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Older, of course, but it was more than that.
Blake Weston had found himself ripped from his childhood of pain and suffering and thrust into a world of entitlement and privilege. It hadn’t been an easy road for him; even now he didn’t always see eye-to-eye with his uncle, but he wore his name with pride, and he worked hard to earn respect from those around him.
“You’re staring.” Amusement played in his voice.
“Am not,” I huffed.
“I can always feel you, Penny. Always.”
“I’m just thinking.”
“About how good looking am I?”
“Blake!” I reached over to play-punch his arm. “I’m so proud of you.” The words tumbled from off my lips before I had time to stop them.
“I feel like there’s a compliment in there somewhere.” He gave me a teasing look.
“Stop. I’m trying to have a serious discussion with you and you’re turning it into a joke.”
Like always.
“Just keeping things fresh.”
I sank back into the leather seat with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. Forget it.”
“Penny,” he said.
“No, no, the moment’s passed.”
“I’ll find a way to get it out of you later. I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”
I chose to ignore that comment, turning my head to face the window.
The lights of Columbus sped by, and seconds later, Blake broke the heavy silence. “I need to stop off here, okay? Don’t go anywhere.” He squeezed my knee again, coaxing me to look at him.
When I did, an apology glittered in his eyes.
“Don’t keep me waiting too long.” I pouted.
He leaned over and touched his lips to the end of nose. “Never.” And then he was gone, the car’s locking system bleeping around me.
With an indignant huff I waited. And waited. When ten minutes had passed, I was ready to go looking for him, but the locks bleeped again, and Blake ducked inside. “Sorry,” he said. “It took me longer than I thought it would.”
“I was just about to come look for you.”
“So impatient. Here.” He handed me a brown bag and I started to peek inside but his hand batted me away. “Ah, ah, no peeking.”
Still, I couldn’t resist giving the bag a little shake but then the engine came alive, and Blake maneuvered back into the traffic.
“How much longer?” I asked.
“Not too long. Are you cold?” He turned up the dial on the heater.
“I’m okay.”
I’d dressed conservatively for a February evening in Columbus choosing black skinny jeans, a soft cashmere sweater, and kitten heels, over the dress Marissa had tried to talk me into buying just the other week.
Blake reached for my hand, entwining our fingers and all the irritation ebbed away.
