He stopped to wait for me. “Don’t forget Tommy Flea Jones.”
“Titanic,” I said.
“Titanic? I don’t get it . . . oh, wait.” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “Kate Winslet the dogs out?”
I resumed walking in my socks. “There’s no play on words. I’m just wondering if you like that movie.”
Realization crossed his face. “Damn it. I know what you heard, and it’s not true. Justin claims I cried, but the truth is that I have an inordinate number of eyelashes. Sometimes they cause trouble in the eye-watering area.”
“Sure.” I grinned, squinting ahead. “Looks like You’ve Got Mail.”
“For the record, I requested Lady and the Tramp,” he said, “but that only got me the side-eye.”
“You did not.”
“I one-hundred percent did.” At the edge of the crowd, he stopped and set down the picnic basket. “Made some last-minute calls and said it was for a piece I was working on. So You’ve Got Mail feels like a huge ‘fuck you,’ to be honest.”
My laugh came out sounding awed. He had this dating thing down to an art. I could almost convince myself this felt real to him too. “Seriously, where’d all this come from?”
He unfurled a blanket onto the grass. “Never ask a magician for a peek behind the curtain.”
“I’ve never had anyone go to these lengths for a date.” I squatted to pull the edges taut, and my words hung in the air. Maybe I should’ve kept that to myself. “I mean, the thing is,” I continued, testing the waters, “we could probably end the date now and have plenty of material.”
“Not unless you’re sick of me.”
I smiled inwardly. “If I wasn’t sick of you four hours in, I wouldn’t be after six.”
“I’ve never been on a date this long. You?”
I stuck each of my boots on diagonal corners of the blanket. “Only if you count weekend getaways.”
“With your ex,” he guessed, opening the basket. “Never done that. Now, I can say my first getaway date was a trip to Greenpoint.”
“Sorry, but mock dates don’t count.”
“Ah, I see,” was all he said.
Thankfully, the dogs were already lying in the grass, half asleep. Bruno needed rest. Today had been more activity than usual for him, and his heart condition was never far from my mind.
Sebastian passed me the second blanket. “It’s getting chilly.”
I sat cross-legged and covered my lap with it while he unpacked a bottle of red wine. “This is from that stash the Spanish vineyard sent over.”
“For the natural wine piece?” I took the bottle from him and read the label. “Looks fancy.”
He sat next to me. “The most impressive part is that I remembered a corkscrew.”
I looked up. “Since I’ve been with you all day, I can only assume you packed this before coming over this morning, which was risky.”
He pulled out several takeout containers. “How so?”
I tried to peek at the contents, but the lids had steamed over. “Considering our history,” I said, “it would’ve been a safe assumption that I might not have agreed to help you today. What if I’d slammed the door in your face?”
“I wasn’t taking no for an answer.” He took the plastic top off some mixed greens, and my stomach grumbled at the promise of food. “I’m persistent,” he said. “Irresistible quality number four. Or was that five? I’m losing count.”
Sebastian had known I’d say yes. In truth, I hadn’t put up much of a fight. He and I had butted heads since practically the moment we’d met, and yet I’d given up a Sunday to go out with him. Was that romantic, I wondered, or foolish?
The din of the crowd lowered slightly as the movie started. He uncorked the wine and poured us each a stemless glass of red. “Salud,” he said, raising his drink.
I clinked my glass to his and took a sip. His attention was even headier than the wine, and I was glad I’d agreed to come. I didn’t regret a moment of the day, but it would’ve meant even more to know if he was feeling the same.
“Georgina?”
I licked the underside of my top lip. “Hmm?”
“I asked what you think of the wine.”
“Oh. It’s fine.”
“How does it compare to last night’s?”
I wrinkled my nose, wondering if I’d missed something else he’d said. “What?”
He set down his wineglass, looking into it as he worked his jaw back and forth. “Are you still talking to Frank?”
As if the question wasn’t random enough, his use of Frank over François got my attention. “We haven’t been out again if that’s what you mean.”
“What about . . . staying in?” He peered at me. “I saw the empty wineglasses and Pinot bottle at your apartment this morning. And I haven’t stopped wondering about it all day.”
The way he said it, brows heavy, it was almost as if the thought of Frank spending the night bothered him. “Do you really think I’d invite a date, even a pretend one, upstairs when I’d spent the previous night with someone else?”
“Georgina.” He gave me look. “You can’t honestly tell me you still believe we’re on a fake date.”
My heart skipped. Happiness bubbled up so quickly, I had to stop myself from breaking into a grin. I’d been trying to bury my instinct that this was real, but deep down, I’d known it was. I’d just been clinging to the lie out of fear of the truth. As Neal’s dark cloud crept back over me, my excitement subsided. Some days, our breakup didn’t feel that long ago. I felt ready to move on, but was I really? I worried it wouldn’t take much for those insecurities to surface—or for me to fall into old habits. I had reasons to be skeptical of Sebastian’s intentions, but I wasn’t. I trusted him. Or was it only that I wanted him enough to ignore red flags as I had in the past?
“Oh, no,” he said when I didn’t respond. “You do still think this is for the magazine.”
“I—”
“There’s no article.” He worked his fingers under the lid of the largest container, then popped it off. “I didn’t want to risk you turning me down. But clever as you are, I would’ve thought you’d have figured it out by now.”
I watched as he scooped spaghetti and meatballs onto a plastic plate. “I guess I’m still learning how to read you,” I said.
“I’m complex. Another one of my qualities. Though I imagine that one falls under frustrating as well.” He served me pasta and salad. “So, now that you know the truth, you know why I’m asking if Frank spent the night. And why I hope to hell that answer is not a fucking chance.”
“Luciano and I had a sleepover,” I said, secretly awed that he sounded jealous. “I haven’t talked to Frank in days.”
“Good.”
“Good?” I asked.
“Yes, good. Why haven’t you spoken?”
“I don’t know. Life, I guess.” I took a bite. “This is still warm. How’d you put all this together?”
“Even Santa Claus has helpers.”
Justin. It had to be. He really was a good friend. “Does your elf know this isn’t make-believe?”
“Of course. Lady and the Tramp was his suggestion—I think he’s hoping for a spaghetti kiss.”
I blushed, my stomach suddenly full of butterflies that hadn’t been there before. At least not since I’d run into him outside my apartment. Now this was the right moment for a first-date kiss—the setting sun, wine, good conversation. Frank could take a few notes from Sebastian.
“We weren’t really a match,” I said.
Sebastian seemed to know instantly that I was talking about Frank. He nodded. “Why not?”
I twirled spaghetti onto my plastic fork. “A few reasons, but there were a couple things he said that actually reminded me a little of my ex.”
Sebastian hummed. “And I take it that’s a bad thing.”