One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(96)

Peering up from her menu, she smirks. “Looks like we might need a to-go bag like last time.”

Smiling as well, I say, “Leftovers at midnight are already calling our name.”

“Yeah but this time, I won’t be drunk eating them.”

“Which means you have no excuse to not follow proper leftover etiquette.”

She shakes her head in mirth. “There is no leftover etiquette. If you eye it, you eat it. Simple as that.”

“Which means some people don’t even get a chance to eat them.”

She shrugs and takes a sip from her water glass. “The benefit of growing up in a big family. I learned to be quick on the trigger where food is concerned. I have no shame in it.”

“Clearly.”

We put our orders in with the waitress, I order a Coke and Adalyn sticks with her water, claiming she hasn’t gotten in her daily ounces yet today, but a part of me wonders if she’s sticking with water because it’s free.

“How have you been liking your new job?”

“It’s been good. The hours are much nicer; the doctors are awesome and have encouraged me to go for my degree to become a physician’s assistant. They have a program in the office that would pay for it after I’ve been there for six months.”

“Really? That’s amazing. Are you going to do it?”

I nod and take a sip of my Coke. “Yeah, being a nurse never was the long-term plan, but I wanted to see if the medical field was something I could do for life before going all the way, and honestly, I don’t think I could see myself doing anything else at this point. I love helping people.”

“You were born to be in the medical field. You’re so kind and gentle with your patients,” she says.

“So would you say I have excellent bedside manner?”

She rolls her eyes. “You still have rough hands, they could use a little more lotion.”

I hold up my hands for both of us to inspect them. “These are man hands. There is nothing wrong with that.”

“They’re like sandpaper.”

“They are not.” I laugh. “You’re so full of it. If we’re talking sandpaper, let’s talk about your elbows.”

She points her finger at me, humor in her shocked expression. “That was one summer. How dare you bring that up again?”

“Hey, you cut a hole in leather with those crusty elbows of yours.”

“Oh my God, you’re the worst, I did not.”

I shrug. “I have photo evidence to prove it.”

“Fine . . . prove it.” She folds her hands on the table and waits.

Fuck, she’s totally calling my bluff. I wouldn’t expect anything less from her.

“Oh my God.” Adalyn leans back in her chair, pats her face with her napkin, and in the most ladylike manner, rubs her belly. “Now I know what they mean when they say you’re eating for two.”

“Two?” I raise my eyebrows in question. “Adalyn, you ate for an entire platoon. What happened to leftovers?”

“There are still leftovers, so don’t make it seem like I ate all the food. You had a part in this massacre as well.” She motions to the almost-clean plates.

Playing with a potato on my plate, I say, “It was really good, wasn’t it?”

“So good I might cry myself to sleep thinking about that truffle butter.”

“And you know, oddly, I was okay eating it even though in the Urban Dictionary it’s known as something else.”

She scoffs. “Ugh, those Urban Dictionary people. They have taken a delicacy and ruined it with their perverted minds. They have taken away my ability to shout in the middle of crowded area that I love truffle butter. Jerks.”

Chuckling, I say, “Because you’re often shouting into crowds about fine foods.”

“I would more often if Urban Dictionary didn’t ruin it for me.”

“Want me to write them a letter?”

She plucks a piece of lint off her dress. “Yes, I think that might help. I get them wanting to be creative but if we could keep fine foods off the table, that would be appreciated.”

“It’s a fair ask. I’ll craft my email tomorrow.”

Nodding and closing her eyes, she says, “You’re a good man, Logan, a very good man.”

Paying the check and grabbing our small amount of leftovers we head to the car. “There is an overlook over there, want to go check it out?”

Adalyn looks over my shoulder and smiles. “Would love to. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the city at night.” We put the leftovers in the car and head to the lookout. There are a few people milling about but not enough to make it crowded.

Walking to the rock wall, we take in the cityscape.

“It’s so pretty at night. No smog distracting your view, glittering lights sparkling among the dark palm trees. Makes me think of La La Land.”

I chuckle. “That movie. Don’t even get me started.”

“Besides the end”—she touches my shoulder—“it was a good movie, admit it.”

“I can’t admit to a movie being good if the end sucks. Sorry, but I will never be a fan.”

“But . . . Ryan Gosling,” she defends.

I shake my head. “That’s not going to work on me.”