Page 12 of Strawberry Cake
Her eyes beamed and she did the same happy dance he’d seen when she’d gotten her coffee. “Well, I’m in for a treat.”
“How was your day so far?”
“Much better now. We didn’t have much to do so it went so slow. Yours?”
“Pretty much the same. Got some work done in the morning and then went to the gym.”
“Gosh, so productive.”
“It’s why I enjoy being a freelancer. I can work whenever I like.”
“Do you set your deadlines or the authors?”
“I tell them when I’m free and how long it’ll take me to get through their manuscript.”
“Is editing the only thing you do?”
“No, I’m also a PA.” Her brows fused, so he continued, “Personal assistant. I keep track of certain tasks like writing their newsletters or managing their social media accounts. Really depends on what they need and how often.”
“Oh, that sounds interesting.”
“It keeps me busy.”
From there, the conversation turned to Hope’s job.
She enjoyed the peace of working through the casefiles. He didn’t know much about medical coding, but she was very patient with him. When they arrived at the restaurant, Hope’s bubbly personality had rubbed off on him. He transferred himself to his chair, prepared to go inside but Hope surprised him. With a smirk, she stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
“My hair does that too,” she giggled, reaching out towards him. Her fingers twirled a lost strand and gently pushed it behind his ear. “There are always a few that escape no matter how hard I try to have them all lay perfectly flat.”
Now it washisturn to blush. If he hadn’t already been in a wheelchair, he’d likely fallen to his knees. Instead, he felt as if his insides had melted into a warm, gooey mess. Hope stepped aside and let him take the lead, but how he managed, he had no clue. His brain was still short circuiting. They were shown to their seats and given their menus before either of them spoke again.
Peering at him from behind the menu, Hope asked, “Do you mind if I drink?”
“Why would I mind?”
“Because you’re the designated driver. I wouldn’t want you to feel left out.”
“I’m here with you. How could I possibly feel left out?”
Her beautiful, rose-tinted cheeks lifted in a smile. “I promise not to get drunk and embarrass you.”
“Perfect, so I won’t need to find a new restaurant after this date.”
They ordered, and Hope let Decan choose her wine for her. Once the waiter was gone, Hope’s attention was laser-focused on him. “So, tell me Decan—what was your first tattoo?”
He loved the way his name sounded rolling off her lips. Almostwith a purr. “My ex’s name.”
Her eyes travel from his face over his neck to his chest. “Do you still have it?”
Decan shook his head. “Covered it with a lion.”
“And where is said lion?” There was a hint of something in her question that made his heart flutter and blood surge south.
“My chest.”
“Was that your second tattoo?”
“No, but my biggest so far.” He rolled up his left shirt sleeve, revealing a smattering of roses—thorns and all. “The skull was added later.”