Even if now, I wouldn’t mind leading her on.
She’s flawed. She’s secretive. She’s dangerous, as the stitches still in my head like to remind me.
And I want to learn every one of her secrets and convince her that they’re all okay.
No matter what they are.
How many people has she had in her life to tell her she’s okay?
“What’s this for?” she whispers.
“You look like you need a friend.”
“I don’t want friends.”
“Why not? Friends are awesome.”
“I’m not staying here. I don’t want to get attached.”
“Where are you going?”
She takes a deep breath, and I don’t think she’s going to tell me, but then she whispers, “Costa Rica.”
Shit.
That’s seriouslyaway. “I hear it’s pretty.”
“I bought a near-dead cacao farm to rehabilitate it and make it profitable again with luxury truffles after I did this master class online about chocolate making and fell in love with the whole process, but right now it costs more to run it than I can afford, since Gigi froze my trust fund and is threatening to expose me if I don’t stay here and play her game. I keep saying I saved the farm, but the truth is, I think the farm saved me. At least, it was supposed to. Before allthis.”
I fell for a friend once.
I don’t want to offer to be Tavi Lightly’s friend and then do it again, only to have her walk away too.
Not when her simple, easy belief in me is giving me a newfound confidence that I didn’t know I needed.
But I can imagine what it’s costing her to confess this, and for once, I believe her. “I never told Hannah that her pancakes tasted like rubber gaskets and the tree she thought was a maple that she tapped for syrup is actually an oak, and it tastes like crap.”
“You could still tell her.”
“Yeah, I’ll put that in her baby shower gift.Congratulations. Best of luck with the baby. Don’t feed it your pancakes if you don’t want it to choke.”
She sighs and tightens her grip around my waist, nuzzling her cheek against my T-shirt while I try to get my erection under control.
Not the time, good buddy. Not the time.
“Why are you so comfortable?”
Yeah. Comfortable. That helps. I’m notsexy. I’mcomfortable. I’m like an old shoe to her. Good erection. Good erection simmering down. “Good genes and old shirts.”
Shehmphs.
“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong with that answer?”
“It’s just sonice. Do you know how many men would flex their pecs and be like,Because I work out, baby?And here you’re all gorgeous, with the best ass in Tickled Pink, and you’re kind, and you’re patient, and you keep secrets, and you’re like,I don’t know why I’m comfortable, must be that I wear old shirts. Old shirts.Old shirts.”
She thinks I have the best ass in Tickled Pink. That’s awesome. “You ... don’t like old shirts?”
“I come from a world where if you get caught wearing the same thing in public twice, you’re shamed for not having enough money, resources, or creativity to pick something new. Butold shirts. It’s so soft. And likebutter. And just—just—how? How do you stay nice?”
