I’m suddenly hyper aware of my mouth, my lips, what I might look like chewing if I take another bite of this stupidly delicious guacamole. I lower it to my plate as an excuse to look away from his addicting gaze, but I can still feel his eyes on me, burning me. I lift the margarita and down half of it. I set it back on the counter and meet his gaze again. When his eyes dart to my lips, that’s when I realize my tongue had darted out to catch the last droplets of margarita on it, completely of its own accord.
Dammit. He’s going to think I did that on purpose.
My face heats. My cheeks are hot. My neck is hot. My belly is hot.
“Like I said,” he murmurs, his voice low and gruff and sinful, “pretty. Little. Mouth.”
I need to change the subject to literally anything else. If he keeps talking to me like this, I have no idea what I’ll say or do next.
“Why—” I cut myself off to clear my throat. He smirks. “Why were you watching to see if I tried your food?”
He pushes back and resumes cutting the lettuce, blessedly giving me back my breathing room, but tragically taking that rosemary and lemon scent with him. And those blue eyes. And lips. And biceps.
Get it together, Jane.
“Because I was trying to impress you,” he says nonchalantly.
“Why?”
His hands pause, but he looks up at me. “Did you really not figure it out yet?”
“Figure what out?”
He looks back down, a nervous smile on his lips. When his eyes flick back up to me, butterflies swirl around my stomach at the intensity. I’m ready to push all the food off the counter and jump on it to kiss him. But I lock it up so I can hear what he has to say.
“That I have feelings for you.”
My heartbeat is so loud I’m not sure I heard him right, but the way he’s staring at me—a nervousness in his gaze and his breathing a little shallow—tells me that I did. The words are still processing in my brain, so all I can squeak out is, “I told you I was a delight to be around.”
He laughs, sweet and low and rich. My stomach tightens again.
“That you are, Jane.”
I watch, completely entranced, as he continues to cook, undoubtedly showing off every chef skill he has, rightfully so. He’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful. Then finally he breaks the silence. “Hey, Jane?”
The way my name falls from his lips has my heart hammering my chest again. When I meet his gaze, I find that he’s already staring at me with such earnestness that I find myself leaning closer to him.
“Yeah?” My god, my voice sounds breathless.
Reid doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes bounce between mine, drop to my lips, fly back up to my gaze. Then he finally says, “You were right. They were the best desserts I’ve had in my entire miserable life.”
A slow smile spreads across my face just as the warmth spreads through my entire body.
“I told you you’d love them.”
“This is where you tell me my food was also amazing.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m accepting this as winning. Nothing to hear from me.”
He laughs next to me and we, somehow, spend the rest of the night talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company. I’m convinced hell has frozen over when I leave his apartment around midnight with a warmth spreading in my chest and a smile still lingering on my lips—still shocked that the one person I hated to see a few months ago is suddenly the one I feel knows me the best.
Chapter 15
It’s been three weeks since the shower. One awkward Sunday brunch a week after it where Kate refused to speak directly to me, and one where I ended up bailing to avoid the awkwardness, which led to me finally calling her to apologize just to break the tension before the bachelorette party. Despite the drama, I love my sister. I would do anything for her. I always do everything for her, no questions asked. She isn’t usually so snarky, so I’m wiling to let it all go just to get through this wedding without any more drama.
So now I’m sitting on a hotel bed as the rest of the girls get ready to go out and celebrate Kate getting married. A pop playlist plays on a speaker in the living room of the downtown hotel Lydia booked for the bachelorette party—finally, a task she actually helps complete for this wedding. Elise flops on the pale green comforter next to me and offers me a fresh glass of premade margarita mix. I don’t hesitate to accept. It may not be the mind-blowing drink Reid made for me a few weeks ago, but it’ll still do the trick.
“I can’t believe we’re flying all the way to the Amalfi Coast next month and you want your bachelorette party to be in New York.”
