I supposed that was better than swearing like a sailor.

He parked in an empty spot and looked over at me. “Ready?”

I nodded, smiling at him.

Still smiling.

Goddamn it, Hannah.

He made it to my door before I had a chance to open it. Once again, he took my hand and helped me out of the car before he closed the door for me and locked the car. He kept my hand firmly in his as we walked across the parking lot to the restaurant, but he released me so he could open the door for me.

Swoony swoon swoon.

He guided me inside with one hand on the small of my back until we reached the hostess’s table. We waited for her to show someone else to their seats, but Isaac gave her a disarming smile the moment she returned. “Cooper, table for two.”

She started at his accent, but she recovered quickly to say, “Right this way, sir, ma’am.”

We followed her through the restaurant to our table in the corner and she sat us down with two menus, assuring us that somebody would be by to take our drink order soon.

“Is it always like that?” I asked him, opening the menu.

“What like what?” he replied, doing the same.

“When you go anywhere. With your accent. Do people really act shocked?”

He peered at me over the top of the menu. “I’m rather used to it now,” he said slowly. “But yes, it happens. We actually had a family come into the clinic around six months ago and I think their teenage daughters swooned to death the moment I told them to go into my exam room.”

A tiny giggle burst out of me. “Really?”

“Yep. We’re the emergency clinic for the area as well and they were vacationing nearby so they had no reason to know I’m British. It’s funny.”

“Funny as in weird funny, or funny ha-ha.”

“Funny ha-ha. I always assumed women would like an Italian accent.”

“Really? Why?”

“I don’t know. My sister dated an Italian bloke when she was in university and loved the way he spoke.” He put the menu down and met my eyes. “I couldn’t understand a bloody word he said.”

I touched the menu to my face to hide my laugh. “You just didn’t like him because he was dating your sister.”

“That could have been a mitigating factor.” He winked at me and leaned forward on the table. “Shall we get back to our car conversation? The things we hate?”

“Oh! It was your turn. What three things do you hate?”

“Avocado, ducks, and wrapping presents.”

“Those are the three most random things ever. Well, except for the ducks. I know all about those little fuckers.”

“Little sods.” He shook his head. “Avocado tastes like slime, and wrapping presents is way harder than it needs to be. Bloody tape gets everywhere.”

“Actually, when you put it like that, it makes perfect sense.”

“I know.” He paused when the waitress came over and asked us for our drink order. He ordered a beer and me a glass of wine. When she’d gone, he said, “What are your three favorite things?”