Page 57

As she exited the bathroom, his fingers brushed her wrist—just barely, just enough to stutter her heart and flush her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she said, wishing she had any control over her blush. “You look very handsome yourself,” she managed.

Aster pushed off the wall and strolled by her, headed to the apartment door. He glanced back, practically afloat in his good mood and damn near contagious with its effect. Molly felt captive to that single look, drawn in as if by a magnet, compelled to closeness. She desired to touch the collar of his shirt. His cuff links. The styled perfection of his hair that still managed to look so touchably soft. She desired, and more than she knew how to handle.

“This way,” he said, smiling like summer contained in human skin.

“I couldn’t think of a single thing that wasn’t a memory in some way,” he confessed as they exited their building. “So, in that sense, I have no idea where we’re going.”

That was surprising. She’d expected Aster to have every moment of their evening planned to the second, meticulous in the same way he was when he dressed or prepared their morning coffee.

“We’re staying fairly close by,” he continued as they walked to the car. “But beyond that, we’re picking together.” He opened the passenger door for her. “I’m going to pull out onto the main road headed downtown. But before I do, you’re going to tell me how many minutes you want me to drive in that direction.”

Her brows knitted together.

“It’s not a trick,” he said. “It’s an adventure. How many minutes?”

She liked the idea of an adventure. It felt hopeful, exciting. “Thirteen? I suppose.”

He made a thoughtful noise. “Ominous, alright. After that, I say we make a left and see what turns up.”

“That’s it?” Molly asked.

“That’s it. The first place that looks like a reasonably quiet place to have dinner will be our spot.”

Molly’s head cocked to the side, still deciphering what appeared to be a deceptively easy-going version of Aster Bishop.

“Too simple?” he asked with a hint of concern. “I have a much more elaborate backup plan if you—”

“No,” she interrupted, a smile growing. Of course he had an elaborate backup plan. “It’s perfect. I’m not ready for grand romantic gestures quite yet.”

“And when you are, I have them ready.” She might have laughed if he didn’t look so devastatingly serious.

Thirteen minutes of driving translated to thirteen minutes of electric anticipation. Molly didn’t know what to do with herself, what to say, or where to look. Too consumed by a hyperawareness of Aster’s hands on the steering wheel, she barely noticed when he made a left turn onto a street not far from downtown. They parallel parked—a skill Aster managed with quite compelling confidence—in front of a Thai restaurant, and that was their decision made.

“Do you not like Thai food?” Molly asked at the crinkle between Aster’s eyebrows as they settled into their seats across from each other.

“I like it. But it’s generally pretty spicy, and I am generally pretty pathetic about spice, and—you’re choosing to start this date by laughing at me?”

Molly did her best to neutralize her expression, but the giggles still won out. “You know you can customize the spice levels, right?”

“So you’ve told me many, many times.”

“We’ll get you the least spicy thing they have.”

Aster frowned, but there was no seriousness to it. “I was hoping not to immediately make a fool of myself tonight.”

“I don’t know, it’s kind of charming. Nice to confirm you’re not perfect,” she teased with a smile.

He looked dubious at that but settled slightly once he had a scotch on the table to distract his hands.

“Are you . . . nervous?” she asked. It was as unexpected as it was endearing, a vulnerability she had to reconcile with old images of him in her head.

His fidgeting reached a peak, tilting and swirling his scotch as if by compulsion. Whatever confidence he’d had when they left the apartment had faded, twisting into faintly uneasy silences, his fingertips constantly tracing the edge of his tumbler.

“No,” he nearly snapped, then recoiled. “I—yes, sorry I didn’t mean that. I was better at this in my head.”

Molly reached across the table and pulled his hands from the glass. His fingers instantly wound around hers in a practiced manner, his thumbs tracing patterns against her skin. He visibly relaxed, some of the tension in his shoulders vanishing. She almost convinced herself she had moved out of concern over the drink he was torturing, but that was a weak excuse, and she knew it.