“It really is perfect, Jules,” she said around a bite of salad. “You’re forty. He’s twenty-seven. It’s a match made in sex heaven.”
“How so?”
“Most women don’t hit their sexual peak until their late thirties, early forties.” She gave me a knowing smile. “And men typically hit it in their twenties. So if you two got together, and the chemistry remotely resembles what I witnessed at the restaurant last night, I can only imagine it would be fiery.” She narrowed her gaze. “Am I right? The kiss was fucking explosive, wasn’t it?”
I looked into the distance, trying to come up with a word to adequately describe precisely what Chris’ kiss felt like. Explosive seemed too ordinary. The way his mouth caressed mine, so full of want, of grace, of hunger. It wasn’t a normal kiss. Wasn’t something you enjoyed briefly, then quickly forgot. No. It was the kind of kiss that started wars, that lovers fought over, that broke hearts.
“It was…inspiring,” I finally said on a breathy sigh.
“Then you should treat yourself to more of them,” Naomi offered, as if it were that easy.
“What am I supposed to do? Just call him? See if he’s interested in another make-out session?”
“He did give you his number.”
She slid the small, white card that had accompanied my surprise delivery across the table toward me, the only writing on it a number. Nothing else.
“Speaking of which, did you tell him you were a pastry chef? How else would he know to send you a chocolate haupia cream pie and malasadas?”
Spoon in hand, she leaned over the table, eyes dancing as they focused on the pie. Just as she was about to destroy the beautiful presentation, I swatted her spoon away. She pouted playfully, then relaxed back into her chair, stabbing a few leaves of lettuce with her fork.
“I didn’t tell him anything about myself, other than it being my birthday.”
“Okay. Seriously, Jules.” She pointed her fork at me. “You need to fuck this guy. He sends you two amazing desserts instead of stupid flowers? Has a hot, Australian accent and body to match? Call him. Invite him over. Promise him a night of no-strings, wild, carnal sex.”
“I am not calling him.”
“Why not?” She tapped the card. “He gave you his number.”
Gritting a smile, I placed my finger on the card and shoved it back in her direction. “We don’t even know for sure he was the one who sent these. There’s only a number. No note. They could be from anyone.”
“But they came from The Barbecue Shack. Where we had dinner last night. Where we saw him.”
She paused, waiting for me to agree there was only one person who could have sent these delicious desserts. He knew nothing about me, yet knew flowers weren’t the way to my heart…or into my pants. But food most definitely was.
“Fine,” she huffed. Then her smile turned conniving. “If you won’t call him, I will and pretend to be you.”
My eyes bulged, heart dropping to the pit of my stomach. “You wouldn’t.”
“Someone has to make the first move here.”
She reached into her purse and grabbed her phone, unlocking it. I scrambled out of my chair and rushed to her side of the table, trying to snatch it out of her hand. Swatting me away, she stood, her height giving her an advantage as she punched in the number before bringing the cell up to her ear.
“Ooh! It’s ringing! How’s my accent? ‘Well, bless your heart and butter my biscuits,’” she mimicked in an amazingly good impression of my voice.
“Hang up!” I shouted. “I’ll call him myself, just please hang up!” My voice echoed, muscles constricting, pulse racing.
With a devious grin, she held out her cell, which I saw was set to her home screen.
“You’re a horrible friend,” I breathed out, unable to keep a straight face.
In truth, Naomi was one of the best people I’d ever met. Through everything I’d endured with Nick, my ex, she had my back, giving me a shoulder to cry on one moment, then making a punching bag with Nick’s face on it the next.
She placed her hands on my biceps, eyes awash with sincerity. “I just want you to be happy. And I’m not encouraging you to do this because I think you need a man in order to achieve that happiness. Just like the list we made was all about you finally putting yourself first, so is this. That’s where you’ll find your happiness, Jules. By satisfying your needs. You’re a smart, confident, gorgeous woman.” She dropped her hold on me, crossing her arms in front of her chest, giving me a smug grin. “Be his Mrs. Robinson.”