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“No, it should be with the guy I’m actually dating. Not my best friend’s brother who’s ignored me since high school.”
“Ouch. But are you really dating, though? This is what, date number three?”
“None of your business.” I kept looking through my closet. Maybe the navy wrap dress.
“As the guy you should be dating, it is my business.”
“Stop.”
“Unlikely.”
“Zachary, you can’t expect me to believe this isn’t some kind of game to you. I don’t want to be your plaything.” I tossed the navy dress on the bed. It would have to do.
“Trust me, this is not a game.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You know what, you’re right. I don’t expect you to trust me. I have to earn your trust. And I will.”
“Well, not tonight because I have a date.”
“Where’s he taking you?”
“I don’t know and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“You can tell me. It’s not like I’d do anything.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I wouldn’t,” he said, but I could hear the laughter he was trying to hold back. “Okay, maybe I would.”
“At least now you’re being honest.”
“Marigold, I’ll always be honest with you.”
I sighed. Why did I want to believe that? What good would it do to give even an ounce of trust to Zachary Haven? I did that once, and it had blown up in my face. But this sudden attention from him had my head spinning.
“I have to go. I need to finish getting ready.”
“Okay, sure. Have a good time tonight.”
A surge of frustration swept through me. “Have a good time? This is why I can’t trust you. Well, this and a million other reasons. First you tell me I should be going out with you instead of Preston, and now you’re telling me to have a good time? Why do you have to be such a smartass?”
“I’m not being a smartass. Usually I am, but not now. I care about you, of course I hope you have a nice evening. Granted, I hope he screws it up and you never see him again. But I still hope dinner is good.”
What was wrong with me that his logic almost made sense? “Goodnight, Zachary.”
“Goodnight, Marigold.”
Note to self. Don’t answer when Zachary calls. Especially when you’re getting ready for a date.
Glancing at the time, I groaned in frustration again. I needed to get ready. Preston would be here soon.
The navy dress was fine. I turned in the mirror. Yes, fine. Maybe not the nicest dress I owned, but it fit me well, and best of all, it was comfortable. If I was going to go from pajama pants to date attire, at least I could wear something that felt good.
Besides, it was just dinner. And at this hour, we’d certainly be staying in town. No extravagant helicopter rides to the city tonight.
Preston knocked. He was right on time. Because of course he was. Punctuality was an attractive trait in a man. It meant he respected my time.
