Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(41)

Oh.

Well.

Okay.

Now I was completely disoriented.

Not quite letting me go, but drawing several inches away, he indicated to the bag. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Lemon loaves.”

“Loaves?” His eyes grew wide. “As in more than one loaf?”

“Yes. Two loafs. I mean, loaves.”

“You are my favorite person.” His voice became low in that way it did, like he was telling me a naughty secret.

I swallowed, careful not to gulp air, and gave him a smile I was sure looked dazed. I was dazed. I was amazed and dazed and frazzled and bedazzled. And bewitched.

This was the worst. And the best.

He grinned, apparently finding something in my expression amusing as he reached for my wrist. “Come on.” Smiling down at me and tilting his head toward the exit, Dan guided me forward as our fingers tangled so we were carrying the bag together. “I’m starving. I made the mistake of ordering pizza last night in New York. It tasted like kitty litter and cardboard. And that miserable cheese, silly putty.”

My gaze was fastened to his profile. “You prefer Chicago pizza?”

He gave me the side-eye. “Do I prefer Chicago pizza? What kind of question is that? You look gorgeous by the way.”

Oh jeez.

He was too much.

I glanced at my outfit, my stomach flip-flopping, an automatic thank you on the tip of my tongue, but then he said, “You wore that last Thursday, right? I like it, the purple. It brings out the color of your eyes.”

My mouth opened and closed for a moment as I struggled to speak. Or think. I sucked in a large breath but stopped myself before I swallowed it. The last thing I needed was violent hiccups.

In the end, I hid my blush behind a curtain of hair and simply followed where he led, my heart in my throat.

It brings out the color of your eyes.

What was I supposed to do with that?

He was the master of flustering me. I was at a loss when what I needed to do was focus. I needed to forget that I liked this man—so, so much—because it was clouding my vision. Dan being Dan was making it difficult for me to think.

He opened the door for me, placing his hand on my lower back—unnecessarily—to guide me through, and then recaptured my fingers as soon as we were on the sidewalk.

“Have you ever been to Capriotti’s?”

I shook my head, forcing myself to say, “No. But I’ve wanted to try it.”

“They have this turkey sub with stuffing and cranberry sauce. It’s like Thanksgiving in a sandwich, but without the additional seasoning of my drunk Uncle Zip’s politics, or my sister Cathy’s failed attempts at pumpkin pie. The woman never met a recipe she didn’t want to ruin by making it vegan. What the fuck is almond milk? They don’t call it ‘nut juice’ but that’s exactly what it is.”

In any other circumstance, his mini-tirade would’ve made me laugh, or at least fight a smile. Many times over the years I’d overheard him ranting to Quinn, or Fiona’s husband, Greg, about something completely prosaic made hilarious by his spin on it. Dan had that way about him. Even when he ranted he was adorable and charming, and whomever he ranted to always ended up laughing.

But not today. I was completely out of sorts, dangerously close to off-kilter. Like an idiot, all I could manage was a tight smile.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, and when we arrived he ushered me in, once again with an unnecessary hand on my lower back. Without pausing, he strolled into the restaurant and claimed a square table with four chairs, and the only one with no customers on either side of it.

I took the chair closest to the wall. I was hungry, but I was more nervous than hungry. Which meant if food were placed in front of me, there was a high chance I would shovel it into my mouth with alarming speed and maybe end up choking to death on a sandwich.

And wouldn’t that make a great headline? Heiress chokes to death on a sandwich, news at eleven.

I placed my backpack and the bag containing the lemon loaves on the seat to my right. Almost immediately, he picked them up and claimed the seat they had occupied, putting both next to him, in the seat across from mine.

“Do you need a menu?” he asked, brazenly studying me.

“How about a grilled cheese?” A grilled cheese wouldn’t present any size issues. I could take careful bites. It was the safe choice.

“That’s it? Just a grilled cheese?”

“Yes.”

Dan contemplated me for another half minute, then stood and motioned to the area where customers placed their orders. “Fine. I’ll get you your grilled cheese.”

“Oh, sorry. I can get it—”

“No, no. You stay there.”