but his glasses just stop him from looking like a Hollywood actor, and give him the bookish appearance I really like.
He pays with his card, then comes back to the table and sits opposite me. I try not to stare as he flicks open the buttons of his jacket, slides it off, and hangs it over the back of his chair, sits down, then takes off his glasses and puts them on the table. He leans back, links his fingers, and studies me with his gorgeous blue eyes.
“Stop it,” I scold.
His lips curve up, but he doesn’t say anything.
“So tell me about your talk this evening,” I say desperately. “Do you want to try it out on me?”
“No,” he says. “Hallie…”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Not now.” I’m too flustered. “Later, when we get back from the group.”
He purses his lips and thinks for a moment. I look down at my hands. He’s going to tell me I’ve spent the last ten years with a man who should have treated me better, and I’m going to get upset, and I don’t want to, not when we’re going out soon.
“All right,” he says softly. “Come on, tell me more about crowdfunding. How do you know so much about it?”
Relieved, I inhale and let out a long, shaky breath. “My sister’s husband, Keelan, is a game designer, and he ran a Kickstarter project for a new computer game he was designing. He aimed for five thousand dollars and made it in a week. I think he ended up raising over twenty thousand.”
Fraser continues to ask questions, and we talk about possibilities for the museum as our coffees and then our food arrives. The charcuterie board is amazing—camembert, cheddar, and Stilton cheeses; prosciutto, salami, and smoked salmon; oat and seed crackers and thinly sliced sourdough bread; bowls of chutney and pesto; and for sweetness, figs, sliced pears, and honey-and-thyme roasted grapes. We both tuck in, and there’s not a lot left by the time the waiter comes to pick it up.
“We should probably get going,” I say, realizing it’s gone six thirty.
“Mmm. Just a sec.” He finishes off the Coke Zero he ordered after his coffee.
I watch him drink, the way his throat moves when he swallows, and his Adam’s apple rises and falls. He lowers his empty glass, and his gaze meets mine.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
I nod. “I just wanted to say thank you.” He tips his head to the side, and I add, “For not pushing it.”
“You promised me we could talk about it later,” he says. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Yeah, well, hopefully I can have a vodka or two before that happens.”