“Something you need to know about me,” I say, dropping my voice. “I love a culinary adventure. I can be downright wild with one.”
His uneven lips twitch in amusement. “Is that so?”
“Yes. Food should be something to be explored. Savored. Lingered over. I’m all about that. I think this night could be a perfect opportunity for all those things.”
Brady’s eyes don’t waver from mine. “I agree.”
Tick, tick, tick, I need a new sheet of paper for this insanely sexy man.
And a cold pack for the back of my neck, because it’s getting hot in here.
I manage to tear my eyes away from his and study the menu. “Another thing you need to know about me. I’m a vegetarian.”
I glance up. Brady is studying me.
“Are you okay being with someone who eats meat?” he asks.
I nod. “Absolutely. That’s my choice. I don’t expect it to be everyone’s.”
“Let’s get a vegetarian appetizer to share,” Brady says, studying the menu.
My heart flutters at his sweet gesture.
Tick.
“What intrigues you?” he asks, looking down at the options.
You, I think to myself. And I can’t wait to see how many boxes I tick off before the end of the night.
Chapter Five
“Do you think they wish we would leave?”
I steal a glance around the restaurant in response to Brady’s question. At nine-thirty, we are the only people left.
We’ve been finished for a long time, but the conversation has been so much fun and so interesting, that neither of us has been ready to say the dinner is at an end.
Besotted might be a word more likely to be used in one of my favorite Regency romances, but at this moment, sitting here in a Vietnamese restaurant with Brady Jensen, I can say with certainty this one thing:
I’m utterly besotted with this man.
Brady and I have spent the past two-and-a-half hours getting to know each other. I’m fascinated with how he’s so different than me. He’s an athlete who has always loved competitive sports. I, on the other hand, have to bribe myself to workout, run at sloth level, and was picked last for any P.E. team I was ever on in my life. Well, except for the times it was down to Alana Padwick or me. She picked her nose all the time, and I got the nod over her on those occasions when we were in the same class.
I lost in the sports genetic pool, that’s for sure. Ha-ha.
Brady does have a more mystical side than I thought he would. He shared how he has taken up the practice of meditation this past spring. He enjoys reading complicated science fiction novels, whereas I love a good Regency period romance. Brady nearly sets his place on fire anytime he tries to cook, while I love the process of chopping and mixing and making a meal spectacular. I even confessed to my love of plating as a creative art, and he didn’t think I was weird for that.
We talked about our families, and I was surprised by how he brought up Brody. I know from Hayley—heck, from Brady himself this evening—that he doesn’t want to play on the same team as his brother. But when he spoke of him during dinner, of how they share the closest bond he’s ever had to anyone, how nobody understands him like Brody does, I don’t understand why he doesn’t have Brody catch for him. If he knows him better than anyone, wouldn’t that only help his pitching career?
But then I remember what Hayley said about Brady wanting to do DC on his own. And I instantly have the answer to my question. He wants to be seen outside of Brody, even if his brother would help him elevate his game.
That seems like a self-defeating behavior, but I keep that thought to myself. I didn’t ask him one question about being a twin tonight. I let him take the lead on the topic because I want him to know I see him as Brady, and just Brady, this evening.
“Addison?” Brady prompts, interrupting my thoughts.
I turn back to him. “Sorry. I just thought you’re right. We should go.”
Brady nods. He already paid an hour ago, so he slides out of the booth while I rise from my chair.
“Allow me,” Brady says, picking up my coat.
He moves behind me, and I swear I can feel the heat radiating off his body as he helps me slip into my coat.
Or is that me getting hot because he’s so close?
I walk ahead of him, and once again, his fingertips lightly touch my back. My heart flutters from that simple gesture. Brady opens the door for me, and we’re greeted with a chilly spring wind as we step outside.
I turn around to face him, and Brady is gazing down on me. The wind ruffles his hair, and I tamp down the urge to reach up and run my fingers through it.
“Well,” I say, smiling, “I suppose this is the end of the evening.”
“Is it?”
My breath catches in my throat. “Oh?”
“Google tells me there’s a used bookstore and café a block over,” he says. “Would you care to go explore it?”
“The Torn Page,” I say, nodding enthusiastically. “I love that shop.”
“Then would you care to extend the evening?”
I can’t help the ridiculous smile I know is spreading across my face. “Yes, I would.”
Brady smiles back in return. “Good.” He extends his hand toward me. “Shall we?”
I stare down at his hand extended before me on this cobblestone street in Old Town. I suddenly have a feeling sweep over me. One that sends goosebumps rippling across my skin. I know, at this very moment, that if I put my hand in Brady’s, my life is never going to be the same.
I slowly put my hand in his. The second our palms meet, my pulse pounds. I feel sparks. His hand is massive and completely swallows mine. His skin is tanned and rough, a stark contrast to my pale skin and obsessively moisturized hands. Brady links his fingers through mine, and the second our hands are entwined, the butterflies flutter like mad inside my stomach.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice low.
I’m ready for this leap, I think. To see where this could go. Not just to the bookstore, but beyond.
“I am,” I answer.
Brady and I head toward The Torn Page, slowly strolling through Old Town.
“I swear you can feel the past here,” he says as we walk. “It’s like walking through a history book.”
“Do you ever think of all the people who have walked these streets before us?” I ask. “I have thoughts like that all the time. Or who lived in these houses. What shops were here back then? So many lives ago, and yet here we are, walking to a bookstore, on a street walked by so many people before us.”
“That’s some pretty deep thinking going on over there,” Brady teases.
I laugh. “I can romanticize the past. I told you my favorite books were Regency romances. Just think. Women were walking these streets during the Jane Austen period. That’s so crazy cool to me. When I went to England, I was amazed at how much older it was there. History is an intriguing thing. How time separates us, yet connects us, you know?”
“So you’re over there thinking of a Jane Austen past and being sucked up into that world, while I’m wondering what is going on in a post-apocalypse society.”
“We use our fiction imaginations at opposite ends of the spectrum,” I say.