His touch. His hand. Although now in his pocket, the warmth of his fingers remained on my back. "Sure. I'll take some fries and a Dr. Pepper too."

"We'll get a large cheese pizza, an order of ... fries, and two Dr. Pepper's," he said, then looked at me. "I meant fries when I said chips. Always forget that."

I excused myself for the bathroom. He did the same, although I bet he really needed to go. I just needed to collect my thoughts and berate myself. Pacing the empty orange-scented bathroom, I told myself not to get tingly sensations or enjoy the way his skin felt against mine. My hormones wanted to ruin me and send me into a full-fledged reel of tawdry romance. I couldn't allow it.

"But I'm not anti-love," I whispered to myself.

The other me chimed in, "He lives in England. It wouldn't work anyway."

"Yes," Less Reasonable Me agreed. "And I don't like to start something I can't finish either."

"Exactly."

"But—"

A toilet flushed. I jerked my head to the left as a lock on one of the stalls jiggled, then dashed into the empty stall before she saw me.

She will see you come out after her, I thought inside, then thanked myself for reminding myself that I wouldn't escape the embarrassment.

I waited until the hand dryer stopped and the door swung closed, then another minute before walking out. I didn't see any women sitting anywhere, thankfully, so I continued on toward Alistair. Starved as he was, the poor chivalrous fellow sat in front of the untouched food. Patiently waiting for me.

I sat down across from him and apologized for the wait. He clasped his fingers together and brought them to his lips, shaking off my apology as though it were unnecessary, then his phone rang. He lifted it, tilted his head back, and exhaled, nodding to me to see if I would mind if he answered the call. I shook my head and wondered if I should also wait to dig in. Be the gentlewoman and what not.

A young girl smiled at me from behind the counter as she lifted a slice of pizza from the steaming vegetable pizza on display. I smiled back and she giggled. Ah, the girl in the bathroom. I stared into my lap.

"Seriously, there's no way I can do that," Alistair said. "Colin, this is ridiculous. You know this isn't the way I wanted to do it. That's the last thing I care about." He paused and noticed me. Yes, I was candidly listening. "Sorry, but I'm not doing it." Another pause. "Give me a break, Colin." Another pause. "This is total rubbish." He ended the call and picked up a slice of pizza. "Let's eat."

"Thank you for that."

"For what?" he said between bites.

"For showing me that you're not always so nice."

He laughed. "I guess I'm prone to agitation as much as the next person."

"It's good. I mean, I'm all about being kind, but it's nice to see that you can also stand up for yourself. It's good to have opinions."

"Of course this is coming from a highly opinionated and therefore biased perspective." He smiled.

So did I. "So, you've already noticed." I laughed. "What was that all about?"

"My manager." He gulped his soda. "Trying to force me into gigs I'm not interested in."

"What are you? A guitarist?"

"Do I look like a guitarist?"

"Not sure." I tapped his hand. "You're fingers are calloused though."

"Nice work. I do play a bit of guitar, but that's not what I do in this band."

I realized my hand was still on top of his and I quickly yanked it back. "Sorry."

He laughed. "Don't be."

"So ... bassist?”

"Drummer."

"Wow." I slurped the last of my soda and wanted more. "Didn't expect that one."

"Stereotypes. I didn't expect you to be the tattoo or classical music type either. More like a country music fan."

"What?" I gasped. "No way. Country? Why country? Not that there's anything wrong with country, but ... why country?"

"I haven't the slightest clue. You seem pretty normal on the surface. I bet you're popular in school, huh? Did you really just inhale more of that pizza than me?"

I picked up another slice and widened my eyes as I brought it toward my face. "At least I’m careful not to get it all over my face.” I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “I’m not popular as in cheerleader and homecoming queen kind of popular. I do have a lot of friends from different cliques. I get along with a lot of different types of people, I guess. Is that popular? But normal ... I don't want to be normal."

"That's just the thing. You absolutely are not even close to normal." He brought a fry to his lips. "Rest easy."

We finished eating in silence until we ended up licking our fingers and dabbing crumbs. At the same time. We laughed, cleared the crumbs, and shoved our mess into one large pile on the empty pizza tray and stood. "Ready?"

"You want me to take you back now?"

He leaned closer to me, flickering his eyelashes just inches from mine. "I'm not sure want is the right word, Ms. Austen."

I sincerely hoped my face did not look as warm as it felt. "And what would you want exactly?"

He tossed everything in the trash, placed the tray in its designated return spot, and held the door open for me. "How about a walk?"

"Oh! How I shall fancy a delightful stroll about the town," I teased him with my best impression of his accent.

"That was pretty good," he said. "A little too posh for my accent, but good for an American."

We rounded the city corner. I watched him take in the surroundings. I'd never been to Nashville, but I couldn't imagine it being like Philly. I'm sure he wanted to see something nicer than a few boarded up houses and mini marts.

"Let's go left up here," I said. "We aren't in the best area for sight-seeing, but there are some more romantic streets over that way."

"Ro ... mantic?" He nudged me with his elbow, and I'm sure he intended to aim for my arm, but instead he jabbed my boob. "I am so ... what I ... oh, what a daft cow. I'm sorry."

"Daft cow?" I laughed. "It's fine. Not much here to fondle anyway."

"There's enough."

I pretended not to hear that. "So ... I meant romantic as in beautiful, lovely, pleasant. I'm not completely anti-romance, you know."

"But you're a little anti-romance? Parents divorced?"

"Not in the slightest. Their love story is too sappy for the cheesiest of Hollywood."

"That must be nice." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "My parents are divorced. Happily so. It's a bit awkward, but they parted on fairly civil terms."

"You'd think it would be nice to have cheesy parents who haven't released the honeymoon stage yet, but it's overwhelming. They named me after Jane Austen because they fell in love in high school when they were partners for a Pride and Prejudice reading project or something. Everything since then has been perfect for them. They never fight. They always stare dreamily into each other's eyes while I’m trying to get through breakfast. And the worst part is they gave me this ridiculous name."

"At least it's authentic cheese and not that artificial stuff."

I laughed. "What?"

"Your parents. Better to have real cheese than fake cheese." His left foot stepped forward in line with mine, then the right. "It's not that bad, anyway. Your name."