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It’s then that I realise I’ve been staring at him again. But fuck me, it’s hard not to. I’ve been wondering what he looks like under all those tailored shirts he always wears, and now that he’s right in front of me, it’s hard not to look.

A rumble of thunder makes me jerk on the spot.

“Sit,” he offers.

I slip onto the barstool in front of him as he turns and continues working on the board. I sip on my cocktail whilst I watch the muscles of his back contracting.

Silence stretches between us, and my heart picks up pace.

Why do I feel so awkward?

It feels like I’m on a first date with someone I fancy.

My phone pings in the pocket of Xander’s joggers.

UNKNOWN: I’m sorry for threatening you. I need to talk to you. Please just tell me where you are. We can talk this through. We can be us again

And there go the butterflies in my stomach, replaced by a feeling I’m all too familiar with.

Anger.

Hatred.

Exhaustion.

I place my phone back in my pocket as Xander rounds the bar with a large board filled with snacks.

“You like charcuterie boards?” he asks as he places it between us and sits next to me, reminding me of the first time he spoke to me. In this same spot.

“Sadly, yes. How did you know?” I ask.

He freezes for a moment but then relaxes. “It was a guess. You look like someone who would enjoy stuff like this. As for the cocktail, I’ve watched you enough times to know it’s your favourite." He shrugs.

He gestures to the board, picking up a grape and popping it into his mouth. I—once again—find myself watching the movement. How his tongue wraps around the grape before he closes his mouth, the movement of his throat as he works to swallow it.

A single grape held up with two tattooed fingers appears in front of my eyes. Xander’s eyes are hooded as he watches my mouth part. He guides the grape to my mouth and gently rubs my bottom lip with it before pushing it into my mouth. My lips catch his fingers before he can pull away.

And, because I can’t help myself, I suck gently on them before his fingers come away from my mouth with a pop. His throat bobs up and down as he watches the movement.

Fuck, what am I doing?

Breaking his stare, I clear my throat. “So, do you bring all your dates here?”

His mouth twitches, eyes sparkling in the low light. “No. I don’t date.”

A twinge of satisfaction lights up in my chest at that. But Penelope’s face flashes in my mind, so it’s there and gone within seconds.

I make a humming sound in my throat.

“I thought you said you believed me?” he asks, almost panicked.

“I do,” I respond calmly. “It just surprises me that you don’t date. Women must throw themselves at your feet,” I finish, grabbing a slice of cheese and placing it between my teeth.

He tilts his head at me, a sly smirk playing on his lips. “Is it really that hard to believe that, maybe, you’re the first girl I’ve ever had interest in dating?”

“So this is a date?” I ask, nibbling on some more cheese.

He straightens, his hold on the cocktail glass tightening. “Only if you want it to be.”