Rise of the Moon (Moonlit Series Book 1) by Rachel Hera Read Free Book Online

a hand over the table between us, currently occupied by a bread basket and our meals. “I wasn’t expecting all… this.”
    “Is it too much?” he asked.
    “No,” I said quickly, then paused. I reached up to touch my hair, a braid that came over my shoulder, following it to the tip of the braid before switching my fork from one hand to the other and picking up my knife. “Well, maybe. I wasn’t expecting a date like this until I was, like, twenty-six.”
    “We can calm things down afterwards with a movie,” he suggested.
    “I’d like that,” the corners of my mouth twitched. “It’ll help this feel a little more awkward teenager, less awkward adult.”
    “You’re funny,” he leaned with his elbows onto the table. “I feel like I could talk to you for hours.”
    “And we’re at plain awkward,” I felt my face go red. “Thank you, though.”
    “You act like you never get compliments,” he commented. “It’s refreshing, you know.”
    “I do get them… from my mom and my best friend. From my teachers,” I shook my head.
    “You’re telling me that a girl like you has no… suitors,” he didn’t look like he believed me.
    “Suitors,” I laughed. “No. No suitors. I’m afraid you’ve only seen one side of me so far, and it’s the squeamish little girl side of me. I have a side that bites the head off of most people if they overstep my boundaries.”
    “I don’t believe you,” he grinned.
    “That’s probably for the better,” I replied. “Or else I’m pretty sure I’d scare you away.”
    “I’d like to see you try,” he dared.
    “I’m sure the time will come on its own,” I told him, reaching for a bun. “In the meantime, can we just gush about how delicious these rolls are?”
    “They’re very good,” he agreed.
    “My mom makes bread for Christmas and Easter,” I said, finishing the transition in our conversation. “And I always thought that was my favourite kind of bread, but these are up there.”
    “So is bread your favourite food?” he asked.
    “I do love my bread,” I nodded. “But I wouldn’t call it my favourite.”
    “Then what is?”
    I pressed my lips together, thinking harder than I probably should have needed to. It sounded like a simple question, but I’ve always had troubles when it came to ‘favourite’ questions. I didn’t have a specific colour I liked, or a drink I preferred. Hell, I didn’t even know whether I liked cats or dogs better. But if I had to make a choice –“Oranges.”
    “Oranges,” he looked surprised.
    “Yeah,” I took another sip of water. “Oranges, mandarins, clementines… Maybe I can say citrus fruits? Oh, but not grapefruit. I’ve… just always enjoyed them, or anything that has them in it..”
    “The best reason for it to be your favourite,” he nodded.
    “You?” I asked. “What’s your favourite food?”
    “I can’t think of a particular food,” he admitted. “But my favourite drink is my mother’s hot chocolate. She used to make it all the time for me as a child, but not so much anymore.”
    “Can’t you just ask her to make you some?”
    “I wish it were that easy,” he gave a half-hearted smile.
    “She’s not –”
    “Dead? No,” he chuckled. “She’s alive and well.”
    “That’s right. New York. I forgot. And here I thought this was going to get very uncomfortable for a moment,” I smiled sheepishly. “And she doesn’t make it for you when you visit?”
    “That’s where things get complicated,” he mirrored my half-hearted smile. “Perhaps we’ll save it for a later date.”
    “Ah, sure,” I pushed my chicken around with my fork. Conversation, conversation. “For a high end place, their chicken’s a little dry.”
    Shayne laughed loudly, drawing attention from the other tables. I felt my face heat up, and I shrunk a little into my seat.
    “Let’s go, then,” he wiped his mouth and set his napkin aside.
    “No, you went through all this trouble,” I