Page 76 of Lease to Love

I blinked. “What?”

He nodded toward my phone. “All you've eaten in the last two hours is some cheese samples, a brownie, and a bite of artisanal cornbread.”

I opened my mouth.

He raised an eyebrow. “And I'm sure your forgetful ass didn't eat breakfast.”

I frowned. “I ate.”

He waited.

I thought about it. I hadn't.

His mouth twitched. “You’re starving.”

That wasn't a question. It was a statement.

I hated that he was right. I looked down at my stomach like it might betray me with an audible growl.

“Maybe.”

Roman opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

I sighed and climbed into the Bentley. “Please take me somewhere with actual food. Not some bougie place where they charge fifty dollars for two pieces of shrimp and a thinly sliced radish.”

He shut the door and walked around the car. “Shut up and be grateful I'm feeding you at all.”

There was no bite in his voice, and he was smirking.

I pretended not to notice either one.

I settled into the leather seat. I fully expected him to drive downtown, to some Michelin-starred restaurant where the portions came on plates the size of manhole covers and the waiter explained the emotional journey of a single scallop.

Instead, twenty minutes later, Roman pulled up outside Ben's Chili Bowl.

I stared through the windshield. Then at him. Then back at the restaurant.

“No.”

Roman parked. “Yes.”

“You're kidding.”

“No.”

I turned toward him. “Ben's?”

He killed the engine. “Ben's.”

“You?”

“Yes, me.”

I stared at the expensive-looking Henley and jeans covering a man who had just parked a Bentley outside a half-smoke joint.

“Seriously, where are we really eating, Roman?”

Roman got out. I followed, and he opened the door for me like he always did.