“Easier how?” His brows drew together, not in confusion but in that focused way he had—like he was trying to solve me.
“Luke. You ran away from me like three times,” I pointed out with a chuckle.
His ears went red. “I wasn’t—okay, yes. I did. But in my defense, you’re very intimidating.”
I snorted inelegantly. “I’m intimidating?”
“Yes. You’re confident and beautiful, and you talk to people like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, I can barely order coffee without rehearsing what I’m going to say first.”
My heart did something complicated. No one had ever called me beautiful before. Cute, yes. Adorable, frequently. Pretty? Once or twice.
Beautiful was for other women. Women with perfect skin and perfect bodies and perfect lives.
Beautiful wasn’t supposed to be for me.
And yet Luke had said it like it was simply a fact. Like it was obvious.
“You think I’m beautiful?”
His expression was pure bewilderment, like I’d just asked him if water was wet or if gravity existed. “Obviously.”
I didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice and the matter-of-fact way in which he’d said it made my throat feel tight.
I picked up my wine glass, needing something to do with my hands, and took a sip. Around us, the restaurant hummed with conversation and clinking silverware, couples and families sharing meals, sharing moments. And here I was, sitting across from Luke Byron, feeling things I hadn’t let myself feel in a really long time.
Dangerous things. Hopeful things.
This almost feels like a date.
I only realized I’d actually spoken the words aloud when Luke made a surprised sound.
Shit.
Heat rushed to my face. “I mean, it’s not,” I added quickly. “Obviously. You were just being nice because my life is a disaster and?—”
“I’d like it to be,” he interrupted.
“What?”
“A date.” He set down his glass, took a deep breath, and blew it out. “I want to take you out, Holly. Officially. If you’d like that.”
I stared at this kind, thoughtful man who’d spent his afternoon listening to me fall apart. Who’d just admitted he thought I was beautiful. Who was looking at me now with hope and terror in equal measure.
“I’d definitely like that,” I admitted.
The smile that broke across his face was like the sun coming out after a storm.
After Rosa had packedup our leftovers and Luke had paid the bill—waving off my attempt to split it—he insisted on walking me home.
“It’s only ten minutes,” he said when I protested. “And it’s a nice night.”
Nice was being generous. The moment we stepped out of Rosa’s, the cold was all-encompassing. But the nightwasclear. Above us, stars scattered across the black sky in a way you never saw in summer, and the moon was bright enough to cast shadows on the sidewalk, while Christmas lights twinkled from the businesses and houses we passed.
We walked slowly, our footsteps crunching on patches of snow on the brick sidewalk.
I tucked my hands deeper into my pockets. “I should have worn gloves.”
“Here.” Luke immediately started to pull his off.
