“Oh God, I feel like I can see where this is going.”
“Not sure you do,” I say before I push my hand through my hair. “Everything was going great. I was serving wine like a pro, the salad was easy to take care of, and it was all very smooth. That was . . . until we got to the soup.”
“Oh, no.” Lilly brings her legs up to her chest.
“One thing you need to know is that as a server, you need to hold one hand behind your back while you carry with the other. I practiced a lot and never had an issue, but that fucking soup bowl. It was fucking heavy. One of those massive plates, a foot in diameter, with a small scoop in the middle for a serving of soup. Well, I was carrying it with one hand from the kitchen to the dining room, which felt like a mile, and by the time I got to King Theo, my thumb was cramping. I tried to hurry, but before I could make it to the table, my thumb gave out, and the bowl fell from my hand and right into Theo’s lap.”
“Oh, God.” Lilly covers her eyes. “You spilled soup all over him?”
“I wish that was the worst part.”
She removes her hand. “That’s not the worst part?”
I shake my head. “No, the worst part was that the soup was still scalding hot, because that’s how Theo loved it. It scorched his lap to the point of blistering.”
“Nooooo,” Lilly says, her eyes nearly popping out.
“Yup. He was wobbling through the state dinner the next night, all because of me. I’ve never been more horrified.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh my God, that’s so embarrassing.”
“Tell me about it. I offered to bring him ice anytime he needed it, which I did. He was cool about it, and glad I didn’t burn anything off, if you know what I mean.”
Lilly waves her hand in front of her face, catching her breath. “That’s amazing. I’m sorry, but that’s one hell of a story.”
“That we don’t talk about, right?”
“Right.” She winks again and then blows out a low breath. “God, that’s great. Not sure my next question can top that, but I’m going to ask anyway so we can finish out the night.”
“Anything to move on from this story.”
She smirks. “It’s a quick one. Let’s say you saw a girl that you thought was really pretty and you wanted to make a move on her, you know . . . get her attention, what would you do?”
“That’s your question?”
“Yeah. I think you’re a complex guy, but I’ve been able to break you down in different ways tonight besides the romantic side, and I’m just curious. I know you have that whole alpha side to you, but there has to be a softer side, right?”
“Not sure there’s anything soft about me.”
“That’s obvious from one look at you, but just play along. If you were to try to win a girl over, what would you do? My guess is flex in front of her until she passes out into your arms.”
My brow creases. “Do you really think that’s what I’d do?”
She tosses her arms up. “I have no idea. Educate me on Keller’s way of romancing.”
I scratch the side of my jaw. “Haven’t really had the time to do anything like that, so I don’t have much experience, but I guess I’d go about it the same way my dad would, by introducing her to my poems and—”
“Hold up, you write poetry?”
I nod, which causes her to clutch her chest and fall back on the blanket.
“Ugh, that’s so annoying.”
“Why is that annoying?”
She pops up again, but this time she stands all the way up.
“Where are you going?”
“This evening is over. I will not be forced to sit here and listen to you tell me about how you write poetry to woo women, not after spending the evening with you and learning about the love you have for your parents, your self-deprecating story, your love for cod, your sexual magnetism, or be subject to having to stare at your muscles anymore. It’s enough.”
“You’re the one who asked me,” I say.
“Yeah, and guess what, I thought you were going to say some cheesy pick-up line and be done with it. I wasn’t expecting you to tell me you write poetry. That’s a whole other level I don’t think I can take, because I already think you’re hot. I don’t need a sensitive poet attached to that. No, fucking thank you.” She moves past me, toward the hatch of the roof.
“But it’s the truth.”