Page 31 of Sunflower Persona (Classic City Romance #2)

His lips twitch with a smile as he stands and pulls me to my feet.

Our fingers stay entwined as we walk back through the restaurant, ignoring the confused looks from the staff.

He doesn’t let me go until we’re back in the car, and even then, the separation only lasts long enough for him to turn on the radio and set it to a pop station before he grabs my hand again and rests them twined together on the center console.

It doesn’t take us long to make it to the new restaurant.

The scent of peppers and other spices hits me like a delicious wall as we step inside.

I feel like a cartoon character being carried into the brightly decorated space on that tantalizing tendril.

There’s nothing unique about the Mexican restaurant, which makes it perfect.

Sure, it’s loud and bright, but it’s a familiar loud and bright, which makes it safe.

“This better?” he asks.

“This is perfect,” I tell him with a smile. “Now let’s go get some queso.”

A hostess seats us and hands us our menus.

We order our drinks, and once the server leaves, we fall back into silence while we look over our options.

I don’t need to—I always get the same thing—but flipping through the oversized book gives me something to do with my hands and an excuse to keep my eyes off the man in front of me.

So what happens now?

Talking to him was so much easier through text, but I think that’s true for most people.

Everything is easier with that barrier of tech.

People become data, nothing more than names on screens, and you don’t have to worry about things like micro-expressions or body language when you can’t see someone’s face.

All you have are the words someone says, and everyone has the same inputs to go off.

It evens the playing field a bit. I’ve always had an easier time connecting online than in person, but I also know those relationships only go so deep.

People can hide a lot of who they are behind a keyboard.

“So, how are classes?” Gage asks once we place our orders and the server takes the menus away.

“They are classes,” I say with a shrug. “Things are starting to pick up now that the semester is getting into full swing.”

“Is that a good thing? I’m a little out of touch. I haven’t stepped foot in a classroom in almost two decades.”

“It gives me something to do besides playing video games and watching movies all night. Although it seems like all of my professors conspired to have their due dates aligned.”

“Right.”

An uncomfortable awkwardness surrounds us as we lapse into silence.

Rather than focus on it, I turn my attention to the basket of chips on the table, breaking them into tiny pieces. A sheen of sweat forms on my date’s forehead as he watches my fingers work. He swallows hard and wipes away the perspiration with the back of his hand.

“It’s hot today, huh,” he mutters, and I damn near lose it.

No.

Just no.

There is no way we are going to be so awkward that we resort to talking about the weather.

“Freeze,” I tell him, and he listens, but his heavy brow furrows.

“What did I do?”

“The weather? Really? We can do better than that.”

“I didn’t think small talk would be this hard. I guess I’m more out of practice than I thought.”

“Who wants to make small talk? Small talk is terrible. Small talk is for strangers and coworkers you secretly hate. We aren’t strangers, and I don’t hate you, so let’s skip the awkward get-to-know-you bit, okay?”

“Okay.” He lets out a deep breath and folds his hands on the table in front of him. “So what do you propose instead?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look up some date questions. That has to be better than this.”

I pull out my phone and google first-date questions. My face twists as I read through the list. I don’t know how they managed it, but whoever wrote this somehow created questions that are both incredibly personal and superficial at the same time.

How do you unwind at the end of the day?

Who are you closest to in your family?

What’s your favorite season?

Do people seriously ask each other things like that?

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“These are terrible.”

“Let me see.” He reaches across the table, and I hand him my phone.

He scrolls through it, his brow furrowing deeper with each passing moment.

“Yeah, you’re right, these suck.”

“If you had to eat a crayon, what color would you choose?” I ask the first thing that pops into my head.

“What?” He chokes on a chip as he tries not to laugh.

“You heard me. What color crayon are you eating?”

“Is this a normal pack, or are we splurging for the big one with the sharpener on the back?”

“Sharpener, obviously.” As if we’d waste our time with anything else .

“That’s a lot of options. I’m gonna say one of the oranges.”

He can be wrong.

“Why orange?”

“It at least has a food in the name,” he says with a shrug. “You’d choose yellow, right?”

“The brightest one in the box,” I confirm.

“Nothing is as bright as you, Low,” Gage says, and my jaw drops.

That smooth motherfucker.

“Gagriel Maher, did you just use a line on me,” I admonish with a laugh.

“Gagriel?” he asks, his lips twitching into the start of a smile.

“Don’t change the subject. You were totally hitting on me.”

“Of course I was,” he says in that gruff monotone of his. “I’ve got to woo my girl.”

His girl .

The certainty in his voice leaves no room for questions, and my heart melts into a pile of goo. I really like the sound of that.

“I don’t know if I’m sufficiently wooed yet. Maybe you need to keep trying.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asks.

The heated look that darkens his eyes makes my thighs clench together and my mouth water.

He doesn’t wait for me to respond, which is a good thing, because I’m pretty sure he stole my voice with his gaze.

Shadows fall over the table as he leans forward, encroaching on my space, and I lean into him, drawn in by some unseen magnetic force until our faces are only a few inches apart.

Our breath mingles in the space between us, and for one long, tortuous second, he says nothing at all.

Then he stands.

That abrupt motion rips through the tension like a porcupine in a bounce house.

My whole body straightens as my eyes follow him, and from my seated position, he towers over me.

Before I can question him, he moves again.

This time, his movements are fluid as he slides into the booth next to me and puts one arm over the back of it so it rests behind me.

He isn’t quite touching me, but the intention is perfectly clear. It’s a claim.

“I didn’t like how far away you were.” His gravelly whisper kisses my ear, and a shudder runs through me straight to my aching core. “Next time we go out, I want you to sit next to me. I don’t want to have to reach across the table to touch you. Is that good with you?”

I didn’t know someone could turn me on with their words alone, but when he goes all in-charge on me, I turn into Niagara Falls.

“Yes, Gage,” I rasp in a breathy whisper, and the man beside me groans.

“You are so perfect,” he tells me.

His arm drops to my shoulders, and he pulls me against him. I don’t hesitate to cuddle into his side.

“I haven’t told you how beautiful you look yet.

That was my mistake. I just got so tongue-tied when I saw you standing there looking like all my sweetest fantasies come to life.

” He continues to whisper the words loud enough that only I can hear them as his fingers start to trail down my arm.

The touch sends delicious tingles through my whole body.

He opens his mouth to say more but is interrupted by the server bringing our meals.

I expect him to jerk away from me, but he doesn’t even glance in their direction as they put our plates on the table.

I, on the other hand, feel like a kid who got caught with their hand in a very muscular cookie jar.

My whole face feels hot, and I can’t bring myself to look at the server either, but for an entirely different reason.

“How was that for wooing?” Gage asks with a soft chuckle.

“Consider me wooed.”

He presses a gentle kiss to my temple, and only then does he pull his arm back so we can eat.

My mind is too riled to focus on the food in front of me.

For now, I’ll count down the minutes until we can leave and go somewhere with a little more privacy.

I don’t know how far I want to go tonight, but I wouldn’t mind a repeat of what happened in my dorm room.

We just have to get through dinner first.