I shut my eyes for a moment, considering. I guess I’m not holding my breath waiting to meet the right guy. I don’t really put myself out there, either, because I’m terrible at flirting and dating.
“I’m not romantic. Grand love gestures make me cringe, and I’m the person who forgets anniversaries, buys practical gifts, and thinks date night sounds exhausting.”
“Not every love story needs to be a Nicholas Sparks book,” he counters. “You choose what your love life should look like.”
“Really? Even if I enjoy sleeping alone and only cuddle with my cat?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “The right person will respect your boundaries. And maybe you’ll find out along the way how you like cuddling with them almost as much as you like to cuddle your cat.”
“Or maybe I’m just too… broken for love. Too damaged.”
He waves me off. “Every single person out there is irreparably damaged by their experiences. Enriched by them, too. That’s what makes life interesting.”
I tilt my head. “So… I am weird, but it’s not my fault?”
“So everyone is weird, and it doesn’t matter.”
His words settle into some raw place that feels soothed, understood. “Everyone is weird, and it doesn’t matter,” I repeat.
Judging by his smug expression, he’s aware he just won a million points.
My gaze wanders down to his shirt, hugging his chest and flat stomach, then to his long, muscular legs, wrapped in fitted dark red pants, and I can’t ignore the pull of another thought entirely.
Love might not be in the cards for me, but now that I think about it, his motel idea doesn’t sound so bad.
“What?” He looks down at his suit. “Did I get ice cream on my shirt?”
“Huh? No.” I shift my gaze to the ground, warmth rising up my neck. “I guess it’s your turn, isn’t it? Any idea how we’re going to spend that money?”
“I’m actually not sure.” He bites his plump lip, looking around, and then his gaze settles back on me. “But I’m open to suggestions.”
Should I? I shouldn’t. It’s crazy—I can’t offer to sleep with him. Although he wouldn’t have spent tonight with me if he wasn’t interested, right?
“Well,” I say, nervously pointing behind me. “There’s a parking lot around the corner. I’m pretty sure we can spare two dollars to park your car there for a while.”
There. I said it. So what if he says no?
His chest rises slowly with a long inhale. “And what exactly would we do there?”
“We could, uh, listen to some music. Or chat—we could chat, too.”
“Uh-huh.” A warm thread of tension crackles in the inches of space between us. “You said you’re not good at that.”
“Right. So maybe we could do something else,” I manage, chewing on my lip. I’m pretty sure every book I’ve ever read taught me not to enter a stranger’s car in the dead of night, but I’m channeling my inner Paige for once. Forget about murders. Focus on horizontal gymnastics.“Less talking and moreacting.”
“Ah.” The tip of his tongue swipes over his upper lip. “Best way I’d ever spend two dollars in my life.”
I grimace. “That makes me sound like a cheap prostitute.”
“Heard it the moment I said it,” he says, running a hand through his hair. The smile slips from his face, replaced by something softer, almost wistful. “I’d love to. Truly. But… I think I should go.”
My heart skips a beat, my insides tangling together in a knot.
“Oh.”Okay, I think I’m ready to drop dead.Did I misread all his signals? His looks, his closeness, his flirting—seriously, how is this happening?
“It’s not like that.” He shifts the mask over his nose, and for a moment I think he’ll lift it, but he doesn’t, and just tucks his hand back into his pocket. “If it’s okay with you, I’d rather not rush it. I think I’ll enjoy getting to know you little by little.”
I trap the butterflies in my stomach, shove them into a bottle, and lodge it somewhere deep inside me, never to be found again. Getting to know me little by little? He didn’t hear a word I said about my inability to catch feelings, did he? And besides, how long is he planning to stay in town? I’d assumed he’d leave again after his father’s funeral.
