Ryan’s smooth voice interrupted my thoughts. “Are you hungry? It’s almost noon.”
“Um, yeah, I am actually. I skipped breakfast this morning.”
Ryan narrowed his eyes and gave me a disapproving look. “Then let’s go somewhere to eat.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have to be anywhere this afternoon?”
“I have some dinner plans later this evening with my sister, Anna, and a friend of mine who’s visiting from London. But that’s not until seven,” I replied.
“How would you feel about grabbing lunch somewhere downtown and going for a walk afterwards? It’s so nice out today.” He looked up at me sheepishly. “I don’t want to say goodbye to you yet.”
I blinked in surprise, floored and flattered by his comment. “I don’t need convincing. I’d love to.”
“Well, since you don’t have your car, I guess you’re riding with me. I can take you back to your car later this afternoon, though, so you don’t have to take the bus again.”
“Really? That would be perfect, actually. Thank you,” I said appreciatively.
“Good.” He grinned, making me want to reach out to touch those adorable dimples of his.
Instead, I just I smiled back and packed up my laptop, excited to be spending the day with Ryan.
The Pink Door always made me feel like I was in on a little secret. The entry to the restaurant was located in Post Alley Way, the famous quaint little alley in the middle of the bustling Pike Place Market. You won’t see a sign on the door, but it was implicit in the name because what you did see was a pink metal door.
The interior of the restaurant was decorated in rustic Italian. Even with dark wood, velvet curtains, and chandeliers, it felt unpretentious. In the evenings, they featured a burlesque show, which I had never gone to before. On a warm summer day, the highlight was sitting out on the back terrace, shaded by a wooden trellis and looking out onto a glistening Elliott Bay. Sitting in unmatched chairs in front of floral tablecloths, I couldn’t think of any other place I would rather be than sipping red wine on the terrace with Ryan McGraw.
We ordered the caprese salad as a shared entrée to start. There was something very intimate and couple-like about the act of sharing food. It made me feel like Ryan and I were on a date. Were we on a date? For lunch, he ordered the cioppino; I ordered minestrone soup and salad.
“So, who did you go to Ray’s with last night?” Ryan asked. “Do I know them?”
I nodded. “I went out with Mia Lee and Kyle Warren, and Mia’s boyfriend was there, too,” I said casually. “Kyle’s in your org and Mia is on same team as me.”
“Yeah, I know Kyle. Good guy.” He nodded, but his eyes narrowed and his expression seemed to have darkened. “Is he your boyfriend?”
Interesting reaction. Was he actually jealous of Kyle? “No,” I said. I took a sip of my wine, feeling like I needed to explain further. “He’s good buddies with Mia’s boyfriend. Kyle and I are just friends … coworkers. Actually, last night was the first time we’ve gone out together socially.”
He seemed to relax a little after my explanation. “So, do you have a boyfriend?” he pressed.
“Um, no, not presently.” I avoided his eyes and took a sip of my wine.
“Really?” He sounded genuinely perplexed, like there was something wrong with me.
“Yeah, really,” I muttered, now embarrassed. “Why are you so surprised?” I sounded more defensive than I intended.
He blinked a few times. “I guess I just assumed someone like you would have a boyfriend.”
I was feeling pretty self-conscious right about now. “Why?” I said, confused.
“You have to ask?” he said, looking at me like he was trying to figure out a problem. When I didn’t answer, he added, “You’re really pretty, I’ve told you that before. And smart, and witty, and there’s something very disarming and honest about you. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
I couldn’t help blushing. In the summer afternoon light, I wasn’t able to hide my color, which probably made me blush even more.
“You have no idea, do you?” He was grinning at me now, apparently amused by my reaction.
“Me, disarming?” I replied, dumbfounded. “What about you and all of your honest proclamations today? That’s disarming. Like, right now.”
“Sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable,” he apologized, his eyes lingering on my bare shoulders.
“No, don’t be,” I said quietly. “It’s refreshing to have conversations with someone like this. I’m very flattered. Thank you. I don’t want you to ever filter your words just because you think they might ever make me uncomfortable.”