Page 62 of You'll Be the Death of Me

By the time he realized she’d interrupted him, Dell was already halfway off her barstool.

“Did it work?” Cole cautiously asked from beside her.

Dell took a step and quickly realized she hadn’t accounted for the height of the woman’s spiked heels or her curve-hugging dress being as tight as a straitjacket. She found her footing as best she could and felt no resistance.

“Yes,” she quietly confirmed to Cole, and began walking away.“She was desperate to get away, and her date is so self-absorbed, he probably won’t even notice if she doesn’t come back.”

Cole glanced at the man, who’d already pulled out his phone to occupy himself. “You are probably right on that front.”

“There’s nothing less attractive than a man talking about himself too much on a date,” Dell said. “Well, maybe when he orders dinner for me. That’s unforgivable.”

“I would never order for you,” Cole was quick to say.

Dell turned to look at him and saw his embarrassed smile backlit by the elegant dining room.

“I—I mean, hypothetically. If we were on a date,” he stammered. “I know food is your area of expertise, so I wouldn’t want to overstep. Plus, it’s just rude.”

Dell let a smile slowly spread across her face. “Well,hypothetically, I appreciate it.”

They stared at each other, Dell gazing at him through her host’s eyes, and wondering what a real date with him would be like.

“Hypothetically, if we were on a date, where you would take me?” Dell asked.

Cole considered with a purse of his lips, concentrating like he really wanted to get the answer right. “A baseball game.”

Dell arched a playful eyebrow at him. “You think I like sports?”

“I think you like experiences, and a lively, outdoor space full of people—and plenty of food options—would make for an enjoyable time. Plus, those seats are really close together, so it would be a chance to talk and get to know each other.”

With heart-fluttering surprise, Dell stopped walking and gaped at him. “I love baseball. For those reasons. My brothers are actually season ticket holders. Did you look that up in my file or something?”

Cole sweetly, and a bit proudly, smiled at her. “No. I am just observant.”

She couldn’t help smiling back at him. She tilted her head toward the kitchen in signal they needed to keep walking. “Okay, well, based on what I’ve learned aboutyou,I’d take you someplace quiet and uncrowded, like maybe to a museum or on a picnic. Or maybe one of those art and wine classes where we get buzzed and try our hand at being Bob Ross.”

The laugh that warmly bubbled from Cole sent Dell’s heart leaping.

“Did I get it right?” she asked.

“I would enjoy any of those things, yes. And I appreciate you catering to my introvert tendencies. Hypothetically.”

“Well, I appreciate you willingly exposing yourself to a loud, public space for my benefit. Hypothetically.” She paused at the kitchen door with one hand on it. “Speaking of, it’s going to be chaos in here. I’m going to grab a coat so I don’t stand out, swipe some food, and then head for the freezer.”

“The freezer?”

“Yes, it’s where I stress eat when I need to chill out.”

“Please tell me you heard what you just said.”

“Pun intended, yes. Let’s go.” Dell pushed open the swinging door, and they crossed from the dim buzz of the dining room into the kitchen’s clamor. Luckily, things were in full enough swing no one noticed the tipsy ghost-guest tiptoeing into their turf. She grabbed a spare chef’s coat hanging from the wall to at least disguise her dress, and then headed for the pass—the last stop where plated dishes waited for inspection before being sent to the dining room.

“What’s on the menu?” Cole asked as he followed behind her.

Her mouth had already begun to water. “The short rib is a personal favorite,” she said, and discreetly glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone had picked up on her presence.

She was in the clear.

“Sorry, table thirteen,” she muttered, and swiped the gorgeously plated meal: braised short ribs on a pillow of gouda mashed potatoes with carrots and a sprig of thyme. She stole a fork from the tasting drawer and skipped around to a refrigerator door, where bottles of white wine were chilling. “I’d kill for a merlot, but I don’t think I can make it in and out of the wine cellar undetected, so this will have to do.” She shoved the opened bottle of sauvignon blanc under her elbow and balanced the plate on her other hand.