The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(15)

“Fine.” He smiles bright, joyous, and happy, free of any frustration or heaviness. I wonder how much of his personality is that: just happy to be here, glad to be alive. He seems to be that kind of person. I wonder what that’s like, to live like that?

“First question.” I brace for some kind of intrusive, personal question. “Cookies or cupcakes?” My brows crinkle.

“What?”

“Cookies or cupcakes. Which is better? I like cookies, but my mom also makes the world’s best chocolate chip cookies. I’m the only boy and the youngest, so anytime I go home, there’s a plate waiting for me.” The smile is there again, unashamed and open. It’s another interesting detail, one I’d typically jot down in my notes, but for some reason, I don’t feel like taking notes on this date. Instead, I slip my notepad into my bag before smiling at him.

“That’s not a real question.”

“It’s not? Well, it’s the one I’m using. Now, answer.”

“Cupcakes.”

“From where?” It comes immediately, and for a moment, I think it should count as a second, but I let it fly.

“The Italian bakery on Fifth. Luigi’s.”

“Good cannoli.”

“You like their cannoli, next time you’re there, try the cannoli cupcakes. Life-changing.”

“I’ll make sure I do.”

“Okay, my turn. What did you want to be when you were a kid?” He smiles as I repeat the same question I ask all potential matches.

“You’re predictable, huh? A mechanic. I always wanted to be a mechanic.”

“Yeah? You knew then?”

“Always. My dad works in finance, good money. He wanted me to follow him. But… I wanted this.”

“Were they angry? That you didn’t want to follow in their footsteps or get a more prestigious job?” I think of my father, in his own high-paying career, who finds my ‘hobby’ to be ‘cute.’

“Not at all. My parents just want us to be happy, no matter what. So now I get the best of both worlds—I get to fix cars like I love, and my mom and sisters make sure I still get to wear nice things. In exchange for being on the hook for any car repair they need. But I don’t mind.” The dimple comes out again.

“That’s… great. Rare. Parents supporting you in whatever.”

“I’m lucky.” I nod, thinking about how I wish so profoundly I, too, was that kind of lucky. “Okay, my turn. Favorite gas station food?” I laugh but answer, and the night goes like this for two more hours as we eat our dinner then dessert. He asks silly questions about 80’s movies and favorite drinks while I slowly knock out the questions I’ve memorized at this point. Eventually, I start adding in my own, asking things like his most embarrassing childhood memory or what his sisters would describe him as (spoiled, which made me laugh and sounded so typically big sister).

He comes from a sweet, loving, and incredibly close family. Each Sunday, he still has dinner at his parents' with his sisters, their husbands, and his nieces. He’s kind, backing off when it’s clear I don’t want to answer something. In return, I dig at him playfully when he blushes at some of my personal questions.

It feels… normal.

Too normal.

Not like a work date at all.

This becomes even more clear when the bill arrives and my hand swipes it out quickly, slipping in the company card without even looking at the total.

“You’re not paying,” Luke says with angry eyes focused on my hands holding the leather envelope.

“It’s part of the process. I pay for the first date.”

“This is basically one giant interview, right?”

“I guess?”

“So wouldn’t I fuckin’ fail the ‘is he a good guy’ test if I made you pay for our first date?”

“That’s not—”

“Take my card.” His hand holding a credit card goes out as his eyes are locked to mine as the poor waitress stands there, unsure what to do.

“Luke.”

“Cassandra.” I stare at him, and I want to fight, but he’s not wrong. And usually, the men I date do try to pay, but this one… this man tells me he won’t acquiesce when I tell him no. Something tells me he will stand his ground however long it takes, and something about that sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

“Fine. But I’m still paying for the activity.” He rolls his eyes, and I can almost hear his thoughts as the waitress runs off with his card and the bill: We’ll see about that.

When our server returns, handing the bill back to Luke to sign, two wrapped fortune cookies are on top.

“You have to make a wish,” I say, grabbing my own before popping the plastic. Next, I pull out the orange cookie, snapping it out and slipping the paper from its cookie prison.

“What?”

“Make a wish. I had a client show me this years ago, and I do it every time now.” I read my fortune cookie aloud. “‘To truly find yourself, you should play hide and seek alone.’” I stare at it for long moments as Luke busts out laughing. I follow him before putting it down. “That one stunk. What does yours say?” He’s cracking his own open and pulling the paper out to read.