“Love you.”
I hang up the phone and then take a long, deep breath before exhaling through my mouth.
Okay . . . I’m going for it. Whatever happens tonight happens, and I’m going to live in the moment rather than worry about it.
Now I can only hope he wants dessert after dessert.
Chapter Seven
COOPER
“Sorry about that, really important phone call,” Nora says as she grabs her wallet off the table and secures it around her wrist.
“Yeah, I can imagine the importance of a fake phone call at nine thirty at night. Wouldn’t want that to go unanswered.”
Her cheeks flush, and she glances down at our table. “You know how fake phone calls are—you miss one, you play fake phone tag for three days straight.”
I let out a chuckle. “Hate that fake phone tag.” When she doesn’t look at me, I reach out and tilt her head toward me, nudging her chin with my finger. “Hey, everything okay? Should I be worried that you’re taking fake phone calls?”
“No. Just freaked myself out for a second is all, but I’m all good now.”
“Freaked yourself out?” I ask, feeling concerned. Did I say something that could have caused her to leave? I know this situation might be a little weird. But we’re just having fun. Nothing to freak out over, right?
“I would rather not talk about it, if that’s okay with you. Just want to have fun, because that’s the goal of the night—fun, right?”
I study her for a few seconds and then nod. “That’s right, fun.”
“Because you are unaware of the magnitude of fun you’re able to achieve, due to the whole Debbie Downer thing.” The feistiness that temporarily disappeared while she was taking her fake phone call has now reappeared. The mischievous glint in her eyes settles the momentary nerves that erupted in my body when she took off toward the bathroom—when I thought the night might end. “Are you ready for dessert?”
“Do you still want to get dessert?” I ask, just wanting to make sure she’s still in the right frame of mind.
Her eyes connect with mine. “There is no way we are ending this night without dessert.” She reaches for my hand and links her fingers with mine. I stare down at the connection for a few beats, lost in the possibilities it holds, before I look back up at her. “Come on, Coop.”
And just like that, I’m whisked out of my chair and through the authentic Irish bar. When we hit the sidewalk, I half expect her to let go of my hand, but when she doesn’t, when she squeezes in closer to me under the romantically lit sidewalk, a sense of . . . contentment passes through me.
This feels simple, but not in a bad way. In a very good way.
A simple pleasure.
It’s something that should be so easily accessible to a human—holding another person’s hand while walking—but so many people don’t get to experience it. I can’t remember the last time I have, and once again, Nora is offering me comfort.
Comfort I didn’t know I was looking for.
Frankly, it’s slightly terrifying, but also . . . addicting.
“I wasn’t expecting to be traipsing around Seattle tonight, or else I would have worn a jacket,” she says, once again shivering next to me as we power walk down the block.
“I’m a man and don’t plan accordingly—that’s why I don’t have a jacket.”
She chuckles. “At least you’re honest.”
“I also didn’t think I’d be moving about the town either. Before my parents made their wingman plans, I half expected to be spending the night at their house tonight.”
“Do you do that often?” she asks. From the corner of my eye, I can see her breath rise in the air. Fuck, it’s getting really cold out. I pick up the pace.
“Stay the night at my parents’？ Well, to not sound like a loser, I want to say never, but that’s not the truth. I would say maybe twice a month. Mom likes to spoil me in the morning with a big breakfast, and I can’t say that I don’t love it. Plus, Dad always has some kind of project waiting for me. He says he would rather not spend the money on hiring someone when I can just help him, but I think he has a problem with people around the island seeing him at his house. He’s aged a lot since he’s retired from the store, and he’s self-conscious of that. When he steps out of the house, he puts on a show for everyone, but I know that can be exhausting.”
“I can understand that,” Nora says, looking up at me with eyes full of compassion. “I’ve noticed my parents have started to age too. Dad takes things a little slower. Mom tends to forget her glasses are on the top of her head when she’s attempting to read. It’s the little things, but things they wouldn’t have done when they were younger.”