He didn’t.
Her laugh tapered off when she realized he didn’t get the joke. Or didn’t appreciate it, anyway. “I moved in with my parents so I can save for a down payment on a house.” She didn’t add that it was mostly because her last landlord had been a butt. And she was lonely, and her rental house sat empty most weekends, anyway.
“That’s a great financial plan,” he said, nodding with grand appreciation. Then she remembered his trust fund.
“Anyway,” she continued, bulldozing over the rise of anything awkward. “My dad just got his annual labs done, and he has prediabetes. We made a pact, the three of us, to eat healthy at least eighty percent of the time. But since my mom owns a bakery, we aren’t perfect.” Shit, why hadn’t she brought cookies? Imbued with an unearthly magic—chocolate, peanut butter, and sea salt, to be specific—her mom’s cookies made everything better.
Draven stabbed his salad and scooped in a bite, nodding and sweeping the flavors across his tongue with consideration. “I like this. Your friend is a good chef.”
“Zoe will be pleased to hear that.”
Conversation dwindled as they munched, the birds, bees, and wind in the trees doing the talking for them.
Had he always been this boring? An inane blank face except when he was pondering something deep and meaningful? A very pretty man, but… maybe he was nervous?
While chewing another bite, both looking around vaguely for something to talk about, Trace tried to remember what they used to talk about. Scrolling through images in her mind like an old photo album, she sifted through scene after scene.
Huh. She was wearing pretty much the same thing in every memory. Did she have auniform? For casual wear, she’d wear ankle-length jeans with ballet flats, but for work or dates, such as this, she’d step it up to nicer pants and a sweater or something of that sort… holy shit, no wonder he thought she looked the same.
Okay, fashion wasn’t ideal for a conversation igniter with Draven, but she spent enough time drooling over cute or edgy looks onWho What Wearand other favorite sites.Vogue. Ah, chef’s kiss to that. Out of her league. Real people didn’t actually wear breezy sundresses or leather pants, not in the northwest, anyway.
File that thought away for later. Maybe Haley would go shopping with her, and she could throw out everything she owned and start with one of those capsule wardrobes.
Hmm. Focus. What had she talked about with Draven back in grad school? Classes, future careers. His family. Her family, but she typically left out the funny parts, as not many outside her Foothills friends would appreciate the humor in rained-out camping trips or knitting competitions.
Wine. Hey, wine, perfect. She liked wine. There was a wine bar they all used to frequent near campus.
“You know, I just got back from Paris,” she opened, waiting for his eyes to light up. Hers would. Travel. Wine. Excellent conversation topics. They both enjoyed both.
“My family has an apartment there, but I lost interest in going.”
Shit.
“I mean, it’s a lovely place to visit,” he quickly corrected.
Lovely. Huh. “Anyway, I had so many great wines while I was there, but whenever I’ve been to France, it’s been for school or work, so I hope on a future visit to tour some wineries.”
“I can recommend a few vineyards,” he said, smiling politely again. Did the wind ever catch his hair, or had he overindulged in hairspray? Magical hairspray, as it didn’t look at all crunchy. “I’d offer to take you one day, but I gave up alcohol. It muddled my thoughts too much.”
Okay. Wine was not a good topic. Nor was travel, apparently, as they probably stayed in vastly different accommodations.
Theater. He loved the theater. “Have you seen any good shows lately?” she asked.
“Sadly, no. My work has kept me too busy.” And, back to him talking about work. He brightened, explaining something about the convergence between economy and ecology, but he was neither an economist nor an ecologist, as far as she knew.
While she was trying not to think about how he didn’t move his upper lip when he spoke, she spaced out again. Trace scooped in another bite of salad. Not enough cranberries. She’d have to let Zoe know she needed more zing to combat the fact that she was eating a salad. Although, in all honesty, she did feel better in the few weeks they’d been on the healthy diet.
Lifestyle. Not diet. Healthy lifestyle for lifelong wellness.
Thrusting her tongue discretely between her back molars, Trace searched for the nagging hunk of spinach before she embarrassed herself with a green smile.
They had history. How was this the most boring date she’d ever been on? On such a beautiful day?
Water gushed over the boulders that were scattered in the river, almost close enough to hop from one to the next. A hiking date would have been a better choice than lunch, so they wouldn’t be forced to talk, or they would at least have something interesting to talk about.
Or a dinner date. Then there was a better chance of ending things with a bang. And she hadn’t ended with a bang since… ugh. No. Not going there. Even her last bang had been… not worthy of the termbang. Banging implied pelvises and hips and speed and—
“Do you and Emily ever talk anymore?” he asked, sparking a shred of hope that the date was salvageable.
