That smile threatened again, small and devastating.
I folded my arms. “Are you picking me up?”
“Yes.”
“At my house?”
“No. At the grocery store.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know that makes this look like a date.”
His gaze moved to the open doorway, then back to me. “That’s because it is one.”
I breathed out, slow enough to pass for composure.
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said.
“Seven-fifteen.”
“Seven.”
“Bossy.”
“Patient,” he said. “For a month.”
I stayed upright and moved one pen a quarter inch to the left because apparently that was what remained of my self-control.
Then he was gone.
He walked away, and my manners, eyesight, and moral flexibility handled the rest.
Dress slacks.
Absolutely not.
Field pants had been bad enough.
Chapter 36
Always
JULIETTE
Atsevenexactly,Nickstood on my front porch.
My house had never looked smaller, and it had never felt more mine. White stucco, soft palms, bougainvillea brushing the side gate, one stubborn porch light I kept meaning to replace because it buzzed when the air turned humid.
He noticed the buzz, because Nick Mercer apparently registered every small thing a room tried to hide.
Of course he did.
I opened the door before he could knock twice.
His eyes dropped from my face to the deep emerald dress I had chosen after rejecting six others. The silk moved softly against my skin, and the wrap over my shoulders made a brave, useless argument for October.
Nick’s hand flexed once at his side.
Worth it.
