He drags his gaze from my mouth, and I see the heated memory of last night in his eyes. My cheeks warm. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss either.
“I toasted the marshmallows before melting them into a syrup,” he explains, his voice slightly rough.
“That sounds like a ton of work.”
“I don’t mind putting in the effort for something important.”
“I appreciate it,” I say, my fingers brushing the napkin on the saucer.
“There’s something on it,” he tells me, leaning in across the table. “Turn it over.”
When I do, my smile comes unbidden, my heart skipping at his corny sweetness. Scrawled across the napkin in black felt, he’d written:
Feeling the same way, I look up to find him smiling too. Fear can come later. I take a breath and jump. “Are you free tonight?”
“Yes,” he answers right on the heel of my question. “I know this place?—”
I shake my head, stopping him. “Since you’ve been indulging all my interests, I thought we could switch things up and stay in. You can introduce me toBlack Panther,and I’ll take care ofdinner.” Then I warn in a stern voice, “Don’t bring anything. I’m in charge of this one.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He snaps a salute, grinning. “I like this bossy side of you.”
“It comes out occasionally. Does seven o’clock work?”
“I’ll be there empty-handed.”
“Perfect.” I raise my mug for another sip. “Thanks for the note and latte.”
“My pleasure, Blue.”
Later, outside on the boardwalk, I wait for it—the second thoughts, the doubts, the why-did-you-go-and-do-that? The idea of Chaz and me in close quarters, watching a movie, is reason enough for my brain to pitch a fit.But other than a mild buzz of nerves, I’m okay. Better than. I read his note once more before slipping it into my pocket, suffused with pleasure. But it fades a moment later when my phone trills, and I check the screen.Miranda Townsen.Prickly fingers of tension crawl up my neck.
All the peace I’d gained from my time with Chaz evaporates in an instant. I consider letting the call go to voicemail, but I’m going to have to deal with her sooner or later.
My hand tightens around the phone. “Mother,” I answer, trying to sound neutral at best. “How are you?”
“How do you think I am, Alexandra?”
“I hope you’re well.”
“I most certainly am not. This stunt has gone on long enough.”
“It’s not a stunt.” I exhale, praying for strength. “I’m taking some time for myself.”
“How am I supposed to explain your extended absence?”
“What’s there to explain?” I duck between two shops, finding shelter from the wind, to continue a conversation I’d rather not have.
“Don’t be naïve. A lengthy disappearance is bound to stir up ugly gossip—drugs, alcohol, who knows what else.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Do I have to remind you of the Forsythe scandal when their daughter was onleave?” she says the word with implied air quotes. “Their name was dragged through the mud until Felicity returned with a new face. By then, the damage was already done, and I’m not only referring to the bad nose job. Being a Townsen and the long-awaited fiancée of Dr. Richard Schnauss comes with an image to uphold. Have you forgotten that?
“Evidently you have,” she answers her own question. “A spinster is not a good look, Alexandra. An unmarried woman of thirty-two presents as over-ripe and damaged.”
“I’m not a fruit, Mother,” I retort, squeezing my stress ball so hard it squishes through my fingers.
But not to be dissuaded, she keeps on, “You are fortunate that Richard is a patient man. He has given you the grace to come to your senses. But rest assured, an eligible man of his standing is not going to wait forever, and six weeks may as well be that.”
