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“Just an important decision that I have to make.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Not unless you want to impregnate me.

If he only knew.

“No. It’s a problem I have to figure out on my own.”

“Seriously, though, how bad can it be? You’re healthy, vibrant…beautiful, and you seem to have money. I’m sure it will all work out for you.”

“You think you have me all figured out, huh?”

“You’re young. Whatever it is…you have plenty of time to solve the issue.”

Don’t I wish that were the truth.

“How young do you think I am?”

He scratched his chin. “Twenty-two?”

“I’m about to turn twenty-five.”

That’s the exact problem. Twenty-fucking-five.

“Okay. Well, you look a little younger.”

“And how old are you? Given your musical taste, I’d guess around fifty-three…but from your looks, I’d put you at twenty-eight.”

“Close enough. Twenty-nine.”

A waiter brought our appetizers over to the table. Carter had ordered a medley of fried mozzarella sticks, Buffalo wings, and egg rolls.

My stomach growled. “It’s a good thing I’m not on a diet.”

“Yeah. They don’t really have much else that’s any good here. Everything fried tastes good.”

I noticed that he hadn’t ordered a beverage. “You’re not drinking?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“If you tell me what your dilemma is, I’ll tell you why I can’t drink.”

Grabbing a fried cheese stick, I changed the subject. “There’s no time to get into it. Right now, I really just need to make a decision about where I’m going. What about you? Where are you headed?”

“Hang on.” He ignored my question, instead pulling out his phone and began to scroll.

“What are you doing?”

“This is a full list of international flights that are departing in the next three hours.” He pointed the screen in my direction.

I took the phone. “Okay…Madrid. Iberia Airlines, 8:55.”

“You don’t want to go to Spain.”

“Why?”