Ashton smiles. “Either way, I love this for you.”
I mean, just last year you were in dating hell, and now you have your own little elevator person!”
“If tons of tension—that is in no way sexual—counts, then yes, I have an elevator person. I mean, today he sighed. Should I pick out my wedding dress or give it another twelve hours?”I tease. “At least his shirt’s tucked in, and he doesn’t smell like socks.”
My expectations really aren’t that high, are they?
Ashton presses a hand to her chest and lets out a little gasp. “A dream come true: a man who smells clean. Let me guess what happened next…you fell against him, and he caught you in true hero fashion, then asked if you were okay, only to brush the hair from your jaw and stare at your mouth. Uh… and then your fingers just happened to both touch the lobby button at the same time.”
I narrow my eyes. “You need to limit your time watching Bridgerton, and why did you suddenly develop a British accent?”
"It just felt right," she says proudly. “Besides, after the hellish year of dating you had…” She shudders.
I narrow my eyes. “We promised not to discuss it.”
“No.” She smirks. “We promised not to bring up the foot fetish guy.”
“Which you just did,” I point out.
“And the guy who always called his mom mid-date to ‘check in.’”
I squeeze my eyes shut, then pop them open and glare at her.
“Sorry to ruin the fairy tale, but it wasn’t exactly a slow-motion, cinematic moment. It was more like he pointed out the flour on my face. But then the elevator got stuck. And we talked. And it was actually… kind of nice.”
Ashton smiles. “Well, good, it’s about time you had some nice.”
She holds up a cookie, gesturing a cheers motion.
She’s not wrong to celebrate. I was a magnet for either unavailable men or ones who pretended to be green flags only to turn into dumpster fires within a few days. The last guy, the longest relationship I’d had in four years, was everything I could have wanted. Attentive. Attractive. Pet lover. Genuinely kind,loved Star Wars, actually watched all of the Harry Potter movies, and read the books; the list goes on. He was great until I saw the tan line on his ring finger.
Ashton says, winking, "I’m officially invested in this meet-cute."
I snort. "Maybe this time it won’t end with me needing a restraining order. Why are normal men so hard to find?”
"Ah, restraining orders. I forgot you had to get one of those after the foot fetish dude wouldn’t stop following you. Honestly, I have a good feeling about this one, though.” She whispers under her breath, “Nathan Reign…Ella Reign…”
“That has a ring to it.”
I shake my head but can’t help smiling. Ashton’s like family, part-time bakery genius, full-time chaos engine, and a future lawyer who’s going to wreck every courtroom she steps into. Hearing about her arguments with professors already gives me chills. Imagine her doing it for a living; she’ll be a terrifying force.
“So,” Ashton says, leaning on the counter, eyes way too interested, “remind me what he looks like again.”
I roll my eyes. “He looks like a man.”
“Helpful,” she says dryly. “How tall?”
“I don’t know. Tall.”
“Define tall.”
I think about it. “I didn’t bring a measuring tape, Ashton. Maybe… six-four?”
Her brows lift. “Oh. That’s a very specific ‘I don’t know.’”
“It’s a guess.”
“Uh-huh. Eyes?”
