Page 20 of The Disasters of Dating (Love Connections #6)

POPPY

Whirring Mercury can still cause a stir in your sphere. And while you may long for calm, you may need to accept that you won’t find it where you currently are. Leave your comfort zone. It might feel strange at first, but soon you’ll come to love it!

I step into La Vie en Fromage and look around. I don’t see Keaton, so he must not have arrived yet.

The hostess looks at me. “May I help you?”

I smile. “Yeah, I made a reservation for 6:00.”

“Name,” she asks without looking up.

“Ashcombe,” I glance down at the iPad sitting on the countertop. I can see my name. I’m not sure why she hasn’t found it yet.

Finally, she looks up and flicks up her lips in what I’m sure she thinks is a smile. It can only be considered a half-grin, if anything. “For two?”

I nod.

“Do you want to wait for your whole party?”

I look behind me. “He should be here any minute.”

Her brows tick up ever so slightly in impatience. “It’s up to you.” She taps a long, bejeweled nail on the side of the hostess stand. I’m about to say I’ll wait, when she says, “Why don’t I take you back now?”

I smile and cast one last glance behind me. There’s a large group just coming through the door. I turn around and follow the hostess.

“Hey, Poppy!” Keaton calls before I go behind the wall that separates the waiting room from the dining room .

My shoulders relax. I guess I was worried he might not show?

“Hey, Keaton. I hope you didn’t have any problem finding the place.”

He shakes his head and comes up beside me, his hand resting on the small of my back. I twitch but try to minimize it so that he doesn’t think I’m weirded out. Even though I kind of am. It’s like his hand was Thor’s Thunderbolt. A thunderbolt that settles into a pleasant, toasty heater on my back.

I smile back over my shoulder at him. “I hope this place is okay. I’ve never actually eaten at this location, but they have another place downtown that I’ve been to with my mom. It was pretty good.”

He nods. “The pictures on the website looked delicious. But I’m mostly here for the company.”

Oooh, he’s smoother than I expected him to be.

He pulls out a chair and waits for me to sit before scooting it in. It’s like we’re on a date or something…which we’re not. Rules and all.

He slides into the chair across from me and rests his elbows on the table, steepling his clasped hands. “Okay, I think some ground rules are in order.”

I stare at him with a slight tilt of my head.

“First rule, if a napkin falls on the floor, we either leave it there or we announce we are picking it up.” He gives me a serious look.

I lift a hand to my forehead and smile. The goose egg has gone away, but there is still a yellowish hue under my makeup. I nod. “That seems like a sensible rule.”

He sighs. “Second, we will each stay on our respective sides of the table.” He holds up his hand as if to stop my protests. “I realize that might be difficult for you, as I’m fairly irresistible, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist on it.”

My brows raise, and I grin. “Again, very sensible.” I pretend to look serious. “I’ll do my level best to keep my hands off you.”

He frowns. “I didn’t mention that in the rules. Touching is acceptable…just from across the table.”

My eyes drop to his visibly defined chest and biceps. Heat floods my face when I glance up and see him watching me, a grin on his lips. “Thanks for the clarification.” I pull my lip between my teeth, biting back my embarrassment. “Is that all? Or are there more rules?”

He nods rather severely. “Neither of us will order any food with even a hint of color to it.” He glances down at my black shirt.

“Although it looks as though you have already taken steps toward that.” He taps his lips—very kissable lips, I might add—before speaking. “Okay, I’m amending rule number three.”

“Oh? Already? But you only proposed it seconds ago.”

“Yes, but I didn’t take your clothing into consideration. I think a good white sauce might be as devastating to your black shirt as the red soup was to your white one.” He lifts a brow.

I squint at him. “So, no white or dark-colored foods?”

He looks pensive for a moment, then he nods. “I think they’re both a risk. I’m afraid that has to be the rule.”

One side of my mouth quirks up. “So, only chicken broth-based soups or sauces?”

He pushes his lips out in an apologetic pout. “T’would seem it’s the only option.”

I sputter out a laugh. “T’would? Are we in a Jane Austen novel?”

He picks up his menu and opens it. “Weirder things have happened.” He looks intently at it. “And for the final rule, I must insist that if we are in close proximity, you forewarn me before you lean over, so I might step out of the tangle zone.”

I look at my menu as my head nods. “It seems you have thought a great deal on these rules.” Does that mean he’s thought of me a great deal, too?

I lift my eyes to his. He smiles at me, and my heart thuds in my neck.

