What the actual fuck is happening right now? I re across the table at Henrik. “What are you doing?”


    “I think the technical term is flirting.”


    I blink, my vision spinning like I just took a punch to the fucking head. There are a lot of thoughts and emotions swirling in my mind, but only one coherent word pops out. “Why?”


    He shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. “This is a date, right? We’ve never been on a date before. I know it was orchestrated by Poppy, and I know we have an audience, but I’m still here with you, sharing this nice meal. It’s customary to flirt on a date, no?”


    I groan, sinking back in my chair. “Hen,e on. I don’t need you to pity flirt with me. That’s just fucking depressing.”


    He arches a brow. “What pity?”


    “I don’t want you flirting with me because you have to or because you think it’s what you’re supposed to do on a date.”


    “Then when am I allowed to flirt with you?”


    I’m fucking reeling. “What?”


    He gestures around. “If this setting is inappropriate, when and where am I permitted to flirt with you?”


    ring at him, I rattle down my fork. “Am I getting punk’d right now?”


    “What?”


    “Is Novy listening to us on a hidden mic somewhere?” I nce all around. “Is he about to pop out dressed as a giant seagull or something?” Peering out at the patio, I look for any sign of a candid camera. It’s full of other diners enjoying the seaside sunset. The sky is currently lit up in a spray of pinks and purples. Cotton candy clouds dot the horizon above the blue ocean.


    Now poor Henrik is thoroughly confused. “Why would Novy be dressed as a seagull?”


    “I don’t fucking know. Why are you flirting with me? We don’t do that, Henrik. We don’t—it’s too much, okay? I mean, my god. I can’t be your crash test dummy.”


    “My what?”


    I take a deep breath. “Look, I think it’s great that we had our talk the other night. I feel like I know you so much better now. And I’m so thankful you trusted me enough to share that part of yourself with me …”


    Reading between my lines, he frowns. “But?”


    “But … well, I can’t be your crash test dummy,” I repeat. “I can’t be the guy you experiment with, exploring the limits of your interest in sex and human connection. I’m so ttered,” I add quickly. “And you have no idea how much I’d love to say yes. I think if you were anyone else … maybe if I were anyone else, I could say yes. I could sit here and flirt with you, andugh, and tease, and pretend it doesn’t mean anything at all. I could pretend we’re just having harmless fun. But it’s not …” I fall silent, trying to think of the right words.


    “It’s not an experiment for you,” he finishes.


    I nod.


    “You know what you want from me, and you won’t settle for less.”


    All I can do is shrug. “Can you me me?”


    He offers me a weak smile. “Never.”


    I nce down at my risotto, suddenly not feeling very hungry.


    “Can I offer just one counterpoint?”


    I look up, heart in my throat. He sits across from me, looking like my every dream in that fitted blue suit with the little yellow pocket square, no tie, shirt unbuttoned to expose his neck. He trimmed his beard for tonight. His sandy hair lies perfectly across his forehead. He wants to offer me a reasoned counterpoint on why we shouldn’t flirt with each other?


    “Sure,” I say on a breath.


    His gaze softens. “How will I know if I can give you everything you want, if you won’t let me try?”