Page 25 of Hunting Little Hope
And I totally agreed with everything he said.
If her heart was being pulled in five directions… that meant she felt something real, for at least Troy at this point.
And if she felt something real, that meant this wasn’t a game to her. Which, in turn, meant the competition mattered. I’d never minded a good competition.
What interested me more was the fact that she chose to tell us. Hope hadn’t needed to tell us anything. She could have kept it to herself. It said a lot about her she chose to open up, especially this early on. And I liked that.
I liked it enough that I was happy to go into this thing with my eyes wide open.
Thankfully, after that dreadfully serious start to our evening, we moved to a table in the Mexican restaurant, and the conversation shifted to easier, friendlier territory.
“So, Hope. Troy already told me what you do for a job. Tell me a little more about yourself,” I asked, leaning forward, clutching my drink in front of me.
She hesitated just slightly, like she was deciding which version of herself to hand over.
“Well,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “what would you like to know?”
That earned a slow smile from me. I could have a lot of fun with that. “So… dealer’s choice.”
Troy snorted softly into his glass. “Careful, Hope. He’ll absolutely hold you to that.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she said, but she was smiling now. A big, bright, open smile.
“I suppose,” she continued, “outside of work… I read. A lot. I hike when I can. I bake when I’m stressed.”
“Bake?” I lifted a brow. “That feels dangerous.”
Her eyes narrowed playfully. “Why?”
“Because now I’m going to assume you show up to dates with homemade desserts.”
She laughed. It was a bright, unguarded sound that turned more than one head in the restaurant. “That would set a very unrealistic standard, don’t you think?”
“I disagree,” I said smoothly. “I think that’s exactly the standard you should be setting.”
She shook her head, but there it was again, that tempting blush creeping up her cheeks.
I loved how quickly she reddened, and savored an idle thought about other body parts reddening, but this time at my hand or a paddle.
“And what about you?” she asked, lifting her chin just slightly. “What do you do when you’re not dramatically interrogating people over cocktails?”
Ah. Cheeky lass.
“I don’t interrogate everyone,” I said mildly. “Just the interesting ones.”
Troy laughed outright at that, but Hope held my gaze.
“Oh? And what qualifies someone as interesting?”
I let my gaze linger on her for half a second longer than necessary before answering. “Curiosity,” I said. “A sharp tongue disguised as sweetness. The ability to blush and still hold eye contact.”
Her cheeks warmed on cue, but she didn’t look away.
Troy leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “He means he likes women who don’t scare easily.”
“I don’t scare easily,” Hope shot back.
“No,” I agreed softly. “It seems you truly don’t.”
