9

She needed to understand something, and because I was more forward than her, I said, “Listen to me, Alix. You can always say no to me.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

As I looked into her eyes, the truth behind that statement revealed itself to me.

She felt the same way I did.

I didn’t know what to call it.

I couldn’t even describe it.

But it was something.

I’d known that from the moment I stood next to her at the restaurant.

Even more so when I wrote my number on her hand.

And, now, the feeling was even more intense than ever.

Enough that I needed to start walking or my fucking hands were going to reach for her.

I couldn’t let that happen yet.

“Follow me.” My hand went to her shoulder, moving her closer, before I led her toward State Street.

Just as I took a step, I heard, “Wait.”

I glanced at my side, our eyes locking.

“I need to know something first.”

“What?”

“Is she still in the picture?”

She.

The girl I had been with that night.

It was a fair question.

“She’s long gone.” My lids narrowed as I took her in. “Let me assure you of something, Alix. Had my assistant not called, dragging me away from that dinner, I still would have ended up at your table; it just might have taken me a few minutes longer to get there.”

Her cheeks flushed.

Her body seemed even tenser than before.

“You don’t need to charm me.”

I laughed.

I wasn’t sure how men typically acted around her. With how gorgeous she was, I assumed they hit on her all the time.

That wasn’t what I was doing.

“I’m just telling you the truth.” Instead of waiting for her to respond, I looked straight ahead and began to walk, bringing her over the cobblestones toward Quincy Market. Once we were well past the train station, I asked, “Are you hungry?”

She shrugged. “I’m the kind of girl who can always eat.”

“That’s the kind of girl I like.”

Her cheeks flushed again.

It was a sight I’d never grow tired of.

“I’m about to feed you the best lunch you’ve ever had in Boston.” Rather than going into Quincy Market, I took her around the side of the building to the last pushcart in the row and stood with her in the short line.

“I feel like you really believe that.” She was nervous, fidgeting with her hands, shifting her weight between her feet.

“When it comes to food, I’m an expert,” I told her. “Trust me.”

A smile was the only response I got.

But what I liked was that there was nothing simple about that movement of her lips. Her grin traveled as high as her eyes, and it changed the color in her cheeks and caused a tiny twitch in her nose.

It was all so genuine.

When we reached the front of the line and it was my turn to order, I asked for two extra-crispy gyros.

The preparation started with tzatziki sauce slathered onto the pitas, followed by an assembly line of vegetables and meat, which had been stuck back on the grill to cook the way I’d requested.

Once both were wrapped in foil and paid for, I said to Alix, “One more stop,” and I backtracked four carts.

There, I ordered fries from a vendor who sliced the potatoes right in front of us and dropped them into a fryer. When they were golden brown and placed in a large bowl, I handed him some cash and went over to the condiments.

“Vinegar?” Alix said as I lifted the bottle.

I looked at her. “You’ve never had it on your fries?”

She shook her head, and I glanced back down, drizzling the vinegar over the whole bowl, adding in some salt and a large squirt of ketchup.

“Once you have them like this, you’ll never eat them any other way.”

I moved us over to a vacant bench, and as I put the fries between us, my hand gently grazed the outer edge of her thigh. The small gasp she made was just the sound I’d wanted to hear.

I pulled my fingers away and said, “Go ahead; try them.”

She wasn’t careful about the way she dipped one into the pool of ketchup or how she popped it into her mouth. She also wasn’t afraid to get her fingers dirty.

I liked that.

“Wow.” She chewed and took another fry, drowning it in ketchup first. “These really are the best I’ve ever had.”

“I know.” I handed her a gyro and bit off the corner of mine, watching as she eventually did the same to hers. “What do you think?”

“Holy shit,” she said as she swallowed.

I smiled at her response and at the way she was eyeing the sandwich.

“This is incredible, Dylan.” She spoke behind her hand, so I couldn’t see the sauce that I knew was on her lips.

It was fucking adorable.

She grabbed several more fries and added, “I’m starting to believe you’re the expert you said you were.”

“It only gets better.”

“The food?”

“All of it.”

It was a promise.

One I intended on keeping.

As she processed what I’d just told her, I went over to one of the carts and grabbed some extra napkins, handing her several as I returned to the bench.

“Why don’t you tell me about you?” she said as I sat back down.

Her shyness was resurfacing, and she wanted the attention off of her.

I wiped my mouth and held the gyro close to my lap. “You know I’m a pilot. What you don’t know is, I own a private airline.”

“Wow.” Shock registered on her face even though half of it was hidden behind a handful of napkins.

“I’ve been in the air since I was a kid,” I told her. “My father was a pilot and my grandfather, too, so it’s in my blood. But I enjoy the business side just as much as flying; therefore, I knew one over the other would never be enough.”

“So, naturally, you went and opened your own airline. That makes perfect sense.”

Her sarcasm made me laugh.

It sounded so hot, coming out of her.

So did the giggle.

God, that girl is fucking beautiful.

“None of it came easy,” I told her. “It took years to build what I have now and a hell of a lot of people who believed in my dream and had the money to back it. Fortunately, Embassy Jets has done better than the investors and I projected.”

She set down the gyro and ate several fries. “What about your family? Are they in Boston?”

“I have a sister in Seattle, and my parents are in Somerville, in the same house I grew up in. Dad’s retired now. Mom, too. They play bridge every Tuesday. It’s a whole lot of fucking normal.”