"Remind me never to underestimate you," Jack said, taking a sip of his Chardonnay and flashing a smile.

Waverly chuckled. "Don't you worry." Damn, he was cute, almost winking at her over his wine glass. She felt herself flushing and thanked God that they were out on the patio. At least the ocean breeze would keep her cool if things got a little too heated.

A few minutes later, their appetizers arrived. Waverly's eyes widened at the size of the plate Jack's prawns arrived on—piled high with not four or five, but at least eight monster crustaceans. "Are you sure that's an appetizer?" she asked, looking at her handful of asparagus sitting in a more modest dual-handled cast iron skillet.

"It certainly is, miss," the waitress confirmed, stylus poised over her tablet, ready to take their main courses.

"Would you like to try some?" Jack asked after Waverly ordered a salt-aged rib-eye and he asked for sole in lemon sauce.

"Oh, no," she smiled, declining. "I'm not a big fan of seafood."

Jack raised an eyebrow and Waverly braced herself for a round of mansplaining, but it never arrived. "More for me, then." Jack winked at her and cracked open his first prawn, swirling the meat around in a sauce that looked to be a combination of garlic, chili, and olive oil.

"How about you?" Waverly offered, gesturing at her skillet. It was only fair to offer.

Jack looked up and wiped his hands on a napkin. "How many is that? Six? I'll ask them to get you more—"

Waverly quickly shook her head. "No need. If I eat too much, I won't have room for the main course. I just saw how big the rib-eye is." She nodded at the table ahead of them, where a waiter was setting down plates. The rib-eye was absolutely massive. Tonight just might call for take-out containers, she thought. Especially since there was an interesting dessert she wanted to try.

Jack glanced over his shoulder. "Fair enough," he chuckled and went back to his prawns.

He was absolutely demolishing the plate, Waverly noted as she picked up her second stalk of asparagus. Not crudely, but with a purpose. By the time she finished the third stalk and accepted another glass of the Seaside Americano, Jack was nearly through. Damn, that man can put away food.

"Excuse me."

Waverly lifted her head and saw an elderly man wearing a green tweed jacket and tan slacks standing next to their table, holding a faded green newsboy cap between his hands. A young woman who might be a granddaughter hovered nearby, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your dinner," the man continued, "but you look very familiar."

Jack's chin came up and his mouth pinched at the corners, an expression that quickly shifted to confusion. "Pardon?" he prompted, eyebrows knitting together.

The young woman laid a hand on her grandfather's arm, but the older man said, "Did a relative of yours work for the Valmar Estate? I swear, you look just like a man I used to see when I helped my granddad deliver milk."

Jack's expression relaxed and he smiled. "I'm sorry, but no."

"Oh." The man didn't appear too convinced. "I could've sworn you were related. I apologize for the intrusion. Have a lovely night." He put his cap on and tipped it toward Waverly. As his granddaughter led him away, she turned around and mouthed "I'm sorry" behind the older man's back. Waverly gave her a little wave to assure her that everything was all right.

"That was cute," she told Jack. "Though his granddaughter looked positively mortified."

Jack nodded absently and went back to his prawns, cleaning up the last bit of sauce with a wedge of soft bread. Waverly chewed thoughtfully on her asparagus, then said, "Valmar. Is that what he said?"

"I believe so," Jack replied, drowning his glass of Chardonnay. An astute waiter came over and refilled his glass.

"That's the big black estate on the north side of town, right? I always thought it looked creepy. Like Dracula could live there or something."

Jack went cross-eyed and began to cough. Waverly gripped the tablecloth and hissed, "Are you okay?" She started to rise, to wail him on the back if necessary, but Jack gestured for her to sit down.

"Down the wrong tube," he said weakly, grabbing a glass of water and taking big, slow sips. "But thank you," he added, no doubt in reference to her concern.

Waverly eyed him, fork poised over the last stalk of asparagus. Jack dabbed his mouth with the napkin, took several more sips of water, then smiled. "That was inelegant of me."

"Coughs, burps, and farts happen," she replied, lifting one shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow. "I try to avoid those on the first date."

