Except the reverend has good morals. He wouldn’t be in the position he is in if he didn’t. He is a respectable man of God, and Henrietta will do well with him.
He texts back and says he is looking forward to his blind date, though I do wonder why he put the word blind in quotations. Oh well. I put my phone away and set to work wiping down tables, thinking of the various outfits I could dress Henrietta in tomorrow for the date. Lakeview has outdoor rooftop dining, which I need to go ahead and make the reservation for. It was a tiny white lie that the reservation was made, but all’s well. It’ll be made in a moment.
Once I finish wiping the tables down, I call and make the reservation and text the details to Henrietta, also telling her to come by my house two hours before the date. She probably assumes it’s so I can dress her like she’s my personal doll, and she’d be right, but neither of us acknowledge it.
Right as I put my phone away again, Knightley texts me.
Squire:Want to come over after work to watch a new movie on Netflix?
I smile to myself, appreciating the moments where he’s like this. He probably feels bad for berating me so harshly about my business endeavors, so he’s making up for it with buttery popcorn, virgin margaritas, and boxed candy. It’s a new thing we’ve started doing over the past couple of years. It started when I was stressed out from one of the finance classes I was taking, so he distracted me with a movie night before helping me out with the class material.
That led to a fight over whether my expensive clothes could be considered assets or not. To apologize for arguing with me whenmy clothes could in fact be assets if I started an online boutique, he turned on another movie and called it his apology movie.
Me:Yep. But I request food.
Squire:I’ll pick something up for dinner.
***
“You wanted to watch this?”
I stand beside Knightley’s big screen television, pointing to the absolute monstrosity of a movie. There are literal monsters with big teeth on the preview reel, and it’s dark in his living room. Not my jam…
“I thought this was an apology movie,” I mutter under my breath, knowing full well he can hear me. He didn’t mention we were watching a horror film as we chatted over Mexican takeout.
He sits down on his long, black sofa and tosses a handful of popcorn into his mouth, chewing it up and chasing it with a sip of his virgin strawberry margarita before setting the drink down on the table end beside him. He responds. “And pray tell, dear Emma Jane, what do I have to apologize for?”
Sometimes I think he just likes the way my name sounds coming from his condescending mouth.
“Putting down my business, mocking me for the whole Frank Weston thing, always being an absolute turd to me.”
He raises his auburn eyebrows, the perfect match to his styled hair. “Turd?”
“Yes!” My voice is a little too loud and a little too flustered. Bringing it down, I snap. “You are so nice to everyone else, but you are a turd to me.”
“Then why did you agree to watch this movie with me, Emma Jane?”
“Because I thought it was an apology movie,” I hiss under my breath.
He pats the plump cushion next to him—my usual spot when we watch movies or shows together—and I reluctantly sit down, crossing my arms like a petulant child.
Next thing I know, Knightley’s breath is tickling my ear. “What if this actually is an apology movie? What if I chose horror instead of romance just so I could watch youneedme for two and half hours?”
I blink once. Twice. A million times. “Excuse me, Squire? Are you a sadist?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not in the slightest, but I dosoenjoy getting under your tanned skin.”
My cheeks heat, and I turn my head away so he can’t see my blush.
Why in the heavens is Knightley George Austen making me blush? I guess if anyone would have said something like that to me it would stir the butterflies in my stomach to take flight.
After a breather, I turn toward his smug face.
Smug…everything.
His arms are crossed against his chest, pulling the thin fabric of his pastel blue button down shirt taut across admittedly defined muscles. His dark blue eyes are narrowed as his expression rivalsthose Matt Rife memes floating around the internet. Smug and confident and oh so superior looking…
What’s the best way to take him down a notch or two? And make him blush harder than he made me?
