“You want to open your tab again?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, never tearing my eyes off her.
She leaned toward me, resting her foot on the bottom rung of my stool. “From whiskey to appletini. That’s an interesting…and appalling transition.”
Shaking my head, I slid the drink her way. “It’s for you.”
“Ohhh,” she breathed, resting a hand over her heart. “That’s sweet. But seriously gross.”
“Wait. Isn’t that what you were drinking?”
“Not even close.” She pushed the drink away. “I’m usually a wine girl, but they’re out of the New Zealand Sav Blanc tonight so I had to make do. Cosmo, hold the cranberry, because ew. Replace it with sweet-and-sour mix, which I would like to note they do not make from scratch here. And instead of an orange twist, I asked for a lime.”
My head snapped back. “What in Sally Albright hell kind of drink order is that?”
Her eyes flared comically wide, and her jaw slacked open. “What did you say?”
I waved her off. “She’s a character from—”
“When Harry Met Sally,” we said in unison.
She stared at me as though she had a front-row seat to a bigfoot spotting. “No way. No freaking way.” She narrowed her eyes. “Where did they first meet before driving to New York?”
I grinned. Finally, growing up being tortured by my older sister was paying off for me. “Chicago.”
“The orgasm?”
“Katz’s Deli.”
She drew in a sharp breath, her breasts stretching the limits of her dress. “Too much pepper?”
“Paprikash.”
“Oh my God!” She slapped a hand over her mouth.
I turned on the stool, and my knees brushed hers. Quite proud of myself, I leaned in close and lowered my voice. “Did I pass?”
Suddenly, she stood, her stool nearly falling over behind her. “I need to leave.”
My arrogance fizzled. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m twenty-eight,” she announced as if it answered all of life’s great questions.
Twisting my lips, I replied, “And I’m thirty-one.”
“Fuck.” She stood up and snatched her purse off the bar. After fishing her hand around inside, she pulled a few bills out and threw them onto the counter.
I quickly collected them and tried to hand them back to her, but she was a woman on the run. And there was not one damn thing that could have stopped me from chasing her.
“Hey, wait!” I called, clueless as to what the hell I could have possibly said wrong. I’d quoted an old movie, not confessed to being an axe murderer.
She made it just outside the pub door before I caught her.
Careful not to touch her, I tucked the cash into the top of her purse and then I stepped in front of her. “Wait. Don’t go.”
She shook her head. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not ready to get married yet.”
My back shot straight. “Who the hell proposed?”
“Don’t give me that,” she sighed. “Those eyes, that shirt, questionable taste in drinks aside, you know When Harry Met Sally. I am practically three-quarters of the way pregnant with a house in the suburbs and I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Bowen, and as much as I am not suggesting a pregnancy in any way, the last quarter you’re missing is by far the most fun part of the process.”
She tilted her head back and stared up at the night sky. “Oh, God, you’re clever too? It’s going to be twins. I’m too young for this.”
I chuckled, and unable to stop myself, I rested a hand on her hip. “Don’t go. I can’t do much about the eyes, but I promise to roll down the sleeves and put the kibosh on all further conversations about Meg Ryan movies.”
She swayed forward, resting her hand on my chest. I prayed like hell she couldn’t feel my heart trying to escape my rib cage.
“It’s not going to be enough. I don’t know how, but I knew you were going to be trouble before I even walked into the bar. I was kinda hoping you’d prove me wrong and be completely obnoxious.”
I bent at the knees, bringing us eye to eye. “There’s still time, ya know? I have this horrible habit of interrupting people and a peanut allergy that makes eating out super frustrating. Trust me, an hour with me, and I might—”
I stopped midsentence as her breast quite literally sprang from her dress as the thinnest of straps snapped.
“Noooooo!” she gasped, slapping a hand over her black lacy bra.
I tried to be a gentleman and not look, but for fuck’s sake, I was no hero.
“This fucking dress,” she seethed, crossing her arms over her chest, her broken strap dangling over her shoulder. “I swear it’s cursed. As soon as I get home, I’m soaking it in gasoline and burning it to ensure the safety of mankind.”
Fuck. She was funny too, and if I didn’t act fast, I was going to lose her.
Frantic, I glanced around without the first clue how I was going to salvage the moment. She already wanted to leave, and with her dress now broken, I didn’t have much of a shot at convincing her to stay. But nothing was impossible, and when it came to this woman, even if it was, I’d try anyway.
