“Wow,” he says sardonically. “You really are observant.”
I elbow him in the ribs. “You know what I mean. You never shave.”
He’s devastatingly hot with a scruff on his jaw, rocking that lazy, surfer dude vibe. But this look? Jaw completely smooth? It’s unsettling in ways I can’t quite explain it to myself. He somehow looks younger and more intense.
“We lived together for three years. You really mean to tell me you never noticed when I shaved?”
“No, I mean that you never shaved. Not like this.”
“Okay, so you don’t like the clean-shaven look. Noted.”
“Don’t get me wrong–I do like it!” I correct him.
“I’m just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t realize tonight was such a big deal.”
“You didn’t?”
His voice sounds husky, and once again I feel his breath in my hair, and it feels like he’s practically kissing the top of my head. Heat unspools in my belly, and it takes all my willpower to shut that shit down. I don’t need to be thinking about how it feels to be this close to him. I lean toward the window, putting some distance between us, and twist to face him, trying to read his expression in the flickering street lights as they pass overhead.
“You’re dressed like a professional. Like a businessman. It means you’re serious about this job offer from your dad.”
I feel his gaze on my face, like he’s studying me as intensely as I’m studying him. After a second, he blinks and lets out a huff that could be laughter or frustration. “Yeah, I guess that’s what it means.”
Before I can say anything else, the car is slowing, and we’ve reached the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center, where the gala is being held.
The Wildflower Center occupies nearly three-hundred acres in Southwest Austin and straddles the Edwards Aquifer and the Blackland Prairie, two of the more environmentally fragile areas in Texas. Lady Bird herself and the Wildflower Center are intrinsic to, if not wholly responsible for, Austin’s modern sustainability movement. The center has nine acres of maintained gardens highlighting native plants. They host workshops and educational events. The buildings look like a modern Texas barn built among the remains of a limestone hacienda.
Personally, I always thought that if Texas had a crumbling castle, this is what it would look like.
There’s a big open courtyard, flanked on one side by a stone cistern and by the great hall on the other. The great hall has floor to ceiling windows that show off stunning views of the Blackland Prairie savanna.
The Wildflower Center is one of my favorite places in Austin, and I’ve been there countless times for lectures and educational events. Once I even took a stargazing seminar here. But I’ve never seen it like this. The fairy lights crisscross the courtyard, making the entire place feel like an ethereal springtime getaway, effortlessly blending glamor with its eco-friendly practicality. If Tinker Bell and her pals threw Cinderella’s ball, this is what it would have looked like.
Keegan stops to check in at the front table. I stand to the side, waiting while the attendant links his credit card to a special QR code he scans to bid on auction items.
Then she turns to me. “If you’d like, I can get you a separate code.”
“Of course.” I fish out a credit card, knowing full well I won’t be bidding on anything—given that my new wardrobe maxed out my discretionary spending money for the next eighteen months.
Before I can hand over a credit card for her to link my bidder number, Keeagan says. “She’ll be bidding on my account.”
“Excellent.” The woman beams, tapping away on her digital pad, and then hands me a fob with the code on it. “Here you go, ma’am.” She smiles cheekily as she hands me a glossy flier. “Here’s a listing of some of the more exclusive items. Be sure to spend lots of his money.”
Keegan steers me away from the table as I tuck the fob safely in my purse. “Don’t worry,” I whisper. “I will not be bidding on anything.”
He slows and looks at me. “Why not?”
“I’m not going to spend your money.”
He rolls his eyes and chuckles. “I wish you would. It’s for a good cause. Please bid on whatever you want.”
Knowing I will not be spending his money, I still glance down at the flier. Then chuckle. “Dove hunting in Argentina?” I read off the first item on the list. “Who would bid on that?”
He leans close to look down at the flier over my shoulder, then reaches his arm around me to point at an item. “That one seems more your speed.”
The way he’s standing, just behind me, looking over my left shoulder, pointing with his right hand, I am practically cradled in his arms. Enveloped by him.
I feel nervous and jittery, but completely safe and protected at the same time.