"And on the second you let them rip?" she countered with a daring grin.

Jack studied her, then tilted his head back and laughed. "On the third."

"Oh, so you're telling me that there's going to be a third date?" she asked playfully, testing the waters.

The baron slowly put down his fork and locked eyes with Waverly across the table. "I hope so."

Oh, wow, Waverly thought as she flushed again, grateful for the breeze. "Well, that depends on what else you can tell me about yourself," she told him, more than a little flustered. Was there a discrete way to fan oneself with a napkin and your date not notice?

Jack sat back and took another sip of water. "What would you like to know?"

"What else do you like to do? For fun, I mean."

Jack idly scratched his nose and glanced over the railing at the beach across the street. "I like to build ships and go sailing."

"Really?" She'd seen a small yacht being towed onto the property and lowered to a pier below the cliff last week. "You actually sail that yacht I saw last week?"

He chuckled. "Yes, Ms Harris, I actually sail it myself. No additional personnel needed."

"That is very cool," she replied, impressed. "And you also build boats? Like what kind?"

Jack shrugged. "Little dinghies. I auction them off for charity later."

"Do you build them in your basement? Like Gibbs in NCIS?"

The pop-culture reference earned her a blank stare. "I don't know what you're referring to, I'm afraid."

"Not an NCIS fan, huh? That's okay." It wasn't exactly a deep cut, but she could forgive him.

"Oh, that's an American show, right?"

"Yup."

"Ah. I've never seen it. You're telling me that there's a character that builds boats in his basement? That is ridiculous. How in the world would you get something that size out?"

Waverly chuckled. "If I remember correctly, he took bricks out of the wall." It had been a long time since she caught an episode, so the details were a little fuzzy.

Jack shook his head. "That's unnecessary. While I don't have anything on the property right now, I plan on having a shed constructed for that purpose. Now, I think it's your turn, Ms Harris; how about yourself?" he asked. "What occupies your time when you're not in the garden?"

Smooth. Giving her a taste but not completely spilling everything. "In no particular order: scrapbooking, reading, and watching trashy reality TV." She laughed. There were other things, of course, like her small collection of Sailor Moon figures and manga, but she'd leave those for later.

"Scrapbooking? I didn't think young women did that these days." He spoke as if he were someone her grandfather's age and not a thirty-year-old man.

Waverly smiled. "You can blame my grandmother for that. She wanted something that all the granddaughters could do together when we visited. I rather like it. It's like landscaping, really—arranging pictures and stamps and such. My older sister, River, is obsessed with her Cricut machine."

"Mm." Jack took a sip of Chardonnay. "My father was obsessed with stamp collecting. He was quite put out when none of us took it up."

"Now that's a hobby you don't hear about anymore," Waverly replied with a grin.

"Indeed. Thank you," Jack said as a waiter and waitress arrived with their meals. Two massive plates were placed before them, with the waitress cautioning them both on how hot they were.

Waverly eyed the size of the rib-eye, which was truly something to behold—positively marinating in a thick sauce with sautéed shallots and green beans on the side. Yes, she was definitely going to need a take-out container. She took up the steak knife—a hefty thing with a sharp, serrated edge—and started cutting into it.

"Have you done any scrapbooking while you're here?" Jack inquired, slicing into his own main course of sole, green beans, and (smaller) prawns.

Waverly chuckled wryly. "Not really. It's hard to find joy in things when you're depressed over losing your job. But," she added after savoring a bite of the rib-eye, "I might now."

"Do you think you'd be inspired after going sailing?"

She looked up and felt herself melt inside as Jack met her eyes once more. "On our third date?" she teased.

"Yes."

Goddamn, it was hot out on the patio. Waverly sat back slightly and took more than one sip of her drink to cool herself down. He was handsome, charming, and witty, and she very much enjoyed being in his company.

"Let's see how this one goes first," she told him, although she already imagined what it would be like on an expensive yacht. She had to be practical, no matter what Jack's words and presence were doing to her. But it was so very difficult.

"I'll take that as a challenge," he replied, snapping off the end of a green bean.

Sweet Jesus, she breathed.