And it’s not attractive.

Dylan, of course, was early to pick me up and he showed up with more flowers. Lavender and yellow roses this time. I made it a point to invite him into the suite so I could put the roses in water. Since Aleck had left hours before, making himself scarce, I didn’t see any harm in showing Dylan around.

And this time Dylan wasn’t wearing board shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. No, this time he was wearing navy fitted dress slacks with a crisp white button-down collared shirt and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Completing the look with a black tie and dark brown Oxfords. He was breathtaking.

Dylan the surfing bartender has game. Serious game. Which at the moment, he’s turning up to twenty.

“What do you think of this place?” he asks, sitting across our small table in the corner of a dimly lit Italian restaurant, Bello Italiano.

“It’s beautiful. Have you been here before?”

“Yeah, actually. Those guys I mentioned who live close to here are some of my best friends. We grew up surfing together. When they moved out this way, I spent a lot of time at their place. We used to come here after surfing. They have an excellent meatball sub on their lunch menu. And I think their lasagna is the best in town.”

“I may have to agree with you, it’s delicious.” I smile, dabbing the corners of my mouth.

Bello Italiano is so cute, so quaint, and romantic I could picture it described in one of my romance novels. The restaurant itself is probably only the size of my apartment, with limited seating and a bar. But what it lacks in space, it makes up for with its charm. The outside patio, where we’re seated now, is double the size of the inside with fairy lights draped overhead across the entire seating area. The seats are spaced out enough that you don’t feel on top of each other, considering each table is occupied. And there’s two wood-burning fireplaces on either side of the patio, giving it warmth, and flickers of dancing light no matter what table you’re seated at.

Aleck mentioned his favorite food is Italian…

Jesus. Who cares?

You do, idiot.

He asks questions. A lot of questions. About me, my job, my interests. He’s perfect even as I try to spot one red flag, one warning sign alluding to him being a closeted stalker/serial killer. Or at the very least, a phony or boring. But I can’t find one. He’s interested, kind, and humble. Essentially, he’s everything Aleck is not.

So why can’t you stop thinking about him?

Shut up.

“I want to bring Keith and the girls here when Sondra arrives,” I speak up, knocking Aleck from my mind. “They’ll absolutely love it.”

“I’m glad you like it. So, tell me about your friends…”

“They’re great. Sondra has been my best friend since I was born because our mothers were best friends. And Dottie, Keith, and I met when I worked as a barista at Java House.”