Page 33 of Meet Cute Reboot

“Mouthy as usual?”

“We don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” Luke asks.

“Talk.” My eyes are on the road, but I watch Luke slouch into his seat in my peripheral vision.

Maybe I’m being too mean. Maybe he doesn’t deserve this. My mind wanders back to that night. The text. His two-timing revelation. Fast forward to him inserting himself into my launch, my company.

The silent treatment is probably the least he deserves.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I could tell him actions speak louder than words, but I don’t want to encourage him.

He tells me where to turn left, and then right. We creep along Benton Street which is heavily screened with trees. Immaculate multi-storied homes with generous first, second, and third floor porches characterize the neighborhood. Wood siding is the dominant exterior treatment, with a few brick homes bucking the trend.

“Historic homes don’t scream bachelor pad to me,” I answer.

“I’m not a bachelor.”

I give Luke my best yeah-right face and then refocus on the road.

“Mine’s the next one,” Luke says.

“This one?” It’s the only house on the street with a front yard and a driveway.

“Yep.”

I turn in.

Six windows balance the second floor. The first floor has two windows on either side of ornate wood and wrought iron double doors. A porch spans the length of the house, and a decorative peak with a half round window divides the roofline.

I do some math in my head. A historic home, on a significant piece of land, with enough bedrooms for a family of ten. He paid millions for this place.

“Do you have servants?” I ask.

“No. Not yet. I may hire a part-time housekeeper.”

I throw the SUV into park in anticipation of Luke’s exit, but he turns to me instead.

“What I meant was, I am a bachelor. But not like I was. Not like you’re thinking. I haven’t had a girlfriend in over a year.”

I flash him my yeah-right face again. “I thought you required females to stroke your ego.”

“I don’t require females for anything.”

“Anything?” Skepticism laces my voice.

“Uh. No. I haven’t done that in over a year.”

“Done what?”

“That.”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“It,” he says like I haven’t figured it out.