Tinsel (Lark Cove #4)(77)

“Definitely,” Landon said without pause.

We continued walking and after a few blocks he looked to me and hummed. He opened his mouth, but before he said anything, he shook his head and turned his attention forward again.

“What?” I pressed.

“Nothing.”

I nudged his elbow with mine. “Tell me.”

“I think it’ll come out wrong.”

“Uh, okay.” I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant.

“It’s just . . . I was thinking about my ideal woman.”

“Which I am not.”

“No. Sorry.” He chuckled. “But I was just thinking that if a gorgeous, intelligent woman like you isn’t my type, who is?”

“It seems like it should be easier, doesn’t it? Finding the right person to love?”

“You said it.”

“This is probably weird post-date conversation,” I said. “But we are friends now. So I’m curious. When you think of your ideal woman, what’s she like?”

“You’re right. This is weird post-date conversation.” He laughed. “But we are friends.”

“Yes, we are.”

“I, uh . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating. Then he said, “I don’t want you to take this personally.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Okay. Well, I think I need a woman who isn’t as easygoing as you.”

I stopped dead on the sidewalk. “You think I am easygoing?”

He stopped and turned. “Yeah. You’re chill.”

“Wait.” I took my phone from my purse and opened up the camera. “Say it again, this time so I can record it. No one, and I mean no one in the history of my life, has ever called me chill. Chilly maybe. But not chill.”

“Nah.” Landon grinned, turned the phone so he was in the video recording, then said, “Sofia Kendrick. You are chill.”

I smiled as I hit end on the recording. “I think our definitions of chill are different.”

“Maybe.” He nodded and we resumed walking, both with easy smiles. “Maybe chill isn’t the right term. But I like ruffling a woman’s feathers. I want someone who will meet me head-on in a debate. Someone who will get fired up on occasion. Someone stubborn and iron-willed. A challenge. Again, no offense. But I think tonight’s bet was the first time we took an opposing stance on something. And you ended up taking my side anyway.”

I understood now what he meant by chill. Though I think he mistook me for easygoing when really, it was just a mutual lack of passion for one another.

“So you want a woman who will keep you on your toes.”

“Exactly.”

My sister’s face popped into my mind.

I looked up at Landon’s profile, studying the straight bridge of his nose. He’d give Aubrey a run for her money, that was for sure.

“You should ask my sister out.”

“Your sister?” he asked skeptically. “Wouldn’t that be strange?”

“For me? Not at all. And if you want a challenging woman, there isn’t anyone I’ve met in Manhattan who’d be more of a challenge than Aubrey.”

I hid a smile at the thought of him asking her relentlessly out on dates. She’d make Officer McClellan run a gauntlet of obstacles just to get through the front door at Kendrick Enterprises.

But he’d chase her. Persistently.

Besides Landon, I couldn’t think of a man who’d chased me—not that I would have made any of them chase far. One of many problems in all of my past relationships had been effort, or lack thereof.

My ideal man would pursue me with wild abandon. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. There would be no obstacle, no family issue, no distance, nothing that would keep him away.

“Think about it,” I told Landon. “You have her number. And not that you need it, but you have my blessing.”

“Thank you.”

“I think I’d better wish you luck too. Aubrey’s one of a kind.”

He chuckled again and didn’t say much else on the rest of our walk. Had I sparked an interest? Had I planted the seed? I crossed my fingers, hoping a nice man like Landon could bust his way past all of Aubrey’s roadblocks.

After a few more blocks, I texted Glen and he came to pick me up. Standing by the door of the car, I stood on my toes and placed a kiss on Landon’s cheek. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome. How about coffee one of these days?”

“I’d like that.” I waved good night and got into the car, destination home.

The streets were quiet for a change, traffic was light, and not a single taxi blared their horn on the drive back to SoHo. When I got out of the car, it was almost peaceful. The leaves from the trees around my street had begun to fall, dotting the sidewalk with lemon yellows and cherry reds.

I nodded to my doorman as he opened the door for me. Then I went to the elevator, making my way up to my empty penthouse.

This was the worst part of the night. The part when I’d walk through my front door and wonder what Dakota was doing. I’d picture the two of us together against the entryway wall. I’d remember how it had felt to take him on my couch. I’d slide into bed and think of how cold it was without him beneath my sheets.