And apparently, he knows exactly what I smell like. Notes and all.
Not sure I could say the same about Brian. Then again, like Brian said, we have our entire lives to figure it all out.
So why does that sentiment feel sour on my tongue now?
“Come on,” he says while opening his car door. “I’m starving, and they’re serving make-your-own breakfast tacos.”
Shaking my head from any thoughts of Brian, I open my door as well, just as Breaker moves around his car and grabs the door for me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, looking up at him as my hand slides into his.
“Helping you out.”
“Why would I need help?”
“Uh, I don’t know . . . you don’t wear dresses often, so I wasn’t sure if you knew how to walk in one.”
I press my palm to his face, which causes him to laugh and pull away. “Can’t a guy be a gentleman without being chastised about it?”
“Can’t a girl wear a dress without being teased about it?”
His teasing falls flat right before he says, “You can, and if I didn’t say it before, you look beautiful, Lia.” Those bright blue eyes stare back at me, sincerity so heavy that it almost feels . . . real. Like him holding my hand is real, and his words are spoken from a different place, a place that isn’t just friendship.
“Thank you,” I say, waiting for him to guide us to the door, but he doesn’t.
He stays put, standing in front of me, his eyes scanning the navy-blue maxi dress I paired with a few gold necklaces. I styled my hair with some soft waves like the hairdresser did yesterday and added a heavy dose of mascara to make my eyes pop.
His hand reaches up to my hair, where he twists a few strands between his finger and thumb.
And for some reason, my breath catches when his eyes meet mine again.
“You don’t need a dress to look beautiful. You’re beautiful in just your flannel shorts and T-shirt, but you also look great in this.”
I swallow hard, my nerves feeling frayed because, what’s going on? It’s like a switch has been turned on in him . . . or turned off, and he’s more . . . affectionate. His compliments seem more intimate. And the way he looks at me has some hunger to it.
Before I can process anything, he slips his hand back into mine and tugs me toward the front door.
“Have you ever seen a breakfast taco bar?” he asks as if he didn’t just stare into my soul with his commanding eyes.
“Uh . . . no.”
“It’s fucking mouthwatering. Huxley gets it catered. There are mimosas, Bloody Marys—mediocre ones, of course—a giant fruit display, plus a variety of croissants that I’m pretty sure will rock your world. They’ve rocked mine a few times.” He pats his stomach.
“Yes, that six-pack of yours really tells me how the croissants have rocked you,” I say.
A charming smirk passes over his lips right before he drops my hand and rings the doorbell. “Notice my six-pack, huh?”
“The astronauts on theI.S.S.noticed your six-pack.”
He presses his hand to his chest. “Don’t flatter me. My ego won’t be able to fit through the door.”
I nudge him with my shoulder just as the door opens, Huxley appearing on the other side.
There’s something to be said about the genetics the Cane brothers possess because every one of them is extraordinarily handsome. All with dark hair, square jaws, sculpted bodies, and personalities that would make any leading lady fall for them.
Huxley has that tall, dark, and brooding thing going on, but can switch right out of it when he needs to, like right now, as he smiles at me.
“Lia, it’s great to see you. Been a while since my brother brought you around. Congrats on the engagement.”
