“Thank you,” he says before pulling me into a hug, a hug I was not expecting but I’ll take. And as he wraps his arms around my shoulders, and I bury my head against his chest, I realize that this man has quickly wormed his way into my life. When I moved in with Halsey—temporarily of course—I never would have imagined that scenario turning into this, where Halsey hugs me on the side of the road after threatening my landlord.
Even though Perry was a very good boyfriend, I don’t believe he would have given Mr. Gorman the same trouble, nor would he have laid out a set of demands attached to a threat. Not that Halsey is my boyfriend or even romantically involved with me, but the mere fact that this . . . friend—I think that’s what I can call him—is more protective than my boyfriend ever was,surprises me. It’s astonishing how...safeI feel. Cared for.Did I not feel that way with Perry?
He cups the back of my head, keeping me close as he quietly says, “I’m not sorry for what I said and did.”
“I know,” I reply.
He gives me one more squeeze and says, “I’ll never be sorry for sticking up for you, Blakely.”
He gradually pulls away, his eyes on mine as his fingers slowly glide down my arm until he’s not touching me anymore—but the feel of his hand touching mine remains embedded in my skin as I stare up at him.
Calm passes over us both, an understanding of our friendship. He’s drawing a line in the sand, at this moment, letting me know that I am a part of his life now and no matter what, he’ll never let anything happen to me.
It makes me feel special.
Like I have more than just Penny to rely on, like my roots here in Vancouver might have been disturbed when Perry left, but they’re growing back with Halsey’s presence.
With his hand pulling on the back of his neck, he studies me before saying, “Okay . . . well, now we need to go shopping.”
Okay, that was a change of subject. “What do you mean?”
“For a dress. We need to find you a dress for the wedding.”
“Oh . . . you don’t have to go. I’m sure that’s the last thing you want to do.”
“No, I do,” he says. “I’m not doing anything, and I want to help.”
“Really? In all the years I was with my boyfriend, he never wanted to go shopping with me. I doubt you’d want to do that as just my friend.”
“I’m saying I do,” he says with conviction. “So take me.”
Is he for real?
From the expression on his face and the seriousness in his tone, I’m going to have to say yes. It might be nice to have someone with me, someone who could tell me what looks good and what doesn’t. And he’s right, I need a dress. I’m not about to put any rat-maggot dress on, so a new one is in order.
“Okay,” I say. “But I’m buying dinner. Understood?” I point at him.
“We’ll see about that,” he says as he rounds the car and moves to his side.
Of course he’d say that. The man has chivalry tattooed to his heart.
I stareat myself in the mirror, feeling slightly nervous. This is the first dress I’ve tried on after we spent about half an hour with the boutique owner of Luxe Closet, one of my favorite stores, walking around and pulling everything I thought might look good on me. And to my surprise, Halsey pulled a few too, ones I never would have thought to try on.
He’s now sitting outside on a red velvet couch, waiting for me to show him, and that’s where I stand with the nerves.
The first is a black polka-dotted dress. With a spaghetti strap, V neckline, and a ruffle skirt that’s short in the front but long in the back, I thought it might be cute. It shows off my legs while still being elegant. My first choice.
Stepping outside of the dressing room, I hold my breath as I show off the first dress. I stand there, feeling slightly exposed as Halsey’s eyes travel up my frame, starting at my feet and moving all the way up to my face.
My assumption is he’s going to tell me I look good in every single one of these dresses because he’s the kind of guy who’dnever want to make me feel bad. Also known as the pleaser, I don’t think he’d ruffle feathers, so I need to watch his face closely to see if he truly thinks the dress is pretty on me or not.
“What do you think?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not for you.”
Oh . . . not, uh, not what I was expecting him to say, obviously.
I laugh. “Not for me?”
