She rolled her eyes. “You sound like an arrogant asshole, you know that?”
“Maybe,” he allowed, enjoying the spark of challenge in her eyes. “But if I can back it up, what does it matter?”
“Good kisser or not, women don’t like assholes.”
“Some of them do.”
“Fine. I don’t like assholes.”
He laughed and hopped up onto the counter, letting his legs dangle. “You’ve got four years to come to terms with sleeping with one.”
A hint of insecurity crossed her features. “You seem awfully certain I won’t be married by then.”
“If you keep going out with guys like Napoleon, you probably won’t. A guy like that isn’t right for you.”
“His name isn’t Napoleon.”
“What is it?”
“Marvin.”
He choked on air. “No, it’s not.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Don’t make fun of him.”
“You’re not marrying a guy named Marvin. What’s his last name?”
“That’s not important.” Yeah, that didn’t make him less interested at all. “You don’t know anything about him.” Her voice lacked heat, but Claire wasn’t the type to back down from an argument, no matter how small.
“Fine, I’m judging the dude based on appearance, a weak-ass kiss, and your less-than-enthused description of the date. But from that information alone I’d bet my next paycheck you were bored to death.”
Her lips twisted to the side and she looked down at her feet.
“Am I right?”
“Maybe. A little.” She sighed. “But it was a first date. Shouldn’t I give him another chance?”
“If you want to. Or don’t waste your time and come out with me next weekend instead.”
Her eyes went wide. “On a date?”
He huffed out a laugh. “No. I meant, like, our usual. We’re pretty good at finding people for each other. Remember that chef I scoped out for you last year? You were with him for a few months, right?”
“Sam? Yeah, until he ghosted me.”
“Seriously? You didn’t tell me that.”
She snorted. “You want me to tell you every time a man screws me over?”
“Yes.”
“Why? You gonna defend my honor?”
“Maybe. Friends do that, right?”
“I’d certainly punch Noah if he ever hurt Mia.”
“He’d die before he hurt her.”
Claire smiled softly. “I know. Anyway, I saw Sam not too long after he stopped answering my texts, and you know me… I marched up asked him what happened. Talk about awkward, but I wanted him to tell me to my face what went wrong. He said I was too outspoken and he realized he’d never be able to take me home to meet his mother.”
“Dumbass,” Graham muttered. His mom would adore Claire—all the more reason for them never to meet. He didn’t need that kind of pressure.
He tried to remember anything else about that guy, but Graham had only spent time with him a few times when he’d tried to show off and cook dinner for the entire house. “His food sucked, anyway.”
“No it didn’t. It was fucking delicious.”
She was right.
“Add that to the list of reasons men don’t want me. I can’t cook,” she said.
“So?”
“Don’t men want a woman who cooks?”
Graham waved a dismissive arm. “Who cares? There are dozens of places that deliver within a five-mile radius of here. I say it’s better to support local businesses.”
“Well. You’re a minority in that, I think.” She looked at him for a moment before pushing off from the counter. She nudged his knee and gave him a small smile. “I’m gonna head to bed. Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
“Trying?”
“Okay, thanks for making me feel better. A little.”
Gertrude growled from her perch on the armchair as Claire passed.
“Thinking about marrying me now, aren’t you?” he called after her.
She didn’t miss a beat.
“Not a chance.”
3
One week later, Claire sent Graham a text message halfway through her shift that said, I hate you.
After she’d seen Marvin that morning, Graham’s voice had been in her head all day. A guy like that isn’t right for you.
She’d spotted Marvin across the nursing station and given him a little wave, thinking he’d come over. His cheeks had flushed and he glanced away before looking back to smile at her. For a second it seemed he might approach her, but then he turned and went in the other direction, his navy scrubs billowing around his thin frame as he speed-walked down the hall.