“Fair enough. Crimp the edges with the pliers,” he says, grabbing another pair. “See how I pull gently. Do what I’m doing.”
I mimic his method, and the flower begins to take shape. “I see it. I see where we’re going with this.” I laugh. “I’m going to need a glory hole at my house so I can do this all the time.”
Paul shakes his head and looks at Drake. “What are you going to do with her?”
Drake looks at me, his eyes soft. I can’t understand what he’s feeling or guess what he’s thinking. But something tells me it’s not about the glory hole.
Finally, he grins. “Paul, I have yet to figure that out.”
That makes two of us.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Gianna
“Well, you were right,” I say, facing Drake. “I can admit when I’m wrong.”
He makes a face as if he’s not following me. “Right about what?”
“It turns out that I do like getting flowers when I don’t have to ask for them.”
We exchange a gentle, simple smile.
It occurred to me as Paul was putting our flowers into a contraption to cool them, because it’s a process or they’ll break, just how intentional Drake was about the glassblowing date. Not only was it cheeky and appealing to my artistic side, but it was also a way for him to give me flowers. So many birds, one sweet little stone.
The more that I see of this man, the more I like him. Everything that I thought I knew about him was barely touching the surface. The depths of his kindness, playfulness, and sexiness know no bounds. Being the object of his attention becomes more intoxicating every day.
What on earth would it feel like to be the object of his affection?
He nibbles his bottom lip, a hand in his pocket, and … waits.
“Are you heading home now?” I ask sweetly, testing his resolve.
His eyes twinkle. “Yup.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, thank you for a lovely evening. I had a great time.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” he says curiously. He narrows his eyes, hiding a grin as he searches me for clues about what I’m up to—because he knows I’m up to something. And he’s not wrong.
I told him that if he didn’t quit messing with me in the glass studio, I’d would play dirty.
“Good night, Drake.”
I open my front door, step inside, and shut it behind me.
My heart races as I listen to his shoes against the concrete while walking back to his Mercedes. I drop my purse on the table by the door and kick off my heels. Then I rush to the living room without turning on a light so he can’t see me. I stand in the shadows and wait for him to pull away from the curb.
“Shit,” I say, fumbling around for the light switch. I trip over a step stool I brought in earlier to reach the top of my canvas, fall on the coffee table, knocking half of its contents onto the floor, before landing on the sofa. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I find my way to my feet, manage to turn on the lights, and locate my laptop in the kitchen.Why is it there?I open it with one hand and peel my shirt off with the other. Thankfully, Social is pulled up from a deep dive I did last night on Audrey’s crush’s fiancée’s ex-boyfriend.
The guy has a cute puppy.
I carry the laptop to my room, trying to type with one hand.
Me: Astrid!
