But it doesn’t stop me from swiping on a quick layer of strawberry gloss before opening the door.
Brandon’s face parts into a boyish grin as he skips his eyes over me. He takes his time staying silent, like he’s absorbing this moment. I wish he’d talk, since all I can hear is my deafening heartbeat.
“Wow, love. You look beautiful,” he murmurs.
That melts me more than it should, so I say, “And you clean up well too, but you probably already know that.”
A soft chuckle rolls over his lips, and he beams, unabashed. “I do, but it’s still nice to hear.” He indulges in one more scan of me before he says, “These are for you.”
From behind his back, Brandon produces the most deformed plastic branch of cherry blossoms I ever thought possible.
I puff out a laugh and flick the craft store price tag still attached to it. “These are the ugliest branches I’ve ever seen.”
“I know.” He takes a step toward the threshold and angles his face closer to mine. It’s suddenly very hard to inhale properly.
“I wanted them to match the hideous painting you told me about, so in my opinion, they’re… perfect.” He says this word as his eyes roam every square inch of my face. “Plus, no floral shop sells cherry blossom branches in December.”
I can’t quite get my brain to focus on his words.
Brandon’s saying something to me now with those full lips, but all I’m registering is that he remembered about my Senior Art Showcase. He’s still not upset about me giving him a fake number, for which Imust give him credit. Most guys run for the hills, clutching their wounded testosterone after I pull stunts like that.
No guy has shown me this much thoughtfulness.Ever.
“Are you ready to go?” Brandon asks, and I break out of my stupor to nod.
After setting the hideous cherry blossom branch on the entryway table, I wrap a belted red peacoat around me and slip on a pair of gloves. I loop my leather purse with the silver chain strap over my shoulder.
Brandon offers me his elbow, and I thread my arm beside his bicep as he escorts me out into the wintry night.
“Where are we going?”
Brandon’s emerald eyes twinkle. “You’ll see.”
Twenty minutes later, my nose is ice, but the rest of me still feels hot. Brandon helps me off the motorcycle and, like always, removes my helmet. He shrugs off his leather jacket, stowing it inside the compartment.
“So this is where you murder me?” I ask, glancing around the snow-dusted, dumpster-lined parking lot behind some sort of building. “Good to know.”
Brandon’s deep, rumbly laugh sends a shiver through me. “I’m not gonna kill you, scaredy Kate, I’m going tofeedyou. Come on.”
His fingers thread through mine, and I very much regret wearing gloves.
Brandon leads me through a nondescript door and into a blank hallway lined with white bricks.
“Never mind.Thisis where you murder me,” I say.
“Stop. You’re ruining the moment.”
“Whatmoment? This looks like the entrance to an insane asylum,” I say.
“Well then, you can finally get the help you need.”
I puff a laugh of protest and smack his stupidly hard chest with the back of my hand. “So this is how you treat a date? I can see why you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Who says I don’t?” He stops walking with a wicked grin, tuggingme to a stop. Brandon’s angled face is inches from mine, and his green eyes are filled with danger.
“Either you’re insinuating that I’m the other woman or that you thinkI’mgoing to be your girlfriend.” I boldly stare up at him even as my left knee starts to bounce.
He catches the movement in his periphery, and I lose a precious second of that gaze on mine until it works its way back.
