“I always wanted a brother,” I admit.
“I’m an only child too,” she offers with a wistful smile. “It’s lonely.”
I can see the sadness in her eyes when she talks about being lonely, and my heart hurts for her. “It is.”
“I want to know more about your family later,” she says.
“Later,” I respond quietly, praying we never talk about my family again.
“Favorite color?” Her expression turns light again, getting back into the game.
I grin. “Blue.”
“Matches your eyes. I knew you’d say that.” She taps her chin playfully, and I laugh.
“Last time you were in a serious relationship?” Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline and she does nothing to hide her mischievous grin.
“Define serious,” I ask curiously.
“Like you’d call her your girlfriend,” she clarifies. “You’d remember her birthday and stuff.”
“Three and half, maybe four years ago.” I cast my eyes to the side, trying to remember. Honestly, none of my relationships have been that serious. I’ve never really found anyone that piqued my interest . . . until now. Until Saige.
She pinches her chin, curious. “Why’d you break up?”
“Wasn’t interested in her,” I say honestly. “She didn’t intrigue me. I was building a company and didn’t need the distraction of a relationship that wasn’t going anywhere.”
“Ouch,” she comments.
I shrug a shoulder, not apologetic. “It’s the truth.”
She moves on. “Okay, I think we’re on to question eight.” She counts and taps her fingers as she does so. “Favorite childhood memory?”
I smile as I think about it, feeling nostalgic. “Easy. Disney World. Just my mom and me. We spent a week there. It was the best vacation I’ve ever had, and I’ve been all over the world.”
“Disney?” She acts surprised. “What made it so fun?”
“No pressure. No pretenses. We didn’t have to pretend we were a happy family and put on a show for my father.” I hate my father, I think to myself, and a chill runs through me when I think about him.
“Pretenses are the worst,” she says quietly, almost to herself. Then she frowns, shifting gears. “Did you at least get Mickey Mouse ears?”
“I did.” I smile. I think my mom still has them.
“Then it was for sure the best vacation.” She smiles back at me. “Moving on, question number nine. What’s your sport?”
I grin. “Football. Hands down.”
“Did you play?” She asks, her face lighting up.
“In high school.”
“What’s your favorite professional team?”
“Giants.”
“Oh God.” She rolls her eyes. “Tom Brady is the biggest douche—”
“Saige!” I laugh at her. “Tom Brady plays for New England, not the Giants.”
“Oh!” She laughs. “I still think he’s a douche, though.”
God, she makes me laugh. I’m not sure anyone I’ve ever met would call Tom Brady a douche. Only her.
She purses her lips before asking me the next question. “Eleven. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”
I clear my throat. “Back in time.” I pick up my beer bottle and press it to my lips, emptying it.
“Why?” She asks quietly.
I look away and shake my head. “We’re not going there, Saige.” If I could do anything to make her life different, I would. I’d do anything to go back ten years. I zone out momentarily as I take in the weight of that sentiment. “Question twelve,” I prompt, and she gives her head a little shake.
Trying to bring back the jovial mood, she bounces in her chair. “What’s your favorite animal?”
“Dog. Although I’ve never had one.”
“What?” She blinks at me. “Oh my God. You need to get a dog. I have a yellow lab at home named Murphy. He’s my best friend.”
The way she says that, and the absolute genuine glow on her face makes me smile. “I’d love to meet him.”
She shrugs. “Okay, thirteen. Biggest turn on.”
“Hmmm . . . a woman’s smile.” I glance at her knowingly. “The way her eyes sparkle when she genuinely smiles.” Your smile, your eyes, your body. Everything about you, Saige, is what I really want to answer.
I stand up and walk over to the fridge to get another beer. Saige taps her finger on the table as she thinks of more questions. When I take a seat across from her again, I find her biting her lip.
“So what are we at? We’ve got like seven to go, right?” I twist the cap off my beer bottle, tossing it in the middle of the table.
“Favorite food?”
“Italian, but I try not to eat too much pasta.”
“Mmm . . .” she mumbles. “Lasagna is my forte. I’ll make it for you sometime.” She smiles at me. I love that she’s thinking about us in a future sense. “Number fifteen. Favorite movie?”
“I don’t have just one favorite. I love The Godfather and Scarface. All those old gangster movies.”
“Never seen them.” She shrugs.
“You’ve never seen The Godfather?” I scoff. She shakes her head. “We’ll have to rectify that.” I take a drink of beer and wait for the next question.