“Sounds perfect.”
Elle settles into one of the plush chairs by the windows while I slice a few pieces of fresh, rustic Italian bread. Pouring the oil onto a small dish, I watch her admire the view for the second time this evening. My breath catches when I look at her.
Get a fucking grip, man.
Honestly, I’m starting to think it’s a miracle she can’t read me like an open book. Otherwise, I’d be eating out of the palm of her hand, even though I’m normally the one who has that effect on people.
I join her by the windows, setting the bread and oil on the small round table between us.
Our conversation flows easily, just like it did when we met for coffee. All the nerves weighing me down when Elle first got here slowly fade away. Being in her presence still puts me on edge, but talking with her reminds me how natural our connection is.
I don’t have to pretend when I’m with her. And given what I do for a living, that makes her feel like a cool drink of water on the hottest day of the year. I can just be myself.
“So, Nic,” Elle says after a brief pause in the conversation, leaning toward me. “Long term, where do you see yourself? Like, if money didn’t matter, if nothing mattered except what you wanted to do, what would you do?”
The question takes me by surprise. Not that anything with Elle should surprise me anymore. Of course she knows just which question to ask to bring my walls down.
“Long term? I mean, I do want to settle down one day, even if that seems impossible with my job right now. Because my hours are so crazy,” I quickly add. I don’t think Elle suspects anything about the truth of what I do, but I’m not about to take any chances of that knowledge slipping out.
“Okay, so, say you do settle down. Do you want to stay in this job forever, or is there something else you want to do?”
I chuckle. If she only knew. “I’d definitely be doing something different.”
I’ve already told her about my dream, but this time, I elaborate, telling her about my favorite types of architecture and the classes I’ve taken at the community college. I look up to find Elle staring at me, a soft smile on her pretty lips. Her expression is a mix of sympathy and admiration. It makes me feel amazing and embarrassed at the same time.
Sighing, I run my hand over my face. “Sorry for the monologue.”
Way to kill the fucking mood, Nic.
But Elle reaches out and takes my hand in hers. “Don’t apologize. Thank you for sharing. That’s a really beautiful dream, and I hope you’re able to make it come true one day.”
We lock eyes, the warmth of the connection between us radiating to my toes. This time it’s Elle who looks away first, shaking her head and chuckling softly.
“Just like me and the bar exam, I guess. Only I think my dream is a little more hopeless.”
I run my thumb over her knuckles. “Don’t say that. You’ll take the bar one day, when you’re ready. I know you’d make an incredible lawyer.”
She snorts. “You’re sweet. But at this point, I’m starting to think I’m going to need to hire someone to take the bar for me. I can’t even think about signing up for that thing without getting all queasy.”
I squeeze her hand and decide to drop the subject. The last thing I need is to make her ill for the second time on one of our dates.
“Well then, let’s turn your attention to something a little less nausea-inducing. Tell me something about yourself that might surprise me.”
Elle smiles and tosses a glossy lock of her auburn hair over her shoulder. “Well, that depends. What do you want to know?” she asks, her big blue eyes trained on mine.
More than I’d like to admit.
My mouth twists into a grin, and I lean toward her. “Just about everything.”
“In that case . . .”
She begins telling me a story about the time she almost killed her class hamster in second grade, and by the end of it, the two of us are practically rolling on the floor laughing. We take turns exchanging stories from when we were young, each one more bizarre and endearing than the last.
My sides are starting to hurt from laughing so much. I can’t believe how comfortable things are with her, how amazing this date is already going, and we haven’t even started eating yet. There’s no way I’m letting this girl go, not when every bone in my body is screaming that I’ll never find anyone like her ever again.
But when Elle finds out the truth about what Christine hired me to do—will she still be here laughing with me? Or will she go home, wishing she’d never met me in the first place?
Chapter Thirteen
Elle
“I’m just about finished with this,” Nic says, stirring a large pot on the stove. “You can head out to the terrace and I’ll bring it out for you.”
“You’re such an amazing host.” I smile at him.
He looks so comfortable and domestic in his state-of-the-art kitchen. Tonight he’s dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders and firm biceps in a way that makes my stomach dance with excitement.
So far, the night has gone beyond my expectations. When Nic said he wanted to cook for me, I figured it would be something out of a box. But if the smells coming from the pot he’s stirring are any indication, he knows his way around the kitchen.
“This is just the beginning,” he says, winking at me.
I laugh and wander out of the kitchen and through the living room, making my way onto the terrace. I figured Nic would have a nice place, but I didn’t know it would be like this. He lives in a two-story penthouse in a high-rise downtown, with a view that goes on for miles.
Sipping my water, I take in the sparkling lights of the city. It’s a perfect fall evening. The sun hasn’t quite set yet, hanging just above the horizon and casting a golden glow over the skyscrapers.
The terrace itself is straight out of a romance novel. Nic has hung up string lights across the space, and has set a bistro table for two with flowers and a few candles. I grin to myself, thinking he’s probably the only guy in the world who would be thoughtful enough to set a table this way.
In fact, his whole apartment is anything but the bachelor pad I would have guessed it to be. Nic has taken the time to hang art on the walls and his furniture actually goes together, unlike most guys I know who just throw a random assortment of couches into a room. He even has a few houseplants. He’s either more of a homemaker than I thought, or he found a really good decorator. I’d think the latter, but somehow I know this is all Nic’s doing.
My thoughts are interrupted by the terrace door sliding open. A few seconds later, Nic walks out holding two plates of pasta. He sets one down in front of me, and I breathe in the smell.
“It’s gnocchi with a wild boar ragout,” he says, settling into his seat.
“Wild boar?” I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t even know you could get that around here.”
“I know a guy.” He smirks.
I grin before taking my first bite. My eyes widen as I chew.
“Mmm,” I say after swallowing, and look at Nic in shock. “You made this? It’s so good. Is this homemade gnocchi?”
“Of course.” He laughs. “You think a true Italian like me would serve you that packaged stuff? You deserve better than that.”