My response takes him by surprise.

“Your parents fostered,” I explain. “I bet you had kids around all the time. Mine wouldn’t even consider an exchange student.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well. There was never a dull moment.”

“I would have given anything to have another girl in my house,” I sigh. “Pete, Josh, Adam … I love them to death, but all they did was eat and make messes. Both of my parents worked, so my brothers got stuck watching me. They didn’t appreciate it. I spent many an afternoon playing Barbie dolls by myself.”

Latson pouts with fake sympathy.

“All they knew how to cook was macaroni and cheese, pizza rolls, and toast. Sometimes the mac and cheese was served on the toast.”

“It had to get better as they got older,” he says.

I give him my ‘oh please’ look. “It did, but only because I got older, too. I didn’t need them as much.”

“Poor Jen. I know deep down inside they cared. Hell, they fed you. They could have let you starve.”

I roll my eyes.

“And I’m sure they gave your boyfriends hell when they came over.”

“As a matter of fact, they didn’t,” I say. “Pete and Josh were out of the house by then, and Adam was ready to leave. My dad was the one who stepped up for me.”

“Good ‘ole dad,” Latson says as he makes another turn. “I can relate. Mine was really protective of Audrey.”

I’m a little stunned he mentioned his sister. We’ve never discussed her, not that we’ve had the opportunity. I want to tell him I’m sorry about her too, just like his mom, but it feels like I’d be overstepping. I don’t know if the topic of Audrey is, or will ever be, up for discussion.

 Not much later we make it to our destination. Latson pulls to the curb in front of a valet stand, next to a sign that reads, “Geja’s Café. Fondues and fine wines.” A valet opens my door and helps me out of the car, while Latson rounds the front and hands another his keys. Once that’s taken care of, he wraps his arm around my waist again, and we walk down a small flight of stairs to the restaurant.

“Fine wines,” I muse. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Possibly.” I get the lopsided dimple smile as he opens the door. “Honestly, I was thinking more about the atmosphere when I picked this place.”

We’re greeted by a hostess who finds our reservation, then leads us through the restaurant to a table for two in the back. It’s set in an alcove with thick, tapestry-like drapes flanking each side. It’s intimate, as is the entire restaurant. The room is candlelit, the tablecloths are a rich, deep red, and the walls alternate between old-style brick, red paint, and shelves upon shelves of wine. Spanish-style classic guitar fills the room, and it appears only couples are dining tonight. The place oozes romance, and I can see myself getting swept away if I’m not careful.

The hostess leaves us with menus as we settle in our seats. As I reach for mine, I wonder how many times Latson has been here. Specifically, how many women has he wined and dined this way.

“What do you recommend?” I ask as I open my menu. “I’ve never had fondue before.”

“Never?”

I shake my head. “You must come here a lot. Name your favorite.”

Instead of taking the bait and telling me, he picks up his menu as I continue to peruse mine. There are so many options and they all look delicious, especially the desserts. I want to try one of everything, but I don’t want to order the most expensive item available.

“We should get the Premiere Dinner,” Latson says, pulling my attention away from the chocolate covered fruit. I look up and my jaw drops.

“What are you wearing?” I blurt out.

“What?” He looks confused. He’s leaning back in his seat wearing a pair of black framed glasses. They’re just nerdy enough to be hot, especially on him. Paired with the jacket, the hair, and the lighting he’s gone from Abercrombie model to Clark Kent.

“What’s with the glasses?” I ask.

“Oh. They’re for reading. The print is small.” He takes them off and slides them into an inside lapel pocket. “I guess you’re learning some of my secrets tonight.”

“I guess so.” I blink. I want to tell him to put the glasses back on. Not that he doesn’t look good without them, it’s just  ... wow.

Our waitress appears and Latson orders the dinner he mentioned for both of us, along with a bottle of red wine. Once she’s gone, he says, “I hope that’s okay.”

I nod. I was checking out what he ordered as he spoke. I’ve got four courses of deliciousness headed my way. “Is that what you usually get when you come here?”

“I haven’t been here in years.”

“Please,” I scoff. “This isn’t your go-to date spot?”

He frowns until the realization hits. “You’re trying to figure out how many women I’ve fondued.”

I laugh. “I don’t think fondued is a word. But, yes, you’re right.”

A gentleman arrives with our wine. He presents the bottle, uncorks it, and then pours us each a glass. When he leaves Latson asks, “Do you really want to know how many women I’ve fondone?”

I smile. “Yes. I fondue.” Don’t ask me why. It won’t do me any favors to know I’m one of many. However, I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into. After Derek, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

“I’ll only tell you if you tell me,” Latson says. “You need to spill some secrets, too.”

“That’s fair,” I agree. “I’m sure you’ve got me beat by a mile anyway.”

He smirks, sits back in his chair, and starts to count in his head. He makes a show of it, squinting, then shaking his head no as he mentally adds and subtracts. I pick up my wine and take a sip. An image of him wearing nothing but his glasses and a pair of boxer briefs jumps in my head. Hello. I take another drink.

Then another.

And another. He’s still counting.

Jesus. Does he need a calculator?

Finally, he looks at me and smiles. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. My answer is four.”

“Four?” I set my glass down. “That’s it?”

“What did you expect?  I’m a guy from Peoria who owns a bar.”

“You’re also Gunnar Latson, lead singer of Sacred Sin, who dates supermodels and pop stars.”

“Ah. You’ve visited Wikipedia.”

“Well  ...” I shrug.

“Listen.” Latson leans toward me. “I’m not saying I haven’t made out with a bunch of girls. Or messed around with them, or flirted with them, or thought about taking them home. What I am saying is, full-blown relationship wise, I’ve only been with four people.”

I lean closer to him. “Then why is there a rumor going around that you don’t do commitment?”

“Because that’s what I said.” His hand finds my knee beneath the table and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I have Oliver to think about. I’m not willing to risk committing to someone who only wants me for one thing. It will confuse him. Especially when it doesn’t work out and they leave.”

I pause. His words make sense. Latson has a huge responsibility when it comes to his nephew. “So, obviously, I’m in the ‘thought about taking them home’ category?”

“No.” He squeezes my knee again. “You’re in a category all your own.”

Before I can ask him what that is, we’re interrupted by our waitress bearing our appetizer. A tray of assorted breads and fruit is set on the table, along with a creamy cheese fondue. As I reach for a chunk of bread, Latson grabs my wrist.

“Nope. No food until you tell me how many.”

“How many?”

“Guys,” he says. “You agreed.”

Ugh. He’s right. I have to stop assuming things about him because, unfortunately, I’ve got him beat in this area.

“Six,” I mutter.

“What was that?”

“Six.” I look him in the eye. “The number that comes after five.”

His eyebrows shoot up. I can’t tell if he’s shocked or amused. I feel the need to clarify. “There were two high school boyfriends, a couple mistakes in my early twenties, a three-year relationship, and then the cheating douche Derek.”