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“Deal. We can eat then tackle the Holmes clan,” he says. He adjusts his hat and sighs. “There’s going to be an interrogation.”
“I’m good with parents,” I say, and I motion toward the door. “It’s kind of my job. Want me to bring wine? Dessert? For the record, this isn’t a date.”
His smile matches mine. “It’s not, huh?”
“No.” I shake my head and swipe the coffee off the table. “Definitely not. It’s a required event we’re obligated to take part in. Just like you joining me at the hospital gala.”
“Right. And the team’s holiday party you’re going to come to,” Shawn adds.
“Exactly. All of those things arenotdates. They’re pieces of our plan wehaveto do to get through the holiday season happy and with a promotion.”
“And with a happy family,” he says, and I nod.
“Bingo.”
Shawn checks his watch. “I need to head to the stadium for a team meeting. Arthur will let you up when you get to my place.”
“What’s it like to have a doorman?”
“About the same as not having a doorman.” He knocks his knee against mine and points at the muffin. “Finish your food, rose petal.”
“Thank you, by the way. That was nice of you to bring me caffeine and a snack, and I really appreciate it.” I stand up. I offer him my hand and make a spectacle of pretending to pull him off the couch. “Please don’t break too many hearts on your way out. This is a pediatrician’s office, not the emergency room.”
“If you insist.” He grins and heads toward the door. “See ya, Lace Face.”
“Bye, Shawn Yawn. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”
“Sounds good. Miss you already, angel butt.”
“Oh, my god. I’m going to hurl a stapler at you if you don’t stop,” I say.
He laughs and blows me a kiss on his way out, a gesture that makes my belly swoop low and a smile split across my lips.
FIFTEEN
LACEY
I knockon the door to Shawn’s apartment, and my heart hammers in my chest. I think about turning around and walking away, but suddenly he’sthere, in front of me, and I can’t remember my name.
He looks good.Reallygood. His hair is damp, like he just got out of the shower, and his skin is tinged pink. A dark pair of jeans sits low on his hips, and his white shirt stretches across his broad chest. I can see his whole sleeve of tattoos, and he’s barefoot. I smile at the nail polish on his toes.
“Going for a new look?” I ask.
Shawn leans against the door frame with a lazy grace. “Maven was trying out polish colors. I was the guinea pig.”
“I like the pink.”
“Really? I’m partial to the purple.”
I laugh and hand over a bottle of wine. “Here. For you. For us, I guess.”
“Thanks, Lace. Come in.” He gestures me inside, and I step into his apartment.
I’ve been here once or twice—like the night I came over and proposed this whole scheme to him—but I didn’t have a chance to really look around. It’s an open concept layout, with high ceilings and gigantic windows. Sleek and modern, I see touches of personality throughout the space. In the pictures on the wall. The throw blankets on the couch. A plush rug in the living room. It’s inviting and welcoming, and I relax as I walk into the kitchen.
There are pots on the stove. Something is cooking in the oven, and a delicious aroma wafts through the air. Placemats are set up on the island with two barstools, and wine glasses sit on the marble counter.
This man isnotyour typical bachelor.
