Free Dream With Me (With Me Book 4) by Elyssa Patrick

talking was a sign of being shy. Mer’s the same way. Quiet and shy that sometimes comes across as aloofness.
    “That’s okay. And trust me, you’ll be wishing in no time at all for me to shut up,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
    “Not at all. I like hearing you talk. I always do,” he says, pulling into an off-street parking lot where he finds an empty spot and pulls in. My brain freezes on one particular part of his sentence. He always liked hearing me talk? From the very beginning?
    He kills the engine and gets out, hurrying over to my side. Griff opens the door and I step down. “Besides,” he says, “the more you talk, the more I don’t have to.”
    I laugh. “Nice try. But now that I know that’s your plan of attack, I’m going to counter it. Prepare yourself. I’m going to ask questions over dinner. And drinks. And probably later on . . . if you get lucky, that is.”
    “I’m only going to kiss you, Evie. At the end of the date. Nothing else.”
    “So you’ve said. Many times, in fact.” I smile as he takes my hand in his much bigger one. “I don’t know who you’re trying to convince when you say that you’re only going to kiss me at the end and not a moment before—me or . . . yourself.”
    “You can try to tempt me otherwise, but I’m very good at resisting.”
    Challenge accepted.

Chapter 9
    ‡
    Since Griff parks at the bottom of Church Street, we don’t immediately hit the marketplace. We pause at the walkway, and down past a Greek gyro shop, I see college-aged students going in and out of a dance club. The air is humid and there’s no breeze, but it’s not completely uncomfortable. After the long winter, any sort of warm weather is welcomed.
    Griff tugs on my hand, and we cross the street, passing a pizza joint and a tattoo parlor. Rounding the corner, we hit the familiar cobblestoned streets of Church Street.
    “It’s busy, even for a Saturday night,” I say.
    “All the colleges graduate around the same time, so there’s that,” Griff says. “And it’s still pretty early.”
    “And it’s a typical date night.”
    His fingers tighten on mine. “It is.”
    “We might not be able to get into any of the places.”
    “We’ll find something,” he says confidently. Most of the shops have already closed, but music streams out from the various bars and restaurants we pass. It’s not cacophonous in the slightest. It somehow all flows together in an unexpected way.
    “So, what are you in the mood for?” I ask.
    “I’m not sure,” he says. “I thought we’d walk and see what our choices are . . . and then pick whatever we liked best.”
    “No firm idea?”
    “None whatsoever.” Griff and I stop as a family comes out of Sweetwaters, one of the restaurants on Church Street. “You sound surprised.”
    “I am. I always thought that you seemed like you’d had a plan and weren’t . . . a ‘let’s just go with the flow’ type.”
    “I’m usually not,” Griff admits, turning to face me. “I do have a routine, but I think most of us do. You always came into class with your iced coffee—five minutes ahead. Not too early, not too late. There was one week you missed sophomore year when we had American Lit in the fall. I think you had the flu?”
    I nod in response. He noticed me like that? He remembered when I was out? “I do like my coffee,” I say with a laugh. “And every time I arrived in class, you were already there, Mr. Punctual. I’m surprised you didn’t make the boat cruise.”
    “I’m glad I didn’t,” he says with quiet intensity.
    My throat goes tight with longing; my heartbeat buzzes in my ears. “Me, too.”
    “See anything you like here?”
    I look at the menu posted outside, even though I’m pretty familiar with it. “Sweetwaters is always great. It looks crowded, though.” And I don’t want to go into a restaurant just yet. “Why don’t we keep walking? Maybe we should look at all the options and then decide like you