“Why am I sorry?” He adjusted himself so he could look me in the eye. “I don’t know why, but everything I say or do seems all wrong. I’m all feet in mouth with you. And then all that—” He waved back in the direction of the bar that was receding quickly behind us. “So I’m sorry.”
“You couldn’t help that.”
He put his arm around me and held me close. “I know I’m impossible to be around.”
That made me laugh out loud. It was the complete opposite of the truth, and suddenly all I wanted to do was relax into him, but my guard had gone up. And it remained fortified. “Why are you being so nice?”
“Oh. I thought that part was pretty obvious. I really like you.”
“But you barely know me.”
He leaned forward far enough to see past me to Zion. “Can you give me a reference?”
Zion was laughing. “Yup.”
“Is Josie Wilder from Georgia?”
“She is.”
“Is she a tabloid photographer?”
“Indeed.”
“Is she pretty terrible at her job?”
Zion guffawed. “She’s a great photographer. She’s a terrible tabloid photographer.”
“And why is that?”
“Because she focuses too much on the humanity and not enough on the sensational.”
I sat up. “I’m not terrible at my job. I just haven’t been at it long enough.”
“I have one last question.”
Zion said, “Shoot.”
“Does she like me back?”
Zion, bless his heart, actually looked like he was torn. I gritted my teeth and waited for him to show my full hand. But instead he said, “Isn’t half the fun finding that out for yourself?”
When the driver parked in front of our building, Zion opened the door and then turned and said to Micah, “She shouldn’t stay out too late. She has to be up early in the morning. But I’m going to bed.” He jumped out and slammed the door behind him, leaving me alone with Micah. And his driver.
He still had his arm around my shoulder, and I couldn’t decide if I should push back and talk to him, or shut my brain off long enough to give into whatever was happening.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. He rubbed my shoulder, and I looked up into his face.
“I feel fine. Zion overreacts sometimes where I’m concerned. I’m like his only family.”
“He obviously cares a lot about you.”
I leaned back to see him better. “Micah?”
“Yes?”
His eyes met mine, and I wished I could read his mind. I wished I could make him tell me point by point why he thought he liked me. I wanted him to make guarantees he couldn’t make. I wanted him to promise not to hurt me.
Instead, I gave him back the one point he’d already earned. “I like you.”
