Groaning, I stand. “Fine.”
My two friends smack my butt and I yelp as I walk to the back to grab my stuff. I tell my assistant manager of the café, Michelle, that I’m leaving for the rest of the day and she’s more than happy for the extra three hours she’s getting. I leave her to close with the assistant manager of the bookshop, Ryan, and the rest of my amazing staff.
I’ve got my bag on my shoulder and my car keys in handby the time I emerge from the back and see the girls still there waiting for me.
“Oh good.” Isa perks up. “We were worried you would hide, wait for us to leave, and never go home.”
“I’m going,” I say through a chuckle. I am going home reluctantly because I love this job and not making money scares me. Not working scares me.I push open the door and they follow suit, walking with me to my old Jeep. I unlock and open my door, and freeze.
I turn to find my friends, my hands tightening around the keys. “Was it alcohol?”
They both blink at me like I’m nuts. “What?”
“Was it alcohol? Are you guys sending me home to find him…”Drunk.
“We wouldneverset you up like that, you know that,” Natalia says softly.
I nod, rolling my lips. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“It’s not alcohol,” Isabelle assures me, holding my arm and squeezing gently. “Have some more faith in him, Lana.”
Natalia nods and agrees by saying, “That man would pull down the moon and hand it to you. You wouldn’t even have to ask him to.”
“Yeah,” I breathe. I know he would. “Yeah okay.”
“Go.” Isa releases my arm. “I think you’ll really like what he got you.”
“Okay,” I breathe and hop into the Wrangler. I close the door, start the engine, and lower the window to say, “I love you guys.”
“Text us about it later!”
“Please!”
I wave one last time and drive off, my hands fisting tightlyaround the leather wheel. Christian is well. He’s better. Hedeservesmy faith in him.I trust him.
I trust he hasn’t had a drink in the months that he’s been here. If he did, I would know. It’s a small town and apparently, from what I’ve been told, Team Lana is a thing. So everyone on Team Lana would have told me by now if they caught him buying something or stopping for a drink.
Town full of snitches, really. Snitches I would be thankful for if he had.
I would have known because I know him. I know Drunk Christian well. Too familiar with him for my liking.
Pulling into my driveway, I take a deep breath and my focus narrows to where the joints and muscles of my hands are stiff from my grip. His dramatic McLaren is parked, shiny and pristine like he’s just driven it out of the factory or something.
The front door is unlocked when I push it open. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s silent. “Christian?”
“Kitchen!”
I toe off the new sneakers I bought myself and take deep breaths as I go toward the kitchen. He’s scrubbing the floors with my wet-jet, and he looks…
“You shaved,” I blurt. I hate it.
Christian blinks, a smile growing on his perfect lips, and his eyes find mine. “I did.”
“Why?”
He rubs at his bare jaw and shrugs. “I thought you said you liked the clean face this morning.”
“I like your face in general,” I say. “I just mean…keep the… the stubble. I like your stubble.”
