Page 67 of Connectio

Thankfully, our waiter returns, places two beers on the table, and says, “Are you ready to order?”

I nod but don’t look at Will. “I’ll have the crispy skinned salmon, thanks.”

“I’ll have the Parma and chips.” Will hands the waiter our menus. “And she’ll have the venison, not the salmon.”

“What?” I shake my head, my laugh uneasy. “No, I’ll have the salmon.”

He ignores me. “She wants the venison.”

“I’m sorry, but how do you know what I want?”

“Because your eyes lit up when your finger stopped on it, sweetheart.”

The waiter takes a step backward and smiles. “I’ll come back in a min—”

“No. The lady will have the venison, and I’ll have the Parma.”

“Will!” I shriek.

“Elizabeth!” he shrieks back.

I almost laugh but grit my teeth instead, frustrated with the gall of him when he reaches across the table and places his hand over mine, his squeeze ever so gentle, his eyes ever so sincere.

“Order whatever you want, your choice, my treat. But be honest… you want the venison, don’t you?”

I sigh. “I’m more than happy with the salm—”

He looks at the waiter one final time. “A venison and Parma, thanks. End of story.”

The waiter gingerly nods then flees toward the kitchen.

“Oh my God!” I try to retract my hand. “Are you happy now?”

He holds it firm. “Are you?”

“I was happy with the salmon.”

“But you’re happier with the venison.” Will smiles, all teeth and sparkly eyes.

I try to retract my hand again, but again, he holds it firm. “Stop it,” I say, laughing. “And you can’t just say ‘end of story’ like that. It’s rude.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

His smile grows bigger. “You have the cutest nose.”

“What?” Unable to help myself, I wiggle it. “Can I have my hand back now?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Are you mad at me?” He grazes my knuckles with the pad of his thumb, the small gesture sending a rush of emotion through my body. “Don’t be mad at me. I just want to give you what you want.”

My throat thickens at his sweetness, so I pry my hand loose and reach for my beer, eyeing him over the rim of the glass as I take a sip. “Why? Why do you want to give me what I want?”

“Because it’ll make you feel good.”