Page 54 of The Enemy Plot
“Voices?” He arches an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” I say, feeling my cheeks warming. “A little weird, I know. I have a thing for men’s voices. Wait until you hear I buy books because of the narrator.”
“Oh, wow,” he says, sitting back. “Should Ibe worried?”
I cast him a smirk. “Oh, absolutely not. Your voice is definitely audiobook narrator material. You should think about changing professions.”
He belts out a laugh. “Good to know.” When he places his hand over mine, tiny tingles trail up my arm. We stay like that for a while, even if it’s harder to show each other the rest of the pictures with only one hand. The next one is the “similar to our relationship” pick, and I show him the enemies-to-lovers neighbor romance.
He chuckles. “That’s a good one. I also got a neighbor book,” he says, showing me his choice,The Neighbor Situationby Leslie Baumeister.
“Now, the one that reminds us of each other,” I say, flashing my other neighbor romance, this time starring the grumpy character.
His smile lights up the restaurant. “Another neighbor book? How many of those are there?”
“A lot.” I laugh. “It’s a pretty popular trope.”
His forehead wrinkles. “Trope?”
“Yeah, you know, the cliché that everyone loves to read. They’re often a big portion of the plot, or they could be character related, like the grump or the hockey player.”
“Okay. And ‘neighbor’ is a hit, huh?” he croons, dragging a hand along his beard. I wish I could be the one doing that.
“Oh yeah,” I say, giving him a teasing look as our eyes meet.
He responds with a teasing look of his own. “This was the one I chose,” he says, showing me his phone. It looks like another romance book, and the title isThe Perfect One.
I gulp, and he squeezes my hand. “Deacon . . .”
“I mean it, Alice. I feel like such a moron for having so easily dismissed what we have. Ever since I met you, you’ve had such a positive influence on me. You’ve brightened my life. I know it’s super weird to say that on a first date, but . . .”
I chuckle, though it sounds more like a giggle. Because that’s how I feel, all warm and giddy. “Don’t worry. We’re way past weird. I did share my bizarre love for men’s voices, after all.”
He laughs, and his fingers caress my hand. I take comfort in the gesture, enjoying how his callused fingertips subtly scratch my palm.
“Last one,” he says, clearing his throat.
“Right. Here it is,” I say, showing him the cover model I chose.
He frowns and leans back, which unfortunately means we break hand contact. I want to protest, but he speaks first. “How old do you think I am, exactly?”
I grimace. “I didn’t have a lot of time, and he kind of looks like you. Same hairstyle, eye color, and that frown.”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t frown.”
“Um, yeah you do. Check out those frown lines in the mirror when you get home,” I say, trying hard not to smile.
“Fine, but I don’t have gray hair. And for the record, I’m only thirty-five.” He crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child. Only he has biceps, and I’m pretty sure he’s rocking a six pack under that navy-blue sweater. Also, thirty-five? He may not be old, but he’s still thirteen years my senior. Not that it really changes anything. At our age, it’s really just a number. Plus, I’ve always had a thing for age-gap romances.
I bite my bottom lip. “You don’t haveasmany gray hairs, but you do havesome.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but I’m faster.
“And I find that incredibly sexy,” I add, licking my lips.
His eyes widen, and he leans forward. “Is that so?”
“Definitely.”