I know I shouldn’t hope he thinks about me, but I can’t seem to block the thought.

Geez, I need to slow this roll. “Do you always make rules before having dinner with…friends?” I inwardly cringe at putting him in the friend zone. But it really is the only option.

He seems unfazed by the ‘friend’ comment, so maybe I’m the only one who’s having these thoughts.

“Not usually. But you seem to be a special type of friend that requires such measures.” He glances back at the menu. “So, what is good here?”

I watch him for a moment longer. He looks good tonight.

His hair is a little long, curling around his ears and collar.

And for the first time, I’m noticing his eyes.

They’re a deep brown. Nothing muddy about them.

They remind me of my mom’s dark walnut wood table, with the same variations in color.

And his shoulders are much broader than I remember.

Maybe it’s because I usually see them burdened with a backpack.

Let’s just say he makes the golf shirt look good.

He looks up at me, likely because I haven’t answered his question yet. Real smooth, Pops.

“The sweet potato ravioli is amazing. And I love their chicken salad—not the curry one. I’m not a fan of curry. ”

He puts his menu down and stares at me open-mouthed. “You don’t like curry? How is that possible?”

“Quite easily, actually,” I give him a challenging look. “Is that a problem for you?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I mean, you do you, Boo. But I think it’s weird.”

I laugh. “Did you just call me Boo?”

“I did. I felt the moment called for such a drastic name.”

“You’re that committed to curry?”

He’s staring at the menu, rather than at me, but his lips are twitching. “I’m afraid I take my food very seriously.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I close my menu and look around the restaurant.

“Do you know what you’re having?” He asks.

I lean back in my chair. “Yeah, I’m going with the pasta with butternut squash and brown butter.”

He glances up at me. “How very vegan of you.”

I shake my head and give him a fake look of exasperation. “You don’t know much about vegans, do you? They would never eat something with butter.”

“I beg your pardon.” He grimaces, which turns into a frown as he looks back at the menu. “So many things look good. I can’t decide.” He snaps it closed and puts it to the side. “I’m never going to decide if I keep looking at the menu.”

The server approaches our table. “Can I get you any drinks? Or are you ready to order?” He asks in a deep, rich voice.

Keaton nods. “I’m ready to order. What about you, Poppy?”

At the last minute, I change my mind. “I’ll have J’s chicken salad, please.”

“And did you want that on a croissant or sourdough bread?”

I purse my lips together. “I think I’ll go with the sourdough.”

I can feel Keaton watching me, as if he is taking mental notes. But what the notes are about, I couldn’t say. But it still makes me self-conscious. I can tell we are moving into a Cancer Moon cycle.

“What do you want for your side?”

I frown. “The apple kale slaw is too similar a texture to the chicken salad.” It kills me a little to upgrade to fries because they are, like, 5 bucks extra—who charges that much for fries? Fancy French cafes, that’s who—but they may be worth it. “I’ll get the pommes frites.”

He nods and turns his attention to Keaton. “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the rigatoni bolognese. ”

“Ah, very good choice, sir. It’s one of my favorites.” The server scribbles down on a notepad. I’m impressed to see that this time, Keaton ordered one of the less expensive items. Is that because I’m paying? “Would you like to add a side salad or anything else?”

“Do you have Dr. Pepper?”

“We do.”

Keaton hands his menu to the server. “I’ll take a Dr. Pepper, then. Thanks.”

“And for you, Miss?”

I sigh. I don’t want to pay for a soda, but their water tastes like garbage. “I guess I’ll have a Sprite.”

The server tucks the menus under his arm and smiles as he turns on his heel and leaves us.

“Decided against the pasta?” Keaton asks as he lifts his water glass to his lips and takes a sip. He makes a face. “I hope it wasn’t anything I said.”

“Nope.” I clasp my hands in my lap. “I called an audible.”

Keaton grins. “An audible, huh?” He fiddles with the tines on his fork, picking it up and then dropping it to the table. “Are you a football fan?”

I nod as I play with my fork tines, too.

“I am. I used to watch it a lot with my dad. He coached our local high school team when I was young. I remember we used to go to all the games. I thought it was so boring then. But as I got older and understood it more, it became more entertaining. When he became a principal, we still went to all the games, but we’d also watch all the college football games on the weekends. ”

Keaton is watching me, and I feel a little exposed. “Is your dad only a college football guy, or does he like the pros too?”

“He liked them both, but college was his favorite.”

“Was?” Keaton asks.