The place is packed, so the waitress waves us through the crowd to a small table near the back. We order craft beers and settle in after Sebastian removes his suit coat. I stand to do the same when I realize I’m still wearing his jacket.
“Thank you for letting me borrow this.” I hand it back to him.
“Are you sure you don’t still need it?”
“It’s okay. I’m sure I’ll warm up real quick in here.” Both with how many people are here and getting to stare at you for the next hour or so.
We sit, and he instantly rolls his sleeves back up. Seeing those forearms bare with his muscular flesh on display definitely heats me right up.
A gentleman’s arms aren’t given nearly enough attention. You can tell a lot about a man with one quick glance. Smooth skin shows outer care while corded forearms declare he treats his inside equally well. He has home-gym arms, curled and toned but not bulky. He has no creases in his shirt, except at the elbows, as would someone who has his shirts professionally cared for. The rolled-up sleeves show a laid-back confidence, but it’s how they’re folded in an even, precise manner, as if he needs to be able to roll them down to pristine perfection with ease. He appears ambitious and dedicated to his work. And the thought of those arms wrapped around you on a cold March night is just damn sexy.
Our beers arrive quickly, so I take a sip and try to rid my mind of all thoughts of cuddling and forearms and flesh.
“Did you know McGillin’s is the most romantic place in Philadelphia?” I muse.
He looks around with a grin as he leans forward. “I thought you’d get a kick out of the history, but I didn’t think of it as romantic.”
“Oh, but it is. More couples have met, become engaged, and even gotten married here than any other place in Philadelphia.”
He leans closer in a flirtatious way. “Given how old it is, the odds work in its favor.”
“True. I can only imagine the amount of booze that has been drunk within these walls. I suppose, too, that most people find their soul mates over a couple of drinks.”
He laughs. It’s thick and rich, like dark chocolate mousse. “You’re a true romantic, aren’t you, Amy Morgana?”
I blush a little. “You’re not incorrect. I do love a good romantic comedy, and I’d never refuse a walk on the beach.”
“Don’t forget chocolate,” he muses.
“Yes, chocolate. Eating a small morsel is a voluptuous experience. Even if you didn’t know it had aphrodisiac qualities, the flavor alone would make you feel romantic.”
He takes a sip of his beer and licks his lips. “Do you really believe chocolate makes you horny?”
“When the Spanish conquistadors arrived in modern-day Mexico City, they say Montezuma drank fifty cups of chocolate a day and he had a harem of fifty women. They assumed the chocolate must have increased his stamina.”
He raises his brows in amusement. “Meaning … it was the original Viagra.”
I laugh and almost spit out my drink. “It must have been—or so the conquistadors thought. They returned to Europe with cacao, where it immediately caught on as an aphrodisiac and a luxury that was tightly controlled. I mean, they couldn’t have lust-filled peasants running amok.”
“That would have been a travesty,” he jokes, acting very serious. “So, I take it, it was reserved for the aristocracy?”
“Bingo. Rumor has it, Marie Antoinette wouldn’t start her day without a cup of chocolate.” I take a long swallow and grin. “That chocolate was made with chile though, which was too spicy for Europeans or Americans. So, they replaced the chile with sugar to create what we know now as chocolate today.”
“Do you think the chile was the trick to it being an aphrodisiac?”
“If you ever want to try it, I can make a special batch in my kitchen.” My words come out far flirtier than I intended.
Based on Sebastian’s grin and the heat in his gaze, I’d say, my unintended comment just got a rather welcome reaction.
“Why chocolate?” he asks as his hand wraps around his pint glass. “Why did you choose it as your career?”
I blow out a breath and cross my legs, leaning into the table. “I guess it started when I was a kid on Valentine’s Day. My dad would buy each of us those heart-shaped boxes. You know, the red fabric kind. They were so pretty, and I loved having my special piece of heaven. The diagram was key. There’s nothing worse than biting into a disappointing flavor.”
He laughs. “I was the kid who took a bite out of every piece and only ate about five in the box.”
“Exactly!” I say rather excitedly. “As I got older, I found myself testing different brands, finding the flavors I enjoyed, and I learned fast that not all chocolate makers are alike.”
“Any favorites?”
“Godiva and Lindt. Prestat and Montezuma. Pierre Marcolini. Milène Jardine.”
“But you knew you could do better.” There’s a gleam in his eye that makes me smile.
“I hope I can. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. I’ve always admired the miniature artistic masterpieces that emerge from a box.”
He nods like he appreciates and understands my words. “Did you go to culinary school?”
“College wasn’t for me, so I decided to go learn from the ground up. I’ve worked in Paris and Belgium, New York and here, in Philadelphia.”
“Do you speak French?”
“Oui.”
“Azez-vous un café préféré à Paris?”
I bite my lip as I try to think of my favorite café in Paris, which is what he just asked. There was one, an impressive pastry cart with rich hot chocolate that was so thick that the spoon slowed with every stir.
“Les Deux Magots. Les déserts étaient magnifiques,” I reply and then add, “You speak French beautifully, by the way.”
“You’re kind, but I know it’s rusty. I’m better at Spanish. I learned French in high school and took Español in college. It comes in handy in my line of work more than French does.”
“What do you do when you’re not saving the world one wrong at a time? Impressionnant,” I say in French.
“I’m not the impressive one. You’re the one who has followed her dreams by traveling the world and running your own business. I’m captivated.”
“Do you mean, you’re more like shocked that the woman who texted you on accident, telling you off, isn’t a mental patient?”
“I told you, I wanted to see if you were as charming as I hoped.”
“You mean, crazy.”
“I mean, enrapturing. You, Amy, have surpassed everything I could have ever imagined you’d be. More than anything, I’m glad I offered to meet you for coffee the next day.”
His charm is impossible to shy away from. Sebastian Blake is easy on the eyes and easier to talk to.
“I know you run marathons and have Duke. What else makes you tick?”
“That’s like opening Pandora’s box.” He raises his eyebrows as he takes a sip of his beer.
“I still have half a drink, and I’m open to getting a second. I’m here for the box. Open the box, Sebastian.” I use my most jovial yet tempting voice.