“I think we’ve got a winning combination,” Trae said. “Mo and Leetha are good at what they do. The house is gonna be fabulous when we get done with it.” He winked. “And you can’t deny our chemistry.”
Hattie blushed and sipped her wine.
“Listen. Rebecca Sanzone wants our show to work. There’s a reason they gave us that Wednesday night slot, and I’m not just talking about Krystee Brandstetter’s twins. Not to sound like an immodest jerk, but I’ve got six hundred thousand fans on social media, like that lady and her friends at that table over there. So just between us—we’re a lock.”
“Really?” She swept a strand of hair behind her ear as she considered the ramifications of having a hit television show.
Trae reached over and touched her hand. “Cheer up. Maybe we’ll tank. Or the house will burn down. Or we’ll find that schoolteacher’s mummified body in the attic.”
She yanked her hand away. “Not funny.”
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “You’re right. Bad joke. Bad taste. Blame it on the jitters.”
Their server appeared. “Why don’t you order for us?” Trae suggested. “Seafood sounds good.”
Hattie ordered the crab cake appetizer and crispy fried flounder for both of them. And another glass of wine.
“Jitters?” she said, when the waiter was gone.
“Yeah. You know, boy-girl jitters.”
“Oh, please. Save that kind of flattery for your fans,” she said.
“I’m being completely honest with you,” he insisted. “Trying to win you over isn’t an easy task.”
“Why do you feel the need to win me over? We got through a whole segment today without me wanting to brain you with the sledgehammer. I call that progress.”
He laughed. “Is it that you don’t like me, or don’t trust me, or both?”
She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “I like you just fine.”
“‘Fine’ is not a ringing endorsement.”
The waiter slid a basket of warm bread onto the table, alongside a dish of olive oil. Hattie helped herself to a slice, tearing off a bit and dipping it into the herb-flecked oil.
She chewed the bread and sipped her wine. He raised one eyebrow. “That’s it? That’s all you got for me?”
“Okay,” she relented. “Maybe you’re growing on me. A little bit.”
“Like mold? Is that supposed to be good?”
“Trae? I think we’ve got a good working relationship, and it seems like Leetha and Mo are pleased. I honestly don’t know what more you want from me.”
He leaned across the table and kissed her gently on the lips. “This,” he murmured in her ear. “This is what I want from you. For starters.”
Hattie’s eyes flew open just in time to catch camera flashes going off at the table of fans. The women were giggling and nudging one another.
She drew back from him, and her face felt like it was in flames. “Shit.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the women, then returned his focus on Hattie. “Ignore them, please. This is about us.”
She took a gulp of wine. “Us? I don’t know what to say.”
“You could start by saying you enjoyed the kiss.”
“Wow,” she said, stumbling to phrase her reaction. “You took me totally off guard. That was sort of a hit-and-run kiss, wouldn’t you say?”
“Not really. You asked me what more I want from you, and I responded with a demonstration. On impulse. You admitted we have good on-screen chemistry. So I wanted you to realize that we could be good together off-screen, too. Very good.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless that’s repugnant to you? I mean, God forbid you would find my attentions unwelcome, or think I’m sexually harassing you.”
“Sexually harassing? No!” she said quickly. “And you’re not totally repugnant.”
There was that smile again. He’d used it on those fans, of course, but this one, she told herself, was different. It was genuine. And totally disarming. She could feel her defenses melting.
Now their server was at the table with their appetizer, and she offered up a silent prayer of thanks for the welcome distraction.
Trae took a bite. “Hey! This is great.” He dipped the crab into the bright red puddle of sauce on the plate. “What’s this? I like the spice.”
“Hot pepper jelly. It’s a southern thing, mixing the sweet with the heat.”