“This face is emotionally advanced.”
“This face looks like it just got hit with a waffle iron.”
He laughed and cupped the side of my face. “Say it again.”
“You got hit with a waffle iron?”
“Aura.”
I smiled.
The neon halo flickered above us, gold light cutting across his cheekbones, making him look softer than he probably wanted and more mine than I knew how to handle.
“My boyfriend,” I said.
His thumb brushed my cheek. “Yeah.”
“Too much?”
“No.” His voice dropped. “Never that.”
When Cade’s SUV pulled up fifteen minutes later, Bliss was pressed against the passenger window in pajamas, her hair piled on top of her head, her face alight with nosy joy. Cade parked at the curb and rolled the window down with the expression of a man who had been briefed on ferrets against his will.
Bliss took one look at me under the awning, tiara crooked, basket on my arm, Easton’s jacket around my shoulders, and burst into tears.
I pointed at her. “No.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re crying at a bar curb.”
“You look happy.”
“I look sticky.”
“You look in love and sticky.”
Easton opened the back door for me. “Both can be true.”
Cade looked at him over the roof of the SUV. “Truck?”
“Dead.”
“Date?”
Easton glanced at me.
I smiled.
He smiled back.
“Perfect disaster,” he said.
Cade’s face softened before he hid it by looking toward the street. “Get in.”
Bliss twisted in her seat as we climbed into the back. “Tell me everything.”
“No,” Easton and I said together.
