“Where?” I ask, leaning my head into the seat, watching his rugged profile.
“Wherever you want to go, but first I have somewhere for us to gotoday, and we’re late.”
“Late? You and your plans.”
“You love them,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road.
I don’t answer, but I love everything about this puzzle of a man.
I’m surprised when we pull into the parking garage of The V.
“We could have stayed in my bed if you were just gonna bring me to a hotel.”
“This is a date.” He parks, gets out, and comes around to open my door. “We haven’t really had those.”
I stare at him for a second, letting that sink in, before taking his hand and getting out. He pulls me close and leans down to kiss me briefly, sweetly.
“I don’t actually care what we’re doing here,” I murmur against his lips. “As long as we get to do more of this.”
He walks us over to an elevator, pulls out a key, and turns it in the wall to summon the car.
“Fancy,” I say, stepping in with him. The elevator keeps going until we reach the top.
“The roof?” I ask, my smile broadening.
“We’ll have it all to ourselves.”
Evan said Open Air was best when it was empty. Guess I’m about to find out.
When we step onto the roof, the city sprawls at our feet, and a vibrant fresco sky spreads out above, smeared with purple and pink-streaked clouds like a watercolor painting. It’s LA, but it’s still January, and I cross my arms over my chest, huddling into the sweatshirt a little more.
“Cold?” he asks.
“Not really. It’s just brisk up here.”
“Hungry?” He leads me toward a table set for two with silver dome covers and champagne flutes. Tulips grace the middle of the display.
“Hungry, yes.” I sit in the chair he pulls out for me and lean forward to sniff the blooms. “This is all great, Canon.”
He lifts the silver domes to reveal crepes and eggs and fruit. Bacon for him, none for me. I’ll never take for granted how he takes care of the details.
“You sure nobody’s coming up here to bust in on us?” I ask, shaking the linen napkin out over my lap and taking up my fork. “Blow our cover?”
“Ari said we have the place to ourselves for another two hours.” Canon bites into his crepe. “The key I used unlocks the elevator. No one can come up here without one. The manager unlocks it around noon to prepare for opening.”
“Did Ari…” I hesitate, sip my champagne-lite mimosa, and then press on. “Does she know about us? I mean, that it’s me here with you this morning?”
“No, and it’s killing her. She’ll hound me for information all week. She knows I don’t do this, so she has questions.”
“Did you and Camille,” I start and falter. “Do this? I mean, did you bring her here?”
His chewing slows like he’s giving himself time to consider my question and its implications. What might lurk behind the innocuous query. “Never.”
I cover my sigh of relief with another sip of the mimosa.
“It would be fine if you did,” I say, taking a bite of my eggs. “I just wondered.”
“Neevah.” He waits until I stop busying myself with food and look at him. “Do you want to know what happened with Camille?”
