“Early is good! It means he’s eager.” Demi’s grin is knowing. “Now get the door and knock him dead. Call me later with all the juicy details!”
“There won’t be any?—”
“Bye, Mimi!” She ends the call before I can finish protesting.
I take one final look in the mirror, smoothing the silky fabric of my dress over my hips. I grab my clutch, slip on my heels, and make my way to the door, taking deep breaths with each step.
When I open the door, Aaron is standing there in a perfectly tailored navy suit, white shirt open at the collar, no tie. The casual elegance of it makes my mouth go dry. His eyes widen slightly as they travel from my face down to my heels and back up again, lingering just a second too long on the places where the dress hugs my curves.
“Wow.” Did I just make Aaron speechless? “You look… incredible.”
I fight the urge to fidget under his gaze. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”
“I try.” That dimpled smile does unfair things to my lady parts. “These are for you.” He extends his hand, revealing a small bouquet of peonies and ranunculus in soft pinks and whites.
“O-oh. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” he replies, his voice warm. “May I come in while you put them in water?”
I step aside, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of my apartment. It’s immaculate, of course—I’m not one for clutter—but it feels strangely intimate having him in my personal space.
“Nice place,” he comments as I lead him to the kitchen. “Very you.”
“Is that a compliment or an observation?” I probe, finding a crystal vase in one of my cabinets.
“Definitely a compliment,” he replies, leaning against my kitchen counter. “Clean lines, elegant but not fussy, and unexpectedly warm.”
I arrange the flowers in the vase, grateful for something to do with my hands. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
“Like their recipient,” he flirts and I roll my eyes despite the flutter in my chest.
“That was cheesy, even for a romance writer.”
He laughs, a deep, genuine sound that fills my kitchen. “I save my best material for my books. Ready to go?”
I grab my clutch from the counter. “Let’s do this.”
In the elevator, Aaron’s gaze flickers to me in the mirrored wall. Once, twice, a third time. The air crackles between us, shrinking the already confined space. I stand precisely eighteen inches away, studying our reflections in the polished doors. We complement each other perfectly, his navy against my blush pink.
Our eyes lock in the mirror. “Something wrong?” I ask.
One corner of his mouth curves upward. “Quite the opposite.”
I shift my attention to the illuminated floor numbers above. “Your subtlety needs work,” I murmur, fighting a smile as his reflection reveals that crooked grin with the single dimple.
The rest of our descent passes wordlessly, the silence humming with possibility.
Outside, a black town car waits. Aaron guides me with a hand at the small of my back. I suppress a shiver as I slide into the leather seat. He follows, and as Manhattan traffic swallows us, he turns. “Nervous?”
“Of course not,” I lie. “It’s just a party.”
“It’s okay to admit you’re out of your comfort zone.”
“Fine. I’m a little nervous. Comic books aren’t exactly my area of expertise.” I smooth an imaginary wrinkle from my dress.
“You don’t need expertise to enjoy yourself. Just be open to the experience.”
The car weaves through traffic, the city’s lights painting streaks across the windows. I find myself studying Aaron’sprofile when he’s looking away. The strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he blinks. The man is handsome.
