Page 12 of Only Be Mine

He mimed writing it down. “Noted.”

I giggled.

I never giggle.

He told me about hiking. About summers in the mountains. About biking. I asked if he had a motorcycle and he nearly choked laughing.

“It’s a mountain bike,” he said.

My cheeks burned. “Right. Obviously.”

By the time the plates were cleared, we’d fallen into an easy rhythm - talking about school, work, family, dreams. I’d never talked to a man like this.

Not without tequila, and even that was a stretch.

He walked me out, his hand warm at the small of my back, and Baby greeted me like we were old friends.

“You ready?” he asked once we were back in the truck.

“For what?” I teased.

He hesitated, suddenly shy.

It did something dangerous to my chest.

“Where’s home for you?” he asked.

We were already pulling onto my street. I pointed to my house, then heard myself say, “I’m not… quite ready to go home.”

He stopped.

“What did you say?”

I dared a look at him. “Didn’t you tell me meetings like this don’t come around every day?”

Something warm flickered across his face.

He made a U-turn so smooth it felt practiced.

“So,” I asked, “what have you got going on for the rest of the day?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “I do have a project.”

“A project?”

“You’re going to laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“I bought a dresser,” he said.

“…Okay?”

“From IKEA.”

“Oh no…”

“Oh, yes.